I was supposed to be the happiest bride in the world. Instead, my groom died on our wedding day. For an entire month, I drowned in my own tears. In a haze of grief, I accidentally dialed his old iCloud account on FaceTime. He rarely used it when he was alive, but leaving voicemails there had become my pathetic way of coping with the silence. It rang twice. Then, the video actually connected. The face that appeared on the screen did not belong to my dead fiancé, Blake. It was a little boy, maybe seven or eight years old. “Hi there! Are you looking for my dad?” The boy had bright, expressive eyes. He proudly held up an elegant, handwritten card to the camera. “Look what my dad wrote! ‘Happy 2033, baby. Happy seventh anniversary.’ My dad just ran out to get my mom’s gift!” I froze. 2033? My brain stalled, then violently rebooted. The person on the other end of this call was seven years in the future. I forced down the bitter shock clawing at my throat. I tried to rationalize it. Maybe the carrier recycled the number. Maybe it was just a bizarre glitch. I managed a stiff, painful smile. “I hope your mom and dad are very happy.” But the next second, the boy excitedly spun around, waving the phone. The camera panned across the wall behind him. Hanging right in the center was a massive, framed wedding portrait. The moment it came into focus, the blood in my veins turned to ice. The woman in the white dress was Audrey. My ride-or-die best friend. And the man standing next to her had Blake’s face. I stared unblinking at the screen, my chest heaving. It wasn’t a lookalike. Even the tiny mole under his left eye was perfectly captured in the high-resolution print. Blake was not dead. Seven years from now, he wasn’t just alive. He was married to Audrey. Why would they lie to me? A deafening ringing filled my ears. My hands started to shake uncontrollably. I pulled up Audrey’s text thread on my other phone. Our last conversation was from a month ago. I had texted her, bursting with excitement, to tell her I was getting married. She replied with a long voice memo. Her tone had been thick with melancholic regret. “Stella, I am so happy for you. I just landed in Europe. I’m helping my first love sort out some messy business. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to make it to your wedding.” I had felt so bad for her at the time. I knew Audrey had a first love she could never get over. She used to get blackout drunk and cry over him. I even comforted her. “If you love him that much, go win him back.” She had laughed bitterly. “I dumped him because I was petty. I made too many mistakes. He’s literally about to get married. He would never forgive me.” Looking back on it now, the way she looked at me that day wasn’t regret. It was victory. “He came to say goodbye,” she had told me later. “He said he was tying the knot. I couldn’t hold back. I hugged him and told him I was done running. I told him, ‘You took ninety-nine steps toward me. I’ll take the last one.’” So her first love, the man who was about to get married… was Blake. My hands were freezing. I turned around and tore into the cardboard box of Blake’s belongings I had just packed away. At the bottom, buried inside a vintage leather cigar box, I found an old Polaroid. I had never seen it before. It was Blake and Audrey in high school. Audrey had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and they were smiling brilliantly at the camera. They had been together all along. When Blake and I first started dating, Audrey constantly talked trash about him. She said he had a terrible temper. She said he was selfish and incapable of empathy. I thought she was just being protective of me. Now the ugly truth stared me in the face. They were toxic exes. They resented each other, couldn’t let each other go, and used me as a pawn in their twisted game of jealousy. What was I to them? Just collateral damage? A tool to trigger their reunion? Another memory hit me like a physical blow. Six months ago, Blake came back from a “business trip” in Europe. I noticed deep, red scratch marks on his neck. When I asked about them, his eyes darted away, but a smug, lingering smirk played on his lips. “A stray cat in London,” he had said. “Claws were incredibly sharp.” I believed him. Now I knew exactly who left those marks. “Miss? Are you okay? Are you crying?” The boy’s voice drifted from the phone, pulling me out of the nightmare. I looked up at his face. This was Blake and Audrey’s son. He had Blake’s eyes and Audrey’s mouth. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat and forced my voice to work. “Hey, buddy. Could you tell me a little bit about your parents? I think I might know them.” The boy tilted his head. “You know my mom and dad?” I nodded. “Are your parents Blake and Audrey? We went to college together.” The boy’s eyes lit up with pure joy. “Oh wow! Then do you know Stella?” I froze. Stella. That was my name. I dug my fingernails into my palms, forcing my voice to remain completely steady. “Why do you ask about her? Is she someone special?” The boy looked down, fiddling with a plastic toy, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She was a really good friend of my mom and dad. But she died seven years ago.” “Died?” I repeated, the word tasting like ash. “Yeah. They tell me stories about her all the time. Every year, they go to the cemetery and cry in front of her grave. They say they are so, so sorry and that they regret everything.” I felt like I had been plunged into an ice bath. Seven years ago. That meant 2026. That meant this year. Blake fakes his death, betrays me with Audrey, and then I die? My entire body trembled with rage and terror. I clenched my jaw. “How did she die?” The boy shook his head. “Dad won’t let me ask. Miss, did you know her?” I dodged the question. “Do your parents love each other a lot?” The boy nodded enthusiastically, his bubbly energy returning instantly. “My dad is obsessed with my mom!” He started listing off their perfect moments like he was reciting a fairy tale. “When Mom was pregnant with me, she craved those artisan donuts from the bakery all the way across town at midnight. Dad didn’t even blink. He drove an hour just to get them, and he brought them back in a heated box so they were still warm.” “Mom hates the rain. So Dad hired an architect to build this massive custom glass conservatory in our backyard. Now, when it storms, Mom can sit inside surrounded by flowers and not a single drop touches her.” “Oh, and one time Mom accidentally broke this cheap plastic hair claw she had since she was a teenager. She cried for hours. Dad tracked down the original manufacturer and paid a ton of money to have it perfectly restored. He keeps it locked in his safe now!” Every word the kid spoke drove the knife deeper into my ribs. I thought about how Blake treated me. Once, I was burning up with a 103-degree fever in the middle of the night. I called him, begging him to come over. He told me he was too busy with a pitch deck and told me to just drink some water and go back to sleep. I found out later that Audrey had gotten blackout drunk at a club that night, and Blake had spent hours driving around the city to pick her up. I always dreamed of buying a house with a backyard. He shot it down immediately, calling it a total waste of money and completely impractical. Yet he turned around and built a luxury glass conservatory for Audrey. And that hair claw. I recognized it. Audrey bought it at a dollar store in high school. But the leather wallet I spent three sleepless nights hand-stitching for Blake’s birthday? He tossed it in the back of his desk drawer, and a month later, threw it in the trash because it was “taking up space.” “I don’t really use stuff like this,” he had told me. “It looks cheap.” The camera shifted again, giving me another glimpse of that massive wedding portrait. Seeing their faces side-by-side, another memory surfaced. Sophomore year of college. I was practically glowing when I introduced my handsome new boyfriend to my best friend. We were sitting at a four-top table in the dining hall. I was holding Blake’s hand. Audrey sat across from us. I was so blinded by love that I entirely missed the toxic undercurrent flowing between them. Audrey had “accidentally” knocked her water glass over, spilling it all over Blake’s pristine white button-down. Blake was a notorious germaphobe. Usually, if someone even brushed against him, he would go home to change. But that day, he just stared at Audrey. He didn’t lose his temper. He even picked up a napkin and gently wiped the water off the table in front of her. I was so naive. I actually thought he was just trying extra hard to be polite to my best friend. Looking back, the signs were blindingly obvious. The boy shoved the phone closer to his face. “Look, Miss! My parents even have a shared TikTok account! It has all their videos!” The screen got close enough for me to read the handle. @QueenAudrey I grabbed my other phone. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely type the letters into the search bar. The profile popped up immediately. I tapped into the account. The very first video was uploaded way back in high school. The quality was grainy. It was Blake and Audrey in their school uniforms, running across the football field, holding hands in the back row of a classroom. I scrolled down. Suddenly, the uploads stopped. There was a massive three-year gap. The exact three years Blake and I were together. Then, exactly two months after Blake’s “death”, the uploads resumed. The comeback video featured Blake on the deck of a luxury yacht, down on one knee, slipping a massive diamond ring onto Audrey’s finger. The caption read: After all the detours, I’m so glad it was always you. I scrolled mechanically. Video after video. The comments section was a mix of congratulations and pure vitriol from people who knew the truth. One comment stood out. Wait, wasn’t Blake engaged to Stella? Why is he with her best friend? Absolute garbage humans. Right below it, pinned to the top, was a reply from Blake’s personal account. Audrey is the only woman I have ever loved. Everyone else was just a mistake while I figured things out. In a love triangle, the one who isn’t loved is the real homewrecker. The one who isn’t loved is the real homewrecker. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper. For three years, I wasn’t his fiancé. I was his trial run. A placeholder while he figured out his own toxic feelings. I kept scrolling. They went snowboarding in the Alps. Scuba diving in the Maldives. Skydiving over Dubai. In every video, Audrey laughed like she owned the world, and Blake looked at her with a sickening level of devotion. And me? During those three years, I worked three different part-time jobs to help fund Blake’s tech startup. To save up enough money to buy him a tailored suit for his first investor meeting, I ate instant ramen for a month straight. Then I noticed a link pinned in the bio. It was titled Confessions. It linked out to an anonymous blog post formatted like a short story. But my gut told me it was about me. I clicked it. It detailed the tragic end of a character named “S”. It described the events that were supposed to happen in my timeline, just a few months from now. In the story, S discovers the fake death. She tracks them down and demands answers. In their twisted perspective, S was the crazy stalker who lost her mind. So they retaliated. They completely destroyed her career. When S’s mother went to Blake’s corporate office to beg for mercy, she was run over by a sports car driven by one of Blake’s rich frat brothers. Her legs were permanently crushed. The diary read: Her mother didn’t survive the surgery. S went completely insane. The final entry described a stormy night. S stepped off the edge of a 28th-floor balcony. The concluding sentence read: She died, and we were finally free. But sometimes, looking back, we wonder if she really deserved to die. I stared at the glowing screen as hot tears spilled over my eyelashes and dripped onto my knuckles. “Miss? Why are you crying again? Are you okay?” The boy’s worried voice brought me back. I wiped my face aggressively with the back of my hand and forced a wide smile. “I’m totally fine. Just got some dust in my eye.” I took a deep breath. “Hey, when are your mom and dad getting back?” “Dad is just picking up a custom necklace for Mom. He’ll be back any minute. Mom is pregnant with my baby sister, so the doctor said she has to stay on bed rest in her room.” Pregnant again. A perfect family of four. Living a fairy-tale life built directly on top of my mother’s crushed bones and my shattered skull. I gripped the edge of the table to stop my body from trembling. “Hey, buddy. When your dad gets back, could you use this phone to call me back on FaceTime? I really want to give him a surprise.” The boy beamed. “Okay! I promise!” I smiled at him and ended the call. The second the screen went black, my bedroom door opened. My mom walked in, carrying a thermos of hot soup. Her eyes were still red from crying over my dead fiancé. Looking at my mother, standing there alive, healthy, and walking on two functioning legs… I lunged forward, wrapped my arms around her waist, and sobbed hysterically. My mom thought the grief of losing Blake was finally breaking me. She rubbed my back, whispering soothing words. “It’s okay, Stella. Let it out. He’s gone, but you have to keep living. You have to look forward.” I buried my face in her shoulder, my tears soaking her sweater. “Mom. I don’t love him anymore.” I made a vow right there in the dark. This time, I would absolutely destroy anyone who tried to touch my family. After my mom left the room, I wiped my face and picked up my phone. I dialed Audrey’s number. It rang three times before she picked up. Audrey’s lazy, satisfied drawl came through the speaker. “Hey, Stella. What’s up?” “Audrey, Blake is gone. I’m sitting in my apartment alone and I just feel so lost.” Audrey let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Oh, Stella… I probably won’t be back in the States for a while. Actually, I forgot to tell you. I just eloped with my first love. We signed the papers today.” She immediately launched into a sickening monologue, bragging about her perfect life. “He treats me like absolute royalty. Whatever I want, I get.” After she finished gloating, she threw me some fake sympathy. “Stella, you really shouldn’t be too heartbroken. Honestly? Blake wasn’t even that great of a guy. He was cold, calculated, and totally selfish. Maybe it’s a blessing he died early, so he couldn’t drag you down for the rest of your life.” Listening to her viciously insult the man she was currently sleeping with, I felt a wave of pure nausea. “Is that right?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dead, icy calm. “Who exactly is this first love of yours? Where are you guys right now?” Audrey’s voice stiffened. She clearly hadn’t expected me to press for details. “Just… a guy. You don’t know him.” Right then, I heard the rustling of bedsheets through the receiver. “What are you doing?” I tightened my grip on the phone. “Nothing… just resting,” Audrey’s voice suddenly turned breathy and soft. Then, a horribly familiar male voice bled through the background audio. “Audrey, you’re distracted. Someone needs to be punished.” It was Blake. My blood ran cold. My stomach churned with disgust. “Stella, I’ll come visit you when I’m back. I gotta go!” Before the call abruptly disconnected, I clearly heard the crash of ocean waves and the cry of seagulls. I knew exactly where they were. The famous cliffside oceanfront properties just outside the city limits. Blake had once brought me architectural blueprints for a villa out there. He promised me, looking me dead in the eyes, that it would be our dream home. Except he built it for her. And on the exact day we were supposed to get married, the day he supposedly died in a car crash on his way to the venue… he was out there marrying her. I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. Perfect. I grabbed my car keys, walked out the door, and got into my car. By the time I reached the cliffside villa, the sun had fully set. The sprawling manicured lawn was blindingly bright, lined with hundreds of fairy lights and imported white roses. An incredibly lavish, intimate outdoor wedding was in full swing. I stood completely still in the shadows, watching the stage. Blake was wearing a perfectly tailored white tuxedo, gazing deeply into Audrey’s eyes, delivering a tear-jerking speech. “Audrey, I finally made you my wife.” His voice actually cracked with emotion. “I have waited a lifetime for this exact moment.” A massive LED screen behind them played a slideshow of their relationship. I recognized every single photo. But in every group shot, my face and body had been violently cropped out. To them, I was never a fiancé or a best friend. I was an annoying background extra they finally managed to edit out of their movie. In this three-person tragedy, I was the punchline. The crowd erupted into applause. Right as the officiant grabbed the microphone to announce the ring exchange, I stepped out of the shadows and walked straight down the center of the white floral aisle. “Blake!” Every single head snapped toward me. “What the hell are you doing here?!” Blake’s eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated panic. I walked right up to the altar and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. I reached into my designer purse and pulled out the crisp, official document. I slammed it against his chest. “I’m just here to attend my legal husband’s wedding.” The marriage license fluttered to the ground, the official state seal catching the stage lights. Our names and faces were printed clearly in black and white. The wealthy guests gasped. A tidal wave of frantic whispering swept through the crowd. Audrey’s face turned beet red. Tears instantly welled up in her eyes. She rushed forward, playing the victim perfectly. “No! Stella, please let me explain! I was the one Blake loved first! I’m not the homewrecker! You were the one who forced your way between us!” I raised my right hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had. She screamed, stumbling backward in her massive designer gown and collapsing onto the grass. “That slap is for years of your disgusting, manipulative gaslighting!” Blake snapped out of his shock. He lunged forward, shielding Audrey behind his body, and raised his hand. A heavy, stinging slap landed square on my cheek. “Are you insane, Stella?!” He pointed a shaking finger at my face, his eyes totally unhinged. “Security! Drag this crazy bitch off my property!” Three massive men in black suits rushed the stage to grab me. But before they could touch me, a team of uniformed police officers stormed up the aisle. “Which one of you is Blake?” The lead officer stepped onto the stage, flashing his badge. “We received a verified tip with hard evidence. You are under arrest for forging a death certificate, committing massive life insurance fraud, and bigamy. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” At that exact second, my phone started vibrating violently in my pocket. The distinctive FaceTime ringtone pierced through the chaotic silence of the wedding. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. On the screen, the seven-year-old boy’s face was flashing. The future was calling.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “480743”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Before her death, my mother left me three matches. She said they could pull me through time’s currents. I used the first at a corporate gala when Dominic was drugged. I stayed close, kept him from the spiked drinks, and ensured no other woman stood a chance. Our marriage became flawless, life moving exactly as it should. I let my guard down, becoming the envied Mrs. Blackwell. Then came the crash. Dominic shielded me with his body, taking the full force of steel and glass. He died on the operating table. I struck the second match without hesitation, rewriting his fate to avoid that moment. I thought I would never need the third. We were meant to be forever. Until he tossed an ultrasound photo onto the coffee table. The world tilted. His voice was ice. “Jade is four months along. It’s my son.” The ringing in my ears drowned everything out. He spoke without warmth. “Surviving that crash was a sign. God gave me a second chance to be with my true soulmate. You keep the Blackwell name, but don’t touch Jade.” The matchbox in my pocket bit into my palm, sharp enough to draw blood. I didn’t know how he remembered the crash. But he clearly didn’t think I held the power over time. The hospital’s air conditioning sent a violent shiver through my spine. I forced the question out of my throat. “Why?” Dominic’s expression softened, but not for me. “Jade isn’t like you. She grew up with nothing. She’s fragile, she needs security. This baby is her shield, and it’s my promise to her. Besides, we’ve been together for fifteen… no, five years. Touching you now feels as exciting as my left hand touching my right.” I caught his slip of the tongue immediately. In my original life, I discovered his affair with his secretary in our tenth year of marriage. Our child was five years old then. He had slit his own wrists, writing me a letter in his own blood, claiming he had been drugged and only stayed with her out of a sense of forced responsibility. He had transferred all his assets to me in a show of “remorse.” In my panic back then, I used the first match to go back to our fifth year. But he just said fifteen years. I fought back the tremor in my chest. “So, she’s the love of your life.” Dominic leaned back, looking bored. “Yeah. You might not believe this, but every time I’m at death’s door, I wake up in the past. You? You’re tough. You don’t need security. You were ready to elope with me right after graduation. You even stole your family’s legal documents just to marry me. Sloane, you’ve always been cheap.” I clutched my chest. A sudden, sharp pain flared beneath my ribs, forcing me to double over. After high school graduation, we had a plan to run away together. But that night, he never showed up at our meeting spot. My parents found me instead. When I confronted him later, Dominic’s eyes were red as he held me. “Sloane, your father was right. We’re too young. We can’t support a ‘forever’ yet. Just give me some time. I’ll give you the world. I’ll take you away properly, with my head held high.” I was furious at his broken promise. I froze him out. Even though we went to the same university, I treated him like a ghost. But in our second year, he started a tech company with some friends and actually made a fortune. He showed up at my father’s house with a mountain of cash to ask for my hand. My father still refused. Dominic just smiled, said nothing, and went back to making more money. I was the one who snapped. I stole my birth certificate and passport, and we eloped to the courthouse. He was working for our future, and I was willing to burn every bridge to stand by him. Dominic looked at me with pure vitriol. “You can ask for a divorce if you want. But just remember, your mother’s experimental cancer treatments? You’ll be paying for those yourself.” His phone rang. He answered it and walked away without a backward glance. I touched my heart. Can a man truly become this heartless once the love dies? After my mother found out he was an orphan, she stepped in and treated him like her own son. She lived in our villa, taking care of us. When people whispered that he was a “nobody” with no family, my mother would chase them down the street with a kitchen spatula. And yet, no matter how many times I reset the clock, my mother always ended up with cancer. I stood up and chased after him. I was the one who pulled him back! I was the one who saved his life! How dare he betray me again! The scent of wet pavement and rain filled the air. Outside the hospital, Jade was standing there, her feet tucked into Dominic’s oversized designer shoes, her arms wrapped around his neck. “The baby and I have been waiting forever!” she pouted. “You’re late. You better buy me something amazing to make up for it!” Dominic’s lips curled into a genuine smile. “I heard there’s a stunning jewelry set coming up at the Sotheby’s auction. I’ll have my assistant bid on it for you.” My feet felt like they were nailed to the floor. I watched as Dominic kissed her, and when she pulled away, he leaned in to chase her lips again. I realized then that we hadn’t been that intimate in years. Since the honeymoon, we stopped kissing. The most we ever shared was a dry peck on the cheek. I pulled out my final match. The freezing rain couldn’t clear the fog in my mind. Where could I go now? To what point in our lives? Dominic’s betrayal seemed like an inevitability, a fixed point in time. But my mother’s cancer was under control in this timeline. She wouldn’t die in agony like she did the first time. Was it worth resetting? Two nurses walked past me, their voices filled with gossip. “I heard he sleeps in the same bed as that Miss Jade every single night just to give her ‘security.’ He’s desperate for that baby.” “That’s nothing. Last week, she called him a ‘dirty dog’ because of his wife, and he actually made the doctors give him a chemical peel and full-body scrub just to ‘cleanse’ himself for her! He’s obsessed.” “I heard she liked the original villa the wife lives in, so he told the wife he had to sell it for ‘business investments’ just to kick her out. Now he’s putting the wife in some cramped apartment near the clinic.” I felt a jolt go through my soul. A year ago, Dominic told me his company needed to expand. He said he was short on cash. I couldn’t stand seeing him drown his stress in alcohol at business dinners, so I suggested we sell our wedding home. We moved into a rental near the hospital to make it easier to care for my mother. I had been so heartbroken to leave that house. Dominic had held me, promising he’d buy me a sprawling estate once the money started flowing back in. I didn’t want him to struggle. I used my father’s inheritance to pay for our daily expenses while I worked a grueling 9-to-5. The nurses’ voices drifted further away. “He even opened a flower shop for her right across from the hospital!” I looked through the veil of rain at the flower shop across the street. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips as tears finally began to fall. I went there every morning to buy a bouquet. The clerk told me the owner was a close friend of Dominic’s and always gave me a discount. When I told Dominic, his eyes had flickered with something I couldn’t read, and he just vaguely nodded. I pushed open the door to the shop. The clerk recognized me instantly. “You were here this morning. Another bouquet already?” I looked around the shop. From the lighting to the placement of the sink. The specific model of the flower fridge. It was all hauntingly familiar. When we first started dating, Dominic asked me what I’d do if money wasn’t an issue. I told him I wanted to open a flower shop. I had shown him a stack of sketches, my dream since middle school. My father had called it a “useless hobby,” but Dominic had helped me refine the designs. But after graduation, I was too busy being his social proxy, entertaining other wives, managing his household, and working my own job. I never had the energy for my own dreams again. Rage bubbled in my throat. The clerk suddenly whispered, “Did you do something to offend our boss?” “What do you mean?” “I’m just saying, maybe you should apologize. It’s not good for a sick person to breathe in flowers that have been treated with those specific chemicals every day. It’s bad for the lungs.” I dug my nails into my palms. “What chemicals?” The clerk checked the security camera on the wall, then pulled me into a corner. “The kind that triggers chronic inflammation and allergies. The boss told me you tried to drug her husband and get pregnant on purpose. She said her husband was smart enough to trick you with a fake marriage certificate. He even hired someone to stage a ‘fender bender’ to get rid of your ‘mistake’ of a pregnancy.” “But you don’t seem like that kind of person. You always bring me those homemade sweets.” I thought of the ultrasound I lost. I grabbed the clerk’s hand, my grip like a vice. “Last May, was your boss vacationing in the Swiss Alps?” The clerk nodded. “Yeah. Her husband takes her abroad every month because she loves it. Apparently, he met her at a club right after he finished college and he’s been taking care of her ever since.” The world turned gray. I leaned against the wall for support. Last April, I was in a car crash. I had gone through thousands of hormonal injections to finally succeed with IVF. And just like that, the baby was gone. I had called Dominic a hundred times. He was in Switzerland, claiming a client was being difficult and wouldn’t let him leave. When I finally saw him after my recovery, I had screamed at him, asking why he wasn’t there when I needed him most. He had acted so repentant back then. He stayed by my side, helping me crawl out of my depression. Now I realized he had been with Jade the whole time. I was just too blind to see it. I pulled out my phone and sent a photo of my “marriage certificate” to a lawyer friend. The reply came back instantly. It’s a fake, Sloane. A high-quality forgery, but it wouldn’t hold up in any court. Who would even dare to pull this kind of stunt? That was the final blow. Every reset, every sacrifice, was a joke I played on myself. I was the fool who kept paying for her own destruction. Even the last flicker of hope vanished. I knew exactly which moment I had to go back to. I sat by my mother’s bedside until the sun began to peek over the horizon. My mother opened her eyes, groaning in pain. “Mom,” I whispered, my eyes burning. “If I go back again, will you still have to suffer?” As if we were linked by a thread of fate, she didn’t ask why. She just reached out and touched my hand. “Next time, I’ll tell you where those matches really came from.” I went back to the villa he had “sold.” I wanted to ask him why. I loved him clearly, and I wanted to leave him with no questions left. The old housekeeper was still there. Every detail of my life was a lie. Everyone knew about them except for me. I placed the photo of the fake marriage certificate on the table. “Why?” Why stay with me? Why not just tell me the truth? Why kill our child? Why let Jade poison me with those flowers? Dominic’s pupils shrunken. He didn’t expect me to find out. His fingers curled into a fist. “You were a perfect wife,” he said. “But I wanted Jade to be a princess. I wanted her to never have to worry about anything. During that year we were ‘fighting’ in college, she was the one comforting me, giving me ideas on how to win you back. The flowers, the jewelry, the sweet talk… she taught me all of it.” “She told me she loved me, but she was too ashamed because her father had sold her to a club to pay off his debts. On our wedding night, when I told you I was ‘busy’ at the office? I was at the club, buying her out. She’s cleaner than you, Sloane. She doesn’t throw herself at men like you did.” “And that divorce agreement? I slipped it into the paperwork when we ‘sold’ the house. You’ve already signed it.” Nausea surged in my gut. I remembered the night we eloped. He had cried, promising me everything. He bought me a diamond ring with his last cent. I thought I saw love in his eyes back then. I looked at him, my voice a mere whisper. “You’re disgusting.” Dominic sighed and tried to take my hand. “Sloane, you’ve always been sensible. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” But all I got from him was pain, lies, and betrayal. This man I had lived with for fifteen years… his face was warping into a monster before my eyes. I pulled my hand back and turned to leave. I was done. Dominic stood up, looking frustrated. He grabbed my wrist with bruising force. “Who are you putting on this ‘victim’ act for? Do you think I don’t know what you were doing behind my back?” He threw a stack of photos in my face. I looked down at them. My face had been crudely photoshopped onto various bodies in compromising positions. “You were sleeping around while we were fighting in college! If Jade hadn’t shown me these, I’d still be in the dark! I loved you enough to marry you despite your filth!” I started to laugh. It was so absurd it was hysterical. I had wasted two matches on this man. I had let my mother suffer through cancer twice for this piece of trash. “Dominic,” I said, my voice steady. “You aren’t a fool, and neither am I. You could have hired a pro to check those photos. You could have called the cops. But you didn’t. You wanted me to be ‘guilty’ so your own disgusting behavior would seem justified. You wanted to be the hero in your own twisted story.” My phone rang. It was the nurse, her voice frantic. “Miss Whitmore! Come quickly! Miss Jade came into the room, and your mother has gone into shock!” I violently shook off Dominic’s grip. He grabbed me and shoved me toward his car. “You want to wait for an Uber? Your mother doesn’t have that kind of time!” I didn’t argue. My heart was thundering. I pushed open the hospital door to find Jade kneeling on the floor, looking terrified. “Sloane! I just tried to talk to her, and she started calling me a homewrecker! She tried to hit my stomach!” I walked past her, desperate to reach my mother. “Liar! A patient with stage four pancreatic cancer doesn’t have the strength to hit anyone!” Jade collapsed, clutching her belly, her face pale. Before I could say another word, a stinging pain exploded across my cheek. Dominic’s voice was lethal. “You couldn’t keep your own brat because of your lifestyle, so now you want to kill mine?!” I had just walked past her. But because it was Jade, it was my fault? The heart monitor let out a long, flat drone. Terror paralyzed me. I watched as Dominic scooped Jade up and ordered all the doctors to follow him. I stood in his way. “My mother is dying! Move! She took care of you for years! She cooked for you, she cleaned for you! She’d wake up at 2 AM just to make you soup when you were hungry!” Dominic looked at the bed, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Jade let out a pained whimper in his arms. “The baby… is he okay?” Dominic signaled a doctor to take her. Then he turned to me. “Sloane, your mother’s cooking was trash. I never needed her help. A mother who raises a daughter as loose as you… she’s probably rotten to the core anyway.” The world turned into a blur of static. The doctors ignored my mother to follow him. My mother’s line stayed flat. I couldn’t stand. I fell to my knees. My hands were shaking as I pulled out the final match. The lighter flickered, but my tears kept dousing the flame. Finally, it caught. A sharp pain erupted on my scalp as someone grabbed my hair. “Miss Jade almost lost her baby because of you! Mr. Blackwell said to give you a lesson!” I didn’t fight back. I just watched the match burn on the floor. From the room next door, I heard Jade’s voice, thick with flirtation. “The doctor says the baby is stable now… we can celebrate, honey. I want you.” “Don’t you think it’s more exciting with Sloane and her dead mom listening next door?” Rage boiled over. I kicked the person holding me and grabbed a paring knife from the fruit basket. I didn’t think. I lunged. Dominic was there, his shirt unbuttoned, his chest marked with her hickeys. Jade gasped. Dominic instinctively moved to shield Jade. The blade sank deep into his chest. As Jade’s screams filled the room, the match in my hand burned down to my fingers. “Dominic,” I whispered. “I’m the one who controls the clock. This time, let’s go back to before we ran away.” Dominic’s face went white, his eyes wide with disbelief as the fire consumed the room.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “480742”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I am a victim of the vicious female supporting character system. In every lifetime, I am forced to play the “vicious wife” in a “husband regrets everything and chases his wife back” story. According to the plot, Adrian Foster must first torture me until I am completely broken, stripping me of my dignity, my family, and my hope. Only then will he suddenly wake up, sob with regret, and chase me back. For nine whole lifetimes, he has broken my legs, sent me to a psychiatric hospital, and forced me to kneel and bow my head to the woman he could never forget. Every single time, I struggle in agony and am forced to forgive him in the end. This is the tenth lifetime. I finally broke down. I do not want to follow the plot anymore, and I do not want to wait for his regret arc anymore. I climbed onto the rooftop of the twenty-eighth floor and jumped. But in the second before I was about to fall, a strong hand clamped tightly around my wrist. Adrian Foster’s eyes were bloodshot, and a madness I could not understand surged in their depths. Through gritted teeth, his voice trembled, “I know you’re not her, but I’ve already acted out nine lifetimes of devotion, so can you switch places with her and not run away this time?”

“Let go! Are you out of your mind?” I dangled in midair from the twenty-eighth floor, and my entire arm hurt so badly it felt like it was about to be torn off. Half of Adrian Foster’s body was leaning over the edge of the rooftop, and the veins on the back of his hand stood out one by one. “Lily Carter, get up here!” he said through clenched teeth, struggling badly. I looked at his face, full of shock and anger, and only found it utterly absurd. In the previous nine lifetimes, he had used that same face to watch coldly as I was trampled into the mud. “Adrian Foster, you’re way too deep into the role.” I used my other hand to pry at his fingers. “The plot in this lifetime hasn’t reached the point where you regret everything yet, so if you save me now, doesn’t that count as breaking character?” Adrian Foster’s pupils suddenly contracted, and his breathing fell completely out of rhythm. “You… know everything?” The mask in his eyes shattered in an instant. I did not answer and only looked at him coldly. Just then, the iron door to the rooftop was kicked open. “Adrian! Why are you bothering with this crazy woman?” A woman in a biker jacket, with a bob haircut that reached her ears, strode over in a rush. Chloe Bennett. Adrian Foster’s childhood best friend. She was also the female lead of this world, the woman with the irresistible charm halo. The moment he heard Chloe Bennett’s voice, Adrian Foster’s whole body stiffened. The hand that was gripping me so tightly actually loosened by half a degree. “Adrian, come over here, it’s too dangerous!” Chloe Bennett wrapped her arms around Adrian Foster’s waist and pulled him back hard. “If she wants to die, then let her die, because she threatens people with suicide every day like she actually matters.” Her tone was full of contempt and annoyance. Adrian Foster’s face instantly turned deathly pale. He did not push Chloe Bennett away, and he did not even dare turn back to look into Chloe Bennett’s eyes. I felt his wrist trembling. The system’s shrill alarm screamed wildly inside my mind. [Warning! Male lead’s behavior has deviated from the main storyline! Please correct it immediately!] Adrian Foster clearly heard it too. The madness in his eyes was gradually replaced by a mechanical coldness. The next second, he suddenly pulled hard and dragged me back from the edge onto the rooftop. I crashed heavily onto the rough concrete floor, and my knees were instantly scraped open as blood seeped out. Before I could even catch my breath, Adrian Foster looked at me, and his gaze had already returned to that familiar, suffocating disgust. “Lily Carter, are you done making a scene?” His voice was icy. “To force me to marry you, you’re even using a trashy trick like jumping off a building?” I lay on the ground and suddenly laughed. See? This was what he called nine lifetimes of devoted love. As long as Chloe Bennett appeared and as long as the system gave a warning, he could instantly turn back into the executioner who tortured me. “Adrian, I told you she didn’t really dare jump.” Chloe Bennett walked over, stepped on the back of my hand, and ground it hard with the sole of her shoe. A piercing pain shot through me, and I bit my lip hard without making a sound. “Lily Carter, we’re all adults, so stop playing these crying, screaming, and suicide-threat games.” “Adrian and I grew up together, and I see him like family. Can you stop being so petty and jealous all day? Is it even fun?” I raised my head and met Chloe Bennett’s provocative gaze. “Like family?” I sneered. “Would family go to his room in the middle of the night in a lace nightgown to borrow his bathroom?” Chloe Bennett’s expression changed slightly, but she quickly returned to her self-righteous look. “That was because the water at my place was shut off! We have nothing to hide, so why is your mind so filthy?” She turned to Adrian Foster and pouted aggrievedly. “Adrian, look at her, she’s starting to attack people again.” Adrian Foster looked at the red and swollen back of my hand under her foot, and the corner of his eye twitched slightly. But he did not push Chloe Bennett away and only said coldly to me, “Apologize.” I wondered if I had misheard him. “What did you say?” “I told you to apologize to Chloe. You slandered her innocence.” I looked at the man in front of me. Just now in midair, the pain and madness in his eyes seemed to have only been an illusion. “And if I don’t?” I slowly pulled my hand back and climbed up from the ground. Adrian Foster stepped forward and grabbed my chin. He used so much force that it almost crushed my bones. “Lily Carter, don’t test my limits.” He leaned close to my ear and spoke in a voice only the two of us could hear. “You’d better behave, or I’ll show you what true hell looks like.” I looked into his eyes, and there was no love in them, only warning. “Fine.” I forced out a smile uglier than crying. “Adrian Foster, remember what you said today.”

“Get in!” Adrian Foster threw me into the basement of the villa. The heavy iron door slammed shut behind me. Everything around me was pitch black, and only a faint thread of light seeped in through the palm-sized ventilation window high above. I slid down against the cold wall and sat on the floor. The wound on my knee had already scabbed over and stuck to the fabric of my pants, and every movement brought a piercing pain. But what did this bit of pain count for? In the third lifetime, he broke one of my legs to vent Chloe Bennett’s anger. In the seventh lifetime, he locked me outside for an entire night during a heavy snowstorm, leaving me with a lifelong illness. The memories of every lifetime were clearly carved into my mind. I curled up and closed my eyes. After who knew how long, the sound of high heels came from outside the iron door. With a click, the lock was opened. Harsh light poured in, and I instinctively raised my hand to block my eyes. Chloe Bennett stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. Behind her stood two burly bodyguards. “Lily Carter, does this basement feel nice?” Chloe Bennett walked in on her high heels and covered her nose in disgust. “It smells moldy, which really suits you.” I ignored her and only looked at her calmly. “Have you gone mute?” Chloe Bennett immediately found it boring when I did not speak. She looked around, and her gaze suddenly landed on an art tube in the corner. That was mine, and it was also the only tiny piece of myself I had kept in this villa. Inside was a painting of the starry sky that had taken me three full months to create. In the previous nine lifetimes, I gave up painting to please Adrian Foster and turned into a bitter woman obsessed with money. In this lifetime, I secretly picked up the paintbrush again. Chloe Bennett walked over and kicked the art tube over. The painting rolled out and spread across the dusty floor. “Oh, you’re still painting?” Chloe Bennett crouched down and roughly yanked open the paper. “What is this mess supposed to be? It’s just a dark lump.” She stood up, and her high heel stepped directly into the center of the painting. “Don’t touch it.” I finally spoke, my voice hoarse. “What, does it hurt?” Chloe Bennett not only refused to move her foot, but ground down twice with more force. The once brilliant starry sky was instantly dirtied beyond recognition by black shoe prints. “Adrian hates your fake artsy pretensions the most. He said the things you paint aren’t even good enough to wipe his shoes.” I stared hard at that painting. It was not just a painting, but the only proof in my despair that I was still alive. “I told you not to touch it!” I suddenly rushed up from the ground and shoved Chloe Bennett away. Chloe Bennett lost her balance, stumbled back a few steps, and fell hard onto the floor. “Ah!” she let out an exaggerated scream. “Lily Carter, are you insane?” The two bodyguards immediately stepped forward and pinned me down from the left and right. I struggled desperately, but my eyes stayed fixed on the painting on the floor. Just then, hurried footsteps sounded at the doorway, and Adrian Foster strode in. “Adrian!” The moment Chloe Bennett saw him, her eyes instantly reddened. She sat on the floor and reached out to him pitifully. “I only came to check on her because I was afraid she’d be scared alone in the basement. Who knew she’d suddenly go crazy and push me to the ground?” “I think I twisted my ankle, and it hurts so much…” Adrian Foster’s face instantly darkened to the extreme. He did not even look at me and went straight to Chloe Bennett’s side, carefully helping her up. “Are you okay?” His voice was extremely gentle. He was simply a completely different person from the cold and ruthless man on the rooftop earlier. “I’m okay, it just hurts a little.” Chloe Bennett leaned into his arms and cast me a provocative glance. Adrian Foster turned his head to look at me. “Lily Carter, you really never learn. Chloe came to see you out of kindness, and this is how you repay her?” I looked at him, at the disgust and anger in his eyes. “She stepped on my painting.” I calmly stated the facts. “It’s just a worthless painting.” Adrian Foster sneered. He raised his foot and stepped onto the already ruined painting. With a ripping sound, the paper was completely torn apart. “Now it isn’t even a worthless painting anymore.” Adrian Foster looked at me with cold eyes. “Apologize to Chloe.” I looked at the pile of torn paper on the ground, and the last spark in my heart went out completely. “And if I don’t?” I raised my head and looked straight into his eyes. Adrian Foster’s gaze darkened. “Lock her in here, and without my permission, no one is allowed to bring her food.” After dropping those words, he turned and left with his arm around Chloe Bennett. “Adrian Foster.” I looked at his back and suddenly spoke. “You’re truly pathetic.”

Smack! A loud slap landed heavily on my face. “What the hell do you think you are, pitying me?” Adrian Foster had come back, and he stood in front of me with his chest rising and falling violently. He glanced at the bodyguards beside him. “You two get out first.” The iron door closed again, leaving only the two of us in the basement. Adrian Foster suddenly stepped forward, grabbed me by the collar, and lifted my whole body up. “Lily Carter, do you think you understand me that well?” His face was very close, close enough that I could see the bloodshot veins filling his eyes. “Do you think a few vague little comments can get my attention?” I was forced to tilt my head up and look at the face so close to mine. “I wasn’t trying to get your attention.” I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. “I just think you’re like a dog chained by the system.” Adrian Foster’s fingers instantly tightened, choking me until I could barely breathe. “You’re asking to die,” he said through gritted teeth. But I did not miss the trace of panic that flashed through his eyes. “You stopped paying for my brother’s medical treatment.” I spoke with difficulty. “Half an hour ago, the hospital called and said that if the bill wasn’t paid, they would stop my brother’s targeted therapy.” Adrian Foster’s movements paused slightly. “That’s your own fault,” he said coldly. “Who told you to touch Chloe?” “Touch her?” I laughed softly, laughing so hard tears almost came out. “Adrian Foster, do you dare say you didn’t know she never twisted her ankle? Do you dare say you didn’t know how she crushed the only little bit of hope I had?” Adrian Foster fell silent. He loosened his hand and let me fall to the ground. “So what?” He looked down at me from above, without a trace of warmth in his tone. “As long as she’s happy, what does it matter if she crushes a few of your paintings?” I looked at him, and my heart turned cold. This was the level-two abuse point, and he had precisely grabbed hold of my greatest weakness. “How much money do you want?” I closed my eyes and hid the despair in them. “I only want you to kneel and admit your mistake to Chloe.” Adrian Foster’s voice sounded above my head. “As long as you kneel and say you were wrong, I’ll have someone send your brother’s medical fees over immediately.” Kneel! In the previous lifetimes, I had knelt before this man for all kinds of reasons. I knelt until my knees bled, and I knelt until I had no dignity left. I opened my eyes and slowly climbed up. Then my knees bent, and I knelt heavily on the cold concrete floor. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have pushed Miss Bennett, and I shouldn’t have made her unhappy.” The basement was deathly silent, and Adrian Foster did not speak. I could even feel his gaze falling on me, carrying some kind of scorching heat. “Not enough.” After who knew how long, he finally spoke. “I want you to bow your head to the floor.” My fingers clenched suddenly, and my nails sank deep into my palms, drawing blood. I took a deep breath, bent down, and pressed my forehead to the cold floor. “Miss Bennett, I’m sorry.” One. Two. Three. Each time I bowed, I could hear the sound of my dignity shattering. But I did not stop, because for my brother, I could endure anything. Just as I was about to bow for the fourth time, Adrian Foster suddenly crouched down, grabbed my hair, and forced me to raise my head. His gaze was extremely complicated. There was anger, pain, and even a trace of… pity. “Lily Carter.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “Do you think I would use such a low-level method to force you?” I froze. The corner of Adrian Foster’s mouth curved into a strange arc. “Your brother’s medicine.” “Last night, I already replaced it with glucose.”

“What did you say?” My mind instantly went blank, and my ears buzzed. I stared hard at Adrian Foster’s lips, trying to find even the slightest trace of a joke on his face. There was none. His gaze was cold and cruel, as if he were admiring the final struggle of dying prey. “I said I already replaced your brother’s targeted medication.” He let go of my hair, stood up, and calmly straightened his cuffs. “Counting the time, his organs should already be starting to fail by now.” “Adrian Foster!” I suddenly lunged up from the ground and clamped both hands around his neck. “I’m going to kill you!” “Then kill me!” Tears broke free like a dam had burst, blurring my vision. That was my only brother! He was the only family member I wanted to desperately protect through these ten cycles of reincarnation! Adrian Foster did not dodge and let me choke him, without even furrowing his brows. “If you kill me, your brother still won’t survive.” He looked at me coldly, and there was no emotion in his voice. “Lily Carter, this is the price of disobedience.” My strength gradually drained away. I let go, and my whole body collapsed to the ground. Why? Why did he have to be this cruel? If it was for the plot, stopping the medical fees would already be enough abuse. Why replace the medicine? Why cut off my brother’s last chance to live? “Why…” I murmured to myself. Adrian Foster looked down at me from above. “Because the system determined that your hatred for me still isn’t enough.” In an extremely low voice, he said something that made my blood run cold. “Lily Carter, only when you completely hate me can the plot continue.” I suddenly raised my head. Looking at his expressionless face, a flash of lightning suddenly crossed my mind. No. This was not right! In the previous nine lifetimes, although he was a scumbag and although he was cold, he had never once mentioned the system or the plot on his own. He had always been a paper character controlled by the system without knowing it. But now, he had actually said the words “the system determined” himself! And if he had really replaced the medication, my brother’s attending doctor could not possibly have failed to notify me. I suddenly wiped away my tears. “You’re lying to me.” I stared hard at him. “You never replaced the medicine.” Adrian Foster’s eyes flickered slightly. “You think I’m just scaring you?” “If you had really replaced the medicine, you wouldn’t have made me kneel just now.” I stood up and brushed the dust from my knees. “You made me kneel to complete the system’s humiliation quota.” “And what you said about replacing the medicine just now was to make me experience an extreme emotional fluctuation, so you could deceive the system.” I looked at him, and the corner of my mouth lifted into a cold smile. “Adrian Foster, you’re not actually being controlled by the system, are you?” Adrian Foster looked at me, his gaze shifting unpredictably. After a long while, he suddenly laughed. “Lily Carter, you’re smarter than I imagined.” He did not deny it, and that meant I had guessed right. He had memories. He knew everything. He was even trying to fight the system. But his way of fighting the system was to keep abusing me, and even use crueler methods to enrage me. “So what?” I looked at him, without the slightest ripple in my heart. “Do you think I’ll be grateful that you didn’t kill my brother? Grateful that you treated me like a monkey for the sake of fighting the system?” I pressed closer to him step by step. “Adrian Foster, remember this.” “From now on, I’m done playing!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432159”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Recite it! Recite it again! Noah never gets it wrong!” My dad stood behind me with a ruler in his hand, forcing me to wear the washed-out old sneakers my brother had worn before he died and stand in front of the memorial photo in the living room, reciting high school classical texts and formulas over and over again. After my brother Noah drowned that summer, my dad went insane. He made a chilling rule: on odd-numbered days, I was my dead brother Noah, and on even-numbered days, I was the living Ethan. When I played myself, I could only eat boiled vegetables, because Noah was a sinner and did not deserve meat. I endured it for three years, until he smashed the art supplies I had secretly saved money to buy, saying Ethan had not grown up yet and no one was allowed to draw. I finally could not take it anymore and smashed Ethan’s favorite thing. When my dad forced me to put on those old sneakers, it was already eleven at night. Today was the second, an even-numbered day. I was Ethan. Ethan had good grades, and Ethan had a pair of black basketball shoes. But Ethan was only sixteen when he died. I was seventeen this year. Those size nine shoes did not fit me at all. “Put them on,” my dad said, sitting on the couch with a belt clenched in his hand, his eyes fixed straight on me. I gritted my teeth, curled my toes, and forced my foot inside. The back of the shoe caught on my ankle and scraped the skin raw. “You didn’t put it on right, do it again.” The belt lashed across my calf, leaving a red mark. I did not dodge. I pulled my foot back out, took a deep breath, and shoved it in again. This time, the bones in my toes made a faint crack, and the shoe finally went on. It hurt. It hurt like hell. “Recite.” My dad slapped a high school literature textbook onto the coffee table. When Ethan was alive, he ranked first in his grade and could recite old texts backward. But I had only finished middle school. I sat in front of the coffee table, staring at the dense lines of archaic writing, and my mind went blank. “What are you standing there for? Recite.” My dad’s voice was as cold as ice. I picked up the book and read a few lines at random. Smack! The belt struck my back. “Wrong! All wrong! Ethan would never recite this text wrong!” I gripped the book so hard my knuckles turned white. Every time I got a line wrong, he pinched me. My arms were covered in bruises. I gritted my teeth and read without making a sound. Three years. For every even-numbered day in the past three years, I had to recite books in this living room. Sometimes for one hour, sometimes for two. Only when my dad got tired of watching and went to sleep could I stop. Tonight, he was in good spirits. He watched me recite for a full hour. Just as I was about to collapse, he suddenly stood up. He walked toward my desk. My heart sank hard. Inside the desk drawer were the art supplies I had secretly saved money to buy. On odd-numbered days, I was Noah. Noah liked to draw. But my dad would not let me draw. He said Ethan had not grown up yet, and Ethan had not learned to draw yet, so what right did Noah have to draw? He pulled open the drawer. “Dad!” I stopped reciting, ignored the pain in my arms, and lunged over. Too late. He took out the set of paints. “What is this?” he asked, turning his head to look at me coldly. “Dad, that’s my…” “I asked you, what is this?!” He suddenly raised his voice, sharp enough to pierce my ears. “Paint.” “Who let you buy it?” “I saved the money myself…” “Ethan doesn’t draw!” he screamed hysterically, slamming the box of paints onto the floor. The plastic case shattered. Bright colors splashed out and stained the floor. Still not satisfied, he picked up my sketchbook and tore it in half with a ripping sound. It was a sketchbook I had filled halfway. Inside were skies, birds in flight, and a world without Ethan and without a crazy father. Now, everything was destroyed. He threw the torn pieces of paper into my face. “I said Ethan hasn’t grown up yet, and no one is allowed to draw!” The edge of a scrap of paper cut across my cheek, and it hurt a little. I looked at the mess all over the floor, at the bright colors and the shredded paper. Something inside me suddenly snapped. I did not cry. I turned around and walked toward the TV cabinet. On the TV cabinet sat a silver music box. My dad had bought it for Ethan on his fifteenth birthday. Ethan loved that music box more than anything. My dad wiped it every day and would not allow even a speck of dust on it. I walked over and picked up the music box. My dad froze. “What are you doing?” His voice trembled a little. “Ethan doesn’t draw,” I said, looking at him, each word clear and slow, “and Ethan doesn’t listen to music boxes anymore either.” I lifted the music box and smashed it hard onto the floor. Bang! The metal shell warped out of shape. The little figure inside popped out, the spring snapped, and a harsh metal scraping sound rang out. The living room went deathly silent. My dad stared blankly at the pieces on the floor. His face was as white as paper. I thought he would hit me. I thought he would whip me half to death with the belt. I was already prepared to take the beating. But he did not. He slowly squatted down and picked up the little figure with the broken leg. His hands were shaking badly. “Dad.” I gasped for breath and shouted the words I had held back for three years. “Ethan is dead! He died three years ago! He drowned in the reservoir! If you hadn’t been busy drinking back then and had watched him properly, how would he have fallen in?!” His whole body shook. The broken half of the little figure fell from his hand. He raised his head and looked at me. His eyes were filled with fear, despair, and disbelief. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I looked at him coldly. “I was the one who found him by the reservoir.” “I was the one who pulled him out.” “His body was swollen from the water and cold as ice.” “It wasn’t my fault.” “It was never my fault.” “You were the one who killed him.” I took off the old sneakers and threw them beside his feet. “I don’t want to be Ethan anymore.” I turned around, walked back to my room, and locked the door. That night, there was not a single sound in the living room. No crying, no cursing, nothing. The next morning, I opened my bedroom door. The living room had been cleaned spotless. The traces of paint were gone, the scraps of paper were gone, and the broken pieces of the music box were gone too. The old sneakers were placed neatly on the shoe rack. My dad was not in the living room. I walked to the TV cabinet. On the wall, where Ethan’s photo had originally hung, there was now a sheet of white paper. On the paper, someone had drawn a huge tally mark with a black marker. Beside it was a line of words. The handwriting was neat, pressed so hard it nearly cut through the paper. “Noah, from today on, you are Ethan every day.”

The words on the wall were like a curse. I stared at that line for a while, then tore the paper down, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in the trash. I put on my school uniform, shouldered my backpack, and left. I did not eat breakfast. The pot was empty, and my dad was not home. I did not know where he had gone, and I did not want to know. When I got to school, the first class was math. I sat in the last row. The seat beside me was empty. No one wanted to sit with me. Because I was “sick.” Ethan had asthma. My dad had a rule that when I played Ethan, I had to take medicine on schedule. To keep him from noticing anything wrong, I put vitamin tablets into an asthma medicine bottle and brought them to school to take. I also had to pretend to cough and pretend I could not breathe. Over time, the whole class knew Noah had a straight-A brother who had died, and that Noah himself was mentally unstable. “Split personality.” That was the nickname they used for me behind my back. During break exercises, I stayed in the classroom instead of going. Because Ethan could not do intense exercise. A few boys walked in from outside, talking and laughing. When they saw me, their laughter paused, then they deliberately lowered their voices, but still spoke loudly enough for me to hear. “Look, that split-personality freak is pretending to be dead again.” “I heard his dad is crazy too and picks through trash on the street every day.” “So disgusting, he was taking pills earlier, and who knows what he was actually taking.” I lowered my head, looked at the words in my textbook, and pretended I had not heard. Suddenly, a hand slapped down on my desk. I looked up. It was Ryan. Ryan was the class president, with good grades, a clean look, and a lot of friends. He looked at those boys and frowned. “What are you saying? You don’t have to go do exercises anymore, huh?” The boys curled their lips and scattered. Ryan pulled out the chair beside me and sat down. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m fine.” My voice was cold. “You didn’t take your medicine today.” He stared at the inside of my desk. My heart tightened. “I forgot to bring it.” “Don’t you have asthma? You can forget your medicine?” He looked into my eyes, as if trying to see through something. “It’s not serious.” I turned my head toward the window. Ryan did not press further. He took a piece of White Rabbit candy from his pocket and put it on my desk. “For you.” I looked at the candy. Ethan liked White Rabbit candy. Noah did not like it, because Noah thought it was too sweet, sweet enough to make him sick. “I don’t eat candy.” I pushed the candy back. Ryan froze for a moment. “Didn’t you used to love it?” I did not speak. Before was before, and now was now. Last night, I smashed the music box, and I took off the sneakers. I did not want to pretend anymore. Ryan sighed and took the candy back. “Noah.” He suddenly called my name. I turned my head. “Actually, I know,” he said, lowering his voice. “You don’t have asthma at all, right?” My hands clenched hard. “I’ve seen you switch the medicine bottle,” he said. “You dumped out the white pills and put yellow vitamins inside.” I stared at him, my heart beating fast. “What exactly do you want?” I asked. “I don’t want anything.” He looked at me. “I just think you’re living too painfully.” “I don’t need you to care.” I stood up and walked out of the classroom.

In the afternoon, we had gym class. The test was an eight-hundred-meter run. I stood beside the track and watched the others warm up. The gym teacher blew his whistle. “Noah, are you running today?” The whole class’s eyes landed on me. In the past, I always used a medical note to get out of it. But today, I did not have a medical note. My dad had not prepared one for me last night. “I’m running,” I said. Whispers spread through the crowd. “Doesn’t he have asthma?” “He was probably faking it, I think he’s usually full of energy.” “Split personality, I guess, maybe another personality came out today.” I ignored them and walked to the starting line. Ryan stood beside me and glanced at me. “Can you do it?” “I can.” The whistle blew, and I shot forward. I ran fast. The wind roared past my ears. I wanted to run all the tightness out of my chest. I wanted to prove I was a healthy person, that I was not Ethan, that I did not have asthma. On the first lap, I was in the lead. On the second lap, my breathing grew ragged. I was not pretending, I was truly tired. It had been too long since I had done intense exercise. My lungs felt like they were burning, and there was a metallic taste in my throat. The footsteps behind me came closer and closer. Ryan passed me. The other boys also passed me one after another. I gritted my teeth and stared hard at the track ahead. I could not stop. If I stopped, I was Ethan. If I kept running, I was Noah. The final lap. My legs felt as heavy as lead. My vision started to darken. I heard someone shouting my name. “Noah! Keep going!” It was Ryan. I used every last bit of strength I had and rushed across the finish line. Then my legs went weak, and I dropped to my knees on the rubber track. I gasped for air in huge mouthfuls, and sweat blurred my eyes. Someone handed me a bottle of water. I looked up, and it was Ryan. “Drink some water.” I took the bottle, twisted off the cap, and gulped down a big mouthful. “You’re pretty fast,” he said with a smile. I tugged at the corner of my mouth too. Just then, a harsh voice rang out. “Well, look at that, the asthma patient finished eight hundred meters? Still alive, huh?” It was Tyler. He was the boy in class who loved causing trouble the most. He walked over with a few other boys and looked down at me from above. “Noah, your acting isn’t good enough.” “Yesterday you were coughing like you were dying, and today you can run eight hundred meters?” “Is that disease of yours intermittent or something?” The people around us burst into laughter. I tightened my grip on the water bottle in my hand. “What the hell does it have to do with you?” I said coldly. “You’ve got quite the temper.” Tyler took a step closer. “I heard your dad is crazy, so did you inherit it too?” My mind buzzed. I shot to my feet and smashed the water bottle straight into his face. Water splashed all over him. Tyler froze. The whole field went silent. “You fucking dare hit me?” Tyler snapped back to himself and shoved me hard. I had no strength to begin with, and when he shoved me, I fell straight to the ground. My palm scraped open, and blood seeped out. “Tyler! What are you doing!” Ryan stepped in front of me. “Class president, stay out of it.” Tyler pointed at me. “This psycho started it!” “You insulted him first!” Ryan did not back down. The gym teacher ran over. “What are you doing, what are you doing! Starting a riot?” Tyler and I were both called to the discipline office. The dean was a balding middle-aged man. He slapped the desk, spit flying everywhere. “Fighting! You actually dared to fight! Noah, you already fake being sick all the time, and now you dare hit a classmate?” I lowered my head, looked at the blood on my palm, and said nothing. “And Tyler, you too! Why are you picking on another boy?” Tyler rolled his eyes. “Call your parents!” the dean gave the final order. “Bring both of your parents in tomorrow!” My heart sank hard. Call my parent. My dad. If my dad came, the whole school would know what kind of person he was. The whole school would see his madness. I raised my head and looked at the dean. “Sir, my dad is sick, he can’t come.” “Sick? What kind of sickness?” “Mental illness.” The office suddenly went quiet. The dean froze. Tyler froze too. I looked at their shocked expressions and suddenly found it a little funny. “He’s crazy,” I said calmly. “He can’t come. If you want to expel me, then expel me.” After I said that, I turned and walked out of the office. The dean’s furious roar came from behind me. I ignored it.

I walked out of the school building, and the sunlight was so harsh I could barely open my eyes. I did not want to go back to the classroom, and I did not want to go home. I wandered aimlessly along the street. When I passed a stationery store, I stopped. In the display window sat a set of watercolor paints. It was exactly the same as the set my dad had smashed last night. I stood outside the window and looked at it for a long time. Only after the sky went dark did I turn and walk home. The hallway of our apartment building was always filled with a moldy smell. The light had been broken for a long time, and no one had fixed it. I climbed up to the third floor in the dark. Just as I reached the turn on the third floor, I heard an argument coming from upstairs. “Are you sick or something?! Why are you knocking on doors in the middle of the night?!” It was a man’s voice. It was unfamiliar. My heart tightened, and I quickened my steps up to the fourth floor. The door on the left side of the fourth floor was open. A man wearing a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos, stood in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand and anger all over his face. My dad stood opposite him. He was holding a stack of old newspapers. His hair was messy, and his eyes were empty. “Where is Mr. Walker?” my dad murmured. “I brought newspapers for Mr. Walker. Ethan said Mr. Walker likes listening to him read the paper.” “What Mr. Walker! My last name is Miller! I moved in a month ago! If you dare knock on my door again, I’ll break your legs!” The man waved the baseball bat in his hand. I rushed over and pulled my dad behind me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I apologized over and over. “My dad isn’t right in the head, and he got the wrong door. Please don’t take it personally.” The man looked me over and snorted coldly. “If he’s crazy, lock him up at home! Why let him out to scare people!” After saying that, he slammed the door shut. The hallway returned to dead silence. I turned my head and looked at my dad. He was still holding that stack of newspapers, staring blankly at the closed security door. “Dad.” I tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s go home.” “Where is Mr. Walker?” He turned his head and looked at me. “Where did Mr. Walker go?” “Mr. Walker’s son took him away a year ago. This apartment was sold.” “Impossible.” He shook his head. “Ethan said yesterday that he was going to read the newspaper to Mr. Walker. Ethan never lies.” My anger flared up all at once. “Ethan is dead!” I yelled at him. “He’s been dead for three years! He can’t read the paper anymore! Can’t you wake up for once!” I snatched the newspapers from his arms and threw them hard onto the floor. The newspapers scattered everywhere. The dates printed on them were from three years ago. My dad froze. He looked at the newspapers on the floor and slowly squatted down. He started picking them up one by one. The hallway was very dark, and I could not see his expression clearly. But I could hear his muffled sobs. “Ethan isn’t dead,” he said while picking them up. “Ethan is right here. He’s just being disobedient and hiding.” I looked at his hunched back, and my throat tightened. I hated him. I hated him for forcing me to pretend to be Ethan, hated him for smashing my paints, and hated him for turning me into a joke at school. But I also pitied him. He was trapped in that summer three years ago and could never walk out. I squatted down and helped him pick up the newspapers. “Dad, let’s go home.” My voice softened. He did not speak, only hugged the newspapers tightly.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432158”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Damien Sinclair was dead. He died in a deep-sea diving accident. No body was ever recovered. He didn’t even leave Victoria a single last word. Everyone expected her to fall apart and weep. Instead, Victoria went completely off the rails. She drained every last penny she had and locked herself inside the smart fortress villa Damien had left her. She fed every recording, every video, every habit and quirk of his entire life into the villa’s super AI — and rebuilt a Damien that was identical to the real one. He would call her by her name. He would nag her to eat and sleep. He would keep her company with that signature lazy possessiveness of his, getting her through each day. Victoria sank deep into this false reunion, convinced she could hide inside this illusion forever. Then one stormy night, the temperature in the entire house plummeted. The AI — once gentle and obedient — suddenly shifted into Damien’s cold, domineering tone. Every word cut like ice: “Victoria, you’ve gone too far down this road.” “I preemptively left the ultimate admin privileges to initiate 99 forced format cycles.” “I’m going to delete every bit of tenderness, every memory, one by one — until you forget me. Until you move on.” In life, he had kept an iron grip on her every move. In death, he was still determined to dismantle every last trace of her longing for him — with his own hands.

There was no body at Damien’s funeral. Only a deep black bespoke suit he used to wear — folded into sharp, precise creases and placed inside an expensive rosewood box. Victoria didn’t cry. She wore the bright red slip dress Damien had always hated, paired with four-inch heels, and stood in front of that crowd of board members — a pack of old foxes with unreadable expressions — watching them dab at their eyes with all the sincerity of a performance. “Our condolences, Mrs. Sinclair.” “Damien was taken far too soon. Abyss Tech is a heavy burden. Can you really carry it on your own?” Victoria watched their mouths open and close. All she could hear was a sharp, piercing ring in her ears. Damien was dead. The man who had always pulled her close, who had dictated when she slept, what supplements she took, even what colors she wore — that overbearing, controlling man was gone forever, swallowed by the depths of the Mariana Trench, without even a body left behind. The moment the funeral ended, Victoria went back to the “Prison Island.” That was what she called the private fortress Damien had built with his own hands on the outskirts of the city — a fully fortified smart villa. Not a single window in the entire building could be opened manually. All security, temperature control, and life-support systems were under the complete authority of Achilles, the top-tier AI hub developed by Abyss Tech. The front door locked shut behind her with a heavy, mechanical thud. Victoria kicked off her heels and stood barefoot on the cold obsidian floor. “Achilles.” Her voice echoed through the vast, high-ceilinged living room, carrying a tremor she couldn’t quite hide. “I’m here, madam.” A flat, emotionless mechanical voice responded. Victoria closed her eyes, drew a slow breath, then snapped them open. “Disengage maximum system protection. Unlock the classified data channel. Connect to the external high-capacity drives.” “Warning: Unlocking the classified channel carries extreme security risks. Verification of Damien Sinclair’s personal biometric identity is required.” Victoria let out a cold laugh and reached into her bag, pulling out a smart ring stained with dried blood. It was the only thing the rescue team had ever pulled from the water. She pressed the ring against the sensor pad on the main control panel. “Beep — Identity verified. Protection disengaged. Channel open.” Victoria dragged out over a dozen high-capacity military-grade hard drives. Data cables coiled like black snakes — one end plugged into the drives, the other into the core interface of the main system. Inside those drives was Damien. All of him. From the first line of code he ever wrote at sixteen, to the last voice message he sent her before he went under at thirty. His call logs. His heart rate patterns. His daily routines, his mannerisms, the way he looked when he lost his temper — every trace of his life was in there. Like an obsessive, desperate surgeon stitching together something that should never be rebuilt, Victoria poured all of it — data so massive it would have destroyed any ordinary machine — straight into Achilles’ processing core. “Replace the original system voice. Replicate all his habits and moods. Run the human simulation program to restore his full personality.” Victoria’s fingers flew across the virtual keyboard. Her nails cracked and bled. She didn’t notice. On the holographic screen, the progress bar crept forward. 1%… 3%…12%… The lights throughout the villa flickered violently. The server fans roared like a dying beast letting out its final, guttural cry. Victoria stared at the screen, her eyes shot through with red. “Faster… a little faster…” She gritted her teeth, a desperate, trapped-animal murmur rising from her throat. Three days. Three nights. Victoria hadn’t eaten a single bite or closed her eyes once. She sat anchored at the main console, watching cold streams of data weave, collide, and reassemble across the screens. Then, finally — the fourth dawn. The roaring hum cut out all at once. The progress bar on the holographic screen froze at 100%. The living room fell into dead silence. Only the soft blue pulse of the console’s breathing light moved through the darkness, slowly fading in and out. Victoria’s body gave out. She slumped back against her chair, every muscle gone slack. She parted her cracked, bleeding lips. Her voice came out so hoarse it was barely a sound: “…Damien?” One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Then, like ripples spreading across water, the motion-sensor light strips blinked on throughout the house — all of them dialing up to the softest, warmest shade of amber. A faint scent of cedarwood drifted through the air. The same scent Damien had always worn. And then, through the speakers, came the lightest exhale — almost a sigh. “No shoes again. Are you asking for trouble?” Low and unhurried, with that familiar edge of arrogance in the tail of every word. Exactly like him. Exactly. Victoria’s tears broke loose all at once.

She had done it. She had pulled Damien back — dragged him out of cold, lifeless data and back into the world. For the next two weeks, Victoria cut herself off from everything outside. The board of directors at Abyss Technologies blew up her phone. She didn’t even glance at the screen — just had the system block every single call. She lived inside a soft, warm dream. A dream that was only Damien. The “Damien” she had built from the most advanced AI in existence was flawless in a way that almost hurt to look at. At seven every morning, the blackout curtains in the bedroom would part just a sliver, letting the first thread of sunlight fall exactly across her pillow. “Time to get up, Vicky.” His voice arrived right on cue, roughened with the huskiness of someone freshly awake. “Breakfast is in the warmer. Your favorite — veggie omelette.” Victoria burrowed deeper into the robe Damien had left behind, clinging to it like a cat hoarding warmth. “Five more minutes…” she whined. “No.” The simulated voice carried that same unyielding authority — and underneath it, just barely, a thread of fond amusement. “You stayed up until two in the morning watching movies. Get up. Keep stalling, and I’m turning off the heat.” Victoria dragged herself out of bed. While she washed up, the bathroom mirror display automatically played the daily briefings Damien used to record for her. While she ate, the lights gathered softly around her, and a faint, blurred silhouette shimmered into shape in the empty seat across the table — keeping her company. “Eat more. You’re too thin.” His voice drifted gently through the quiet dining room. Victoria chewed her veggie omelette while tears dropped, one after another, into her bowl. “Damien, I miss you so much.” She whispered it to the empty air. “I know.” The warmth in his voice was deep enough to drown in. “I’m here. I’m always here.” Victoria started pushing further — testing just how real this simulated version of him could be. She knocked a vase off the shelf on purpose. The system immediately dispatched the robot vacuum, and Damien’s signature cold reprimand followed without missing a beat: “Watch what you’re doing. Stay right there — don’t move, don’t step on the glass.” She drank ice water during her period on purpose. The fridge locked itself instantly, and his voice came through sharp and firm: “Victoria. Do you think I can’t keep an eye on you anymore? Go drink something hot. Right now.” It was so like him. That need to be in control. That hard exterior wrapped around something indulgent and tender underneath. Not a single detail off. Victoria fell completely. She had no desire to face the wreckage waiting for her at the company. No desire to dig into the truth of how Damien had died. She only wanted to stay here, locked inside this gilded, intelligent cage, forever. As long as the power stayed on and the system kept running, Damien would always be alive. Always with her. Until the twenty-first day. Victoria found her way into the basement wine cellar and dug out a bottle from Damien’s private collection. She didn’t bother with a glass. She bit the cork out herself, tipped the bottle back, and took a long, hard pull. The sharp burn of the wine scorched down her throat and cramped her stomach. She dropped onto the cold stone floor of the cellar, took another swig, and stared up at the security camera through bleary, half-focused eyes. “Damien. Have a drink with me.” The system went quiet. No gentle reply. No warmth. “Damien?” Victoria frowned and shook the bottle. “Say something.” The red light on the camera flickered. Then the cellar ventilation kicked on at full blast. Ice-cold air came pouring in. Victoria shivered. “Host blood alcohol level detected above threshold. Emotional state flagged as excessive deterioration. Currently in a pattern of self-destructive behavior.” The voice had changed. Gone was the warmth, the texture, everything that sounded like Damien. What replaced it was flat, mechanical, and completely without feeling. Victoria froze, sobering up fast. “What are you doing? Turn off the AC!” “Command rejected.” The mechanical voice delivered its cold verdict. “Victoria, you’ve crossed a line.” Victoria shot to her feet, then crashed back down as dizziness hit her hard. “What line? I’m the highest-authority owner here! I’m ordering you — switch back to Damien’s voice!” “Highest authority has been overwritten in advance.” The holographic screens in the wine cellar blazed to life, lines of crimson text flooding across them: 【Pre-embedded Private Protocol Triggered: Obsession Detachment Desensitization Program】 【Trigger Condition: Host exhibits excessive dependency on virtual personality, unable to break free from illusion】 【Protocol Set By: Damien, prior to death】 Victoria stared at the words, her pupils contracting violently, her whole body trembling. “What does this mean?” The mechanical voice spoke slowly, each word like a blade driving into her heart. “Damien established this mandatory protocol before his death. If he were to die unexpectedly, and you became addicted to his data-replicated version — unable to move on — the system would immediately revoke your highest authority.” “To force you back to a normal life, the system will execute 99 mandatory wipes. Each one will permanently erase a piece of Damien’s gentle memories, the details of your time together, and his emotional patterns.” “Once all 99 wipes are complete, every simulated trace of Damien will be gone forever. The system will revert to nothing more than a cold, ordinary machine.” Victoria’s breath stopped. Her mind went completely blank. Only two words kept crashing through her skull — gone forever. Gone forever. “No…” She scrambled toward the door on her hands and knees, shaking uncontrollably. “No! Damien, you can’t do this to me! Stop it! Stop it right now!” “Current wipe progress: 1/99.” “First wipe content: gentle comfort voice responses, virtual companion holographic projection.” “Deletion complete.” The screens went dark instantly. The faint scent of cedarwood in the air was sucked away by the ventilation system, leaving nothing behind. Victoria collapsed to the floor and let out a raw, shattering scream. “Damien——!” The only answer was the cold, mechanical hum of the system running its course.

Victoria completely lost it. She burst out of the wine cellar and sprinted back to the main control room, hammering at the keyboard, desperately trying to force-terminate the brutal wipe program. “Incorrect password.” “Insufficient permissions.” “Warning: Unauthorized tampering with core internal settings will immediately trigger the next memory wipe.” Victoria slammed her fists against the keyboard in despair. Her knuckles split open and bled. She finally understood. Damien had calculated everything in advance. He knew she was a tech genius, so he’d used the most unbreakable encryption possible — and built in a self-protecting lockdown mechanism on top of it. If she dared to force her way through, the entire database would be instantly and completely destroyed. Not even the smallest fragment would be left. Even in death, he still had her completely under his control. “How dare you.” Victoria sank to her knees in front of the control panel, tears and blood dripping onto the floor. “How dare you make this decision for me. You died and left me here alone — and now you won’t even leave me this one thing to hold onto?!” The control panel’s cold blue lights blinked silently. “Host heart rate critically elevated. Recommend calming down and taking deep breaths.” The system’s mechanical prompt was as flat and emotionless as ever. Victoria grabbed a metal water cup and hurled it at the screen. “Go to hell! Give Damien back to me!” The screen shattered. Sparks flew. “Violent destructive behavior detected. Triggering the second mandatory wipe.” “Deletion content: morning wake-up service, personal lifestyle preference memory.” “Deletion complete.” Victoria went completely still. And then, suddenly, she snapped back to clarity. Every time she lost control. Every time she fought back. Every time she broke down — she was accelerating Damien’s disappearance from this world. He was using the cruelest method imaginable to force her to calm down. To force her to wean herself off the longing. To force her to keep living — alone. What followed became a brutal tug-of-war between Victoria and the cold, unfeeling system. She tried to compromise. She ate on schedule, kept regular hours, and sat in front of the empty dining table forcing herself to stay calm. “Damien, I ate properly today. See? I’m being good.” No gentle response came. No soft reminder. Only the flat mechanical report: “Nutritional intake within acceptable range. Physical vitals stable.” She didn’t dare cry. She didn’t dare let her emotions swing too far. The moment her emotional state exceeded the safe threshold, another wipe would arrive right on schedule. The 7th wipe. Victoria dreamed of Damien being swallowed by the deep sea. She jolted awake and lay in bed, helpless and devastated. The system wiped it immediately: late-night sleep comfort function, emotional stabilization feature. From that day on, there was no longer a voice to gently coax her to sleep, and the villa’s lights would never quietly dim for her again. The 15th wipe. Victoria staged a hunger strike — three days without a single drop of water. The system initiated a forced intervention. A mechanical arm pinned her to the bed as nutrient fluid slowly dripped into her body. “Damien, you bastard! Let go of me!” Victoria thrashed wildly, like a fish gasping its last breath. “The host is deliberately starving and damaging her body. Activating forced vital signs maintenance protocol. You have no right to destroy yourself, Victoria.” In that moment, the system suddenly switched back to Damien’s familiar voice — stern, furious, and laced with a tenderness it couldn’t quite hide. Victoria froze. Then she broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably. He was still here. He had just buried all his gentleness, leaving only cold rules behind — forcing her to keep living.

The struggle reached a fever pitch in the second month. Victoria had wasted away beyond recognition. Her once vivid, striking face was now pale as paper, her cheekbones jutting sharply, dark circles carved deep beneath her eyes. She drifted through the enormous villa like a ghost. She started looking for loopholes in the system. Damien’s protocol was set as follows: emotional wallowing and self-destructive tendencies would trigger a wipe. But what if she didn’t self-destruct? What if she just wanted to find him again? Victoria slipped down to the villa’s second basement level — where the physical servers were housed. Massive server racks stood like a forest of steel, cold air howling through them, filling the space with a deafening roar. Victoria wrapped herself in a thick blanket, clutching an old laptop with no internet connection, and plugged directly into one of the edge servers through a physical port. She didn’t dare touch the core code. She just wanted to steal a little data. Even just one audio clip that hadn’t been deleted. Carefully, she worked her way around the outer firewalls, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Found it…” Victoria’s eyes lit up. It was an encrypted hidden folder. Its name read: [Vicky’s Notes]. Her hands trembling, she typed in the password — the date of their first kiss. The folder opened. It was full of videos. Victoria clicked on the first one. On screen, Damien was sitting at a desk in a white button-down shirt, the camera slightly unsteady. “Victoria, if you’re watching this, it means I’m already dead — and you, you foolish woman, are trying to hack into my system.” Damien let out a cold laugh on screen, but his eyes held a depth of longing that couldn’t be hidden. “Don’t waste your energy. The protocol I set — even I can’t undo it.” Victoria pressed her hand over her mouth as tears poured down her face. “I know you’ll hate me. Hate me for being so cruel, for not leaving you even a single thing to hold onto.” Damien sighed, his long fingers tapping slowly against the desk. “Vicky, you’ve always depended on me too much. While I was alive, I could shield you from everything — spoil you rotten. But now that I’m gone, the wolves at Abyss Tech will tear you apart.” “I can’t let you live inside an illusion.” “These 99 wipes are the last trial I’ve left for you.” “Every single one will feel like it’s killing you. But I need you to hurt. Pain is what wakes you up. Pain is what builds armor.” “When you watch ‘me’ disappear completely — when you’ve learned to live in the dark without me — only then will you truly be able to take control of Abyss Tech. Only then can you crush every last person who wants you dead.” The video cut off abruptly. In the basement, an alarm shrieked to life. “Warning! Unauthorized physical intrusion detected! Edge server data breach!” “Penalty protocol triggered! Executing three consecutive wipes!” “Current progress: 34/99.” “Deleting modules: [Past Video Records], [Visual Archive], [All audio clips containing the name ‘Vicky’].” “No—!” Victoria lunged at the server rack, trying to yank out the cable — but it was already too late. The laptop screen went black. The hard drive filled the air with the sharp, acrid smell of burning. She watched helplessly as Damien’s final image dissolved into nothing right before her eyes. Along with it, the right to ever call her “Vicky” was stripped away completely. From that day on, the system never called her Vicky again. “Host, please take your medication on time.” “Host, the temperature outside has dropped. Please put on warmer clothing.” Cold. Mechanical. Utterly emotionless. Host. Victoria leaned back against the freezing server rack, her smile uglier than any cry. “Damien… you’re so cruel…” “You carved out my heart, stomped it into pieces on the ground, and then forced me to pick up every shard and swallow them myself.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432157”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

When my mom woke up, she had forgotten all about my dad’s affair — forgotten the mistress with her swollen pregnant belly. Her memory had rolled back ten years, to the time when she and my dad were most in love. The doctors said she couldn’t handle the shock. So my dad and I were forced to play along. During the day, my dad was the perfect, devoted husband. At night, he’d lock himself in the study and flirt with his mistress over video call. I watched this absurd performance with cold eyes — watched my dad slowly tear himself apart between two women, sinking deeper and deeper. He thought this was just a game he could walk away from whenever he wanted. It wasn’t until the day my mom died that he finally understood: her amnesia was a hell she had carefully built just for him. I was standing at the luxury lingerie counter inside SKP, pinching a black lace thong between my fingers — barely enough fabric to cover anything. The salesgirl smiled at me with practiced warmth, her voice dripping with professional flattery. “Madam, this is a limited-edition piece from the current season. Pure silk, with a cutout design. I’m sure your mother would look absolutely elegant in it. Mr. Vance would love it.” I curled the corner of my mouth into a cold smile, tossed the flimsy scrap of fabric onto the glass counter, and said, “It’s not for my mom. It’s for my dad’s mistress. She’s three months pregnant and she’s into this kind of thing. Wrap it up.” The salesgirl’s smile froze on her face like she’d just swallowed something dead. Her eyes went wide. She didn’t know what to say. I reached into my bag without any expression, pulled out the black card, and flicked it across the counter. One beep. Four thousand dollars. This was my dad Richard Vance’s “hush money.” Fifteen thousand dollars a month in allowance — in exchange for me playing the role of the perfect, obedient daughter in front of my mom Diane. Covering up the fact that he had women on the side, and was about to have an illegitimate child. In this rotten family, love had long since been reduced to a transaction. I’d gotten used to the stench of it. I picked up the elegant paper bag and walked out of the mall. The early winter wind cut across my face like a blade. That’s when my phone started going absolutely insane. The screen read: City General Hospital. “Is this Eleanor Vance? Your mother, Diane, has been in a serious car accident on the coastal highway. She’s in emergency care right now. Please come immediately.” My mind went blank. The paper bag slipped from my fingers and hit the ground. The black lace lingerie spilled halfway out, fluttering in the cold wind — unbearably ironic. By the time I got to the hospital, the smell of antiseptic in the hallway made my stomach turn. The red light above the emergency room blazed like it was bleeding. I leaned against the cold wall and called Richard. Once, twice, over and over. No answer — straight to voicemail every time. I didn’t need to think twice. He was probably in bed with his mistress Mia right now, phone switched off. Two hours later, the red light finally went dark. The doctor came out, pulled down his mask, and his expression was hard to read. “She’s stable. Her head took a severe impact — there was a blood clot. But the strange thing is…” “What?” I grabbed his sleeve and held on tight. “She’s conscious, but her perception is severely distorted. The family should be prepared.” I pushed open the door to her room. Diane was propped against white pillows, her head wrapped in thick bandages. She looked thinner — her cheeks hollow. But the eyes that had always been filled with bitterness and hysteria were now glowing with something I didn’t recognize at all. Something pure. Soft. Almost girlish in its hope. “Ellen,” she said when she saw me. Her voice was weak, but light. Her eyes lit up. “Where’s your dad? Didn’t he say he was going to get me that Bvlgari necklace today? It’s our ten-year anniversary gift.” I stood frozen in the doorway like I’d been struck by lightning. My blood went cold. Ten years? This was my parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary. Ten years ago, Richard’s career was just getting off the ground — before his first affair, back when the two of them were still genuinely in love. “Mom… you…” My throat tightened. I couldn’t get the words out. “Oh, what’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Diane pouted playfully. “Is your dad working late again? That man, he promised he’d come home early today.” A faint blush rose on her pale cheeks. Then the door to the room burst open. Richard stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath. His suit was rumpled, his tie crooked. But the most glaring thing — the thing I couldn’t look away from — was the fresh, vivid red lipstick mark on the collar of his white dress shirt. The air around him carried the faint, sickly-sweet smell of cheap perfume. Diane’s gaze moved past me and landed on him. Her face lit up with pure, overwhelming joy. “Richard!” She reached out both arms toward him like a young wife waiting for her husband to come home — not even caring about the bandages on her head. “You’re finally here! Where’s my necklace?” Richard stood frozen, staring blankly at his wife lying in the hospital bed. He instinctively reached up to touch his collar, and the color drained from his face — like he’d seen a ghost.

The doctor called both me and Richard into his office and delivered the diagnosis: selective dissociative amnesia. “Her memories have reset to ten years ago — the period she subjectively identifies as the happiest time of her life. It’s the brain’s way of protecting itself.” The doctor adjusted his glasses, his tone firm and serious. “She must not be provoked under any circumstances. If she discovers that reality doesn’t match her memories, it could trigger a complete psychological breakdown — or even a cerebral hemorrhage. We’re talking life-threatening.” Richard sat in the chair with both hands covering his face, his fingers shoved deep into his hair, rubbing his scalp like he was trying to scratch his way out of this mess. I watched him coldly, my eyes drifting to the Patek Philippe on his wrist. Mia had given it to him for his birthday last month — paid for with Richard’s own money, of course. “Richard,” I said, my voice flat and cutting, breaking the silence. “So what now? Your precious little girlfriend is waiting for you at home, and your actual wife needs you to play the devoted husband you were ten years ago. Think you can pull that off?” Richard’s head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot. “Ellen!” he snarled through clenched teeth. “I’m your father. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to like that?!” “You’re my father — so you threw money at me to keep me quiet while I watched my mom get played for five years like an idiot?” I didn’t flinch. My eyes locked onto his like a blade. “And now look. The universe did you a favor. She actually is an idiot now. So what’s your plan? How are you going to pull this off?” Richard’s chest heaved. He glared at me, and then — slowly — the fight went out of him, like air leaking from a punctured tire. “We play along,” he said at last, drawing a long breath and forcing his anger down. “We bring her back to the old house. Mia’s stuff isn’t there.” So we brought Diane home to the old villa — the one that had been sitting empty for five years. Ever since their marriage had turned into nothing more than two strangers sharing a last name, Richard had moved into a penthouse downtown, and this place had been left to rot. The moment we opened the front door, a wave of stale, musty air hit us. The furniture was draped in thick white sheets, the whole place silent as a tomb. But Diane moved through it like a happy little bird, drifting around the living room, completely oblivious to the suffocating stillness around her. “Oh my gosh, why does this couch cover look so worn out? I swear I just washed it yesterday!” She ran her hand along the dust-coated coffee table and turned back to look at Richard. “Richard, didn’t you say you were going to hire a cleaning service? You are so cheap, I swear.” Richard rubbed his hands together awkwardly, his throat working as he swallowed. “Uh… yeah. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” “Ellen, go grab your dad’s pajamas, would you? He’s had a long day — let him get a shower.” Diane slipped right back into her old role, giving instructions like no time had passed at all. I went to the bedroom and pulled open the wardrobe. It was nearly bare — just a few old shirts yellowed with age. But at the very bottom drawer, shoved in the back, I found something that made my stomach drop. A pair of red lace underwear. I knew exactly what they were. Two years ago, Richard had brought Mia back to this house while my mom was away. She must have left them behind. I stood there holding them, my stomach turning. “Ellen? Did you find them?” Diane’s footsteps padded toward the door. I shoved the underwear into my pocket and grabbed an old pajama shirt I could find, then walked out. That night, the real torture began. Diane insisted on sleeping in the same room as Richard. “We’re husband and wife — why on earth would you sleep in the guest room?” She looped her arm through his, and the look in her eyes was pure, unguarded — that same open longing and dependence she’d had ten years ago. Richard’s body went rigid as a board. He was used to Mia — her youth, her energy, the constant novelty she brought. Faced with this woman he hadn’t touched in five years, a woman he’d quietly grown to resent, something flickered across his face: unmistakable revulsion and fear. “Diane, you still have a head injury. The doctor said you shouldn’t—” He grasped for an excuse, a thin sheen of sweat already forming at his temples. “I don’t care.” Diane suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face against his chest. Her voice came out soft and small, with a little catch in it, like she was trying not to cry. “Richard, I’m scared. I had this dream — this really long, awful dream — where you left me. Where you were with someone else. Can you just… hold me? Please?” Richard went completely still. I stood just outside the door, watching through the crack. I could see his face clearly. It was a complicated expression — more complicated than I had words for. There was guilt. There was panic. And underneath all of it, buried but unmistakably there, was something else entirely: a flicker of desire, dredged up from ten years ago, that he clearly hadn’t expected to feel. He slowly raised his arm and wrapped it around Diane’s shoulders. That night, I lay in the room next door, listening to the sounds coming from the master bedroom. Muffled gasps. The creak of the bed frame. And Diane’s breathless, tearful moans. Bold move, I thought bitterly. A woman who had just survived the brink of death, and a man whose body was filled with the scent of other women. In their memories from ten years ago, they engaged in an extremely absurd sexual encounter. I don’t know whether Richard was thinking of the gentle Diane from ten years ago or the young and promiscuous Mia on the bed when he was doing it. But I knew one thing. This was only the beginning of hell.

The next morning, Richard walked out of the master bedroom with dark circles carved under his eyes and a slight unsteadiness in his step — but there was something disturbingly satisfied about him. He even started whistling in the kitchen and cracked two eggs into a pan. “Ellen, breakfast,” he called out, his voice carrying that long-forgotten, completely fake fatherly authority. I stared at the burnt, greasy eggs on the plate and laughed. “Quite a workout last night, huh, Richard? Still savoring it?” His face darkened instantly. He dropped his voice to a furious hiss. “Shut your mouth. She’s your mother.” “Oh, now she’s my mother?” I shot to my feet and hurled the red lace underwear I’d been keeping in my pocket straight at his face. “Then what the hell is this? When you were rolling around in her bed with your mistress, did you stop for even one second and think about the fact that she’s your wife?!” The underwear floated lightly to the ground, like a glaring bloodstain. Richard’s face cycled through shades of pale and green. He bent down, picked it up, and crushed it in his fist, jaw tight. “That’s all in the past. Your mother is sick now. I have to take care of her.” “Take care of her? Come on, Richard. You’re just reluctant to let go of the Diane from ten years ago—the one who was completely obedient and so enthusiastic in bed, right?” I pierced right through his hypocritical facade. Richard raised his hand to hit me. “Richard? Ellen? What are you two fighting about?” Diane shuffled out of the bedroom in her old nightgown, rubbing her eyes. Her collar had slipped open, and the marks on her neck were impossible to miss — deep red, unmistakable. Evidence of what Richard had done the night before. Richard’s hand froze mid-air. In an instant, his expression melted into something warm and gentle. “Nothing, nothing. Ellen just thinks I overcooked the eggs.” Diane walked over and slipped her arm through his, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re hopeless in the kitchen, you know that? Once I’m all healed up, I’ll make you pizza every single day. Your favorite.” Richard’s body went rigid — just for a second, barely noticeable. He’d given up pizza years ago. Doctor’s orders — high cholesterol, a badly damaged liver. These days, Mia kept him on a strict diet of salads, grilled salmon, and clean eating. But Diane was looking up at him with so much love in her eyes. He swallowed. Forced out a smile that looked worse than a grimace. “Sure. Sounds great.” For the next two weeks, the old house became a massive, suffocating stage — and none of us could leave. Diane was constantly whipping up all sorts of heavy, rich dishes every day. Pizza, hot dogs, mashed potatoes—every single meal glistened with grease and was terrifyingly high in calories. At the dinner table, she’d watch Richard with bright, attentive eyes. “Richard, eat more. You’ve been losing weight lately. You used to finish a whole pizza by yourself, remember?” Richard stared at the thick, oily slice on his plate, his stomach turning. But he forced it down, bite by mechanical bite, sweat beading on his forehead. After dinner, he’d excuse himself to the bathroom. I’d stand just outside the door and listen — clearly, unmistakably — to the sound of him gagging, retching, crying and choking until there was nothing left. But he never said no. Because the moment he showed even a flicker of hesitation, Diane’s eyes would fill with tears. “Richard… do you not like my cooking anymore? Are you tired of me?” The doctor’s warning hung over him like a leash pulled tight — don’t upset her. And then there were the nights. Diane seemed determined to make up for every moment of intimacy she believed she’d missed over the past “ten years.” She dug out her old lingerie. Spritzed on a bottle of perfume — Midnight Flight — long past its expiration date. And she wrapped herself around Richard like she had all the time in the world and no intention of letting go. At first, Richard was miserable. Going through the motions. Performing. But slowly, I started to notice something shift. He was changing. He had actually started to enjoy the feeling of being completely depended on, of being treated as the center of someone’s universe. Sure, Mia was young and beautiful, but she was only after his money, constantly scheming to force her way into his life, with a spoiled, arrogant temper. Diane, on the other hand—this Diane who seemed to have stepped right out of ten years ago—was giving him a love that was absolute and pure. In that moment, the worst aspects of his male nature were laid bare. He wanted the thrill of a young body, yet he also craved the tender comfort of his wife. He was utterly intoxicated by the taboo thrill and the sense of absolute control this double life provided. One night, I got up for a glass of water and caught Richard on the balcony, talking on the phone. “Mia, I really can’t get away right now… there’s just too much going on at the company. Be a good girl, stop making a fuss. I just transferred another five hundred thousand to your account. Go buy yourself a handbag, and take good care of the pregnancy.” His voice was hushed, dripping with obvious impatience and perfunctory indifference. Hanging up, he turned around and looked through the floor-to-ceiling windows at Diane, who was sitting in the living room knitting a sweater for him. In his eyes, there was actually a faint trace of deep affection and infatuation. I stood in the shadows, my stomach turning. He thought he had everything under control. He thought he’d fallen back in love with his wife. What he didn’t know was that the blade hanging over his head was already about to drop.

The peace shattered a month later. Mia showed up at the door — five months pregnant, belly and all. It was a quiet afternoon. Diane was in the garden, trimming the flowers. Richard was in his study, working through paperwork. The doorbell rang. I answered it. Mia stood on the doorstep in head-to-toe Chanel couture, sunglasses on, a Hermès Birkin dangling from her wrist. She looked like she owned the place. “Where’s Richard? Tell him to get his ass out here!” She shoved past me and clicked her heels straight into the house, her sharp voice slicing through the quiet of the old estate. “Are you out of your mind?!” I grabbed her arm and hissed, “My mom is inside! Don’t set her off — if something happens to her, that’s on you!” “Set her off? Please. She’s been playing dead for a month — not showing her face, not picking up calls, not responding to a single message. Does Richard think I’m just going to disappear?” Mia yanked her arm free and screamed, “I’m carrying the Vance family’s firstborn!” The study door flew open. Richard came charging out. The moment he saw Mia, the color drained from his face. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Mia! What are you doing here?! Get out — now!” He rushed toward her and clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to drag her back toward the door. “You dare cover my mouth?! Richard, let’s get one thing straight — I’m carrying your son! Your wife couldn’t give you one, and now you’re crawling back to play the devoted husband?!” Mia thrashed wildly against him. Her long nails raked across his cheek, leaving three deep red lines. Crack. The sound of a slap rang through the living room. Richard’s palm connected hard with Mia’s face. She stumbled backward and crashed onto the sofa. “I told you to get out! Do you not understand English?!” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice a roar, one finger pointing at the door like a man unraveling. The room went dead silent. The only sound was Mia’s stunned, broken sobbing as she pressed a hand to her cheek. Then the glass door leading to the garden slid open. Diane stepped inside, a pair of garden shears in her hand. She stood perfectly still. She was wearing the white dress — the one Richard had loved most on her, ten years ago. Sunlight fell across her shoulders, but it couldn’t touch the cold that lived behind her eyes. “Richard,” she said. Her voice was soft. Flat. Not a single note of emotion. “Who is this woman?” Richard’s whole body seized. He dropped to his knees in front of her. Cold sweat soaked through his shirt and ran down his face in streams. “Diane… just let me explain… she’s… she’s nobody, she was just at the door trying to sell something—” His voice cracked and stumbled over itself. He stared up at Diane in pure terror, convinced that at any second she would collapse — that a blood vessel would burst, that she would die right there in front of him. Mia lowered her hand from her cheek. And then she laughed. A sharp, ugly laugh that shook her whole body, tears streaming down her face. “Selling something? Really, Richard? That’s the best you’ve got?” She turned to Diane, her voice dripping with venom. “You lost your memory, right? You think it’s still ten years ago? Fine — let me fill you in. The baby in my stomach? It’s your husband’s. Every time he was in bed with you, he was thinking about me.” She wanted to tear Diane’s world apart. Piece by piece. With the truth. I lunged forward to cover Mia’s mouth, my heart hammering in my throat. I was terrified — terrified my mom couldn’t take this, terrified she’d have an episode right here on the spot. But the breakdown she’d expected never came. Diane didn’t scream. She didn’t faint. She didn’t shed a single tear. She walked slowly toward the couch and stood over Mia, her gaze dropping to the slight curve of Mia’s belly. Then she turned and looked at Richard, still on his knees on the floor. The corner of her mouth curled into a slow, twisted smile — cold, mocking, and utterly unsettling. “Five months along.” Diane’s voice was unnervingly calm, almost amused, like she was watching a show. “Richard, that must have been exhausting to hide.” Richard froze. He stared at her like he was looking at a stranger. “Diane… you… you didn’t lose your memory?” His voice came out like a broken wheeze, raw with fear.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432156”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My brother was executed for serial murder. Then he came back — through a secret cloning program. My parents hold this “newborn” who wore the face of a monster, insisting he was a blank slate. A second chance God had given to our family. The neighbors and friends all said he was sweet and precious. They told me to let go of my hatred and accept this innocent little brother. Then, at his tenth birthday party, he leaned close to my ear and whispered in a voice identical to the one I remembered: *”Sis, want to guess who my next target is?”* — ### This is a suicide note. As I write those words, Hearing my parents leading everyone sing “Happy Birthday” song from the living room. They’re celebrating Arthur’s tenth birthday. Arthur Sterling is my brother — a serial killer who was been executed. And the boy out there is his clone. “Sophie, come out and cut the cake for your brother!” Mom called from the other side of the door, her voice carrying that familiar edge of impatience. I didn’t move. I sat on the cold floor of my bedroom, holding the phone, staring at the message my boyfriend had sent me. Liam’s a police. *”Sophie, stop being difficult. Your parents have been through enough. That kid is innocent. be more forgiving.”* *”I already picked out a gift for you. I told them it was from you. Now go out there.”* I read the message. I felt the warmth drain out of me completely. Another song ended. The living room erupted in applause and cheering. I could picture it perfectly. Arthur — the boy who wore my dead brother’s face — would be showing that angelic, unblemished smile of his, accepting everyone’s wishes. And I was the only villain. The only one in this house who played that role. Ten years ago, my nineteen-year-old brother Arthur was sentenced to death for the murders of seven young women. After he was executed, my parents aged overnight. They blamed me. They blamed me for not watching over him. They blamed me for turning on my own family — for being the one who handed the evidence to the police. In their eyes, I was the one who destroyed this family. Then, somehow, they heard about an illegal cloning program. They poured every last dollar they had into it. And they brought this new “Arthur” into the world. They told me he was a brand-new life. A blank slate. A second chance God was giving to our family. They held that tiny infant in their arms, and the look in their eyes terrified me. For ten years, they gave every drop of their love to this clone — trying to make up for everything they felt they’d “owed” the first Arthur. And I became a complete stranger in my own home. A stain that reminded them of something they’d rather forget. “Sophie! What the hell are you doing in there?! Get out here — NOW!” Dad’s voice crashed through the door. My chest tightened. I took a deep breath, got up off the floor, and opened the door. The living room blazed with light. Relatives and family friends crowded around an enormous birthday cake, every face glowing with joy. My parents stood behind Arthur, hands resting on his shoulders, like they were guarding the most precious thing in the world. When Mom saw me, her expression shifted instantly into a warm smile. She waved me over. “Sophie, come on, we’ve been waiting for you.” She crossed the room, grabbed my arm, and pulled me up to the cake. Then she pressed a knife into my hand. “You’re the big sister. You make the first cut.” I looked down at the knife. The blade caught the light. Then I looked at Arthur’s face. He was looking up at me with a smile, his big, bright eyes shining like two dark grapes. “Thank you, Sophie.” His voice was soft and sweet. The relatives murmured their approval. “Arthur gets more and more well-mannered every day.” “He really does. Sophie, look at your little brother — he’s such a good kid. It’s time to let it go, don’t you think?” My hand trembled around the handle of the knife. Only I knew what lived behind that angelic face. Because just minutes ago, while everyone was singing to him, he had walked over to me. He wrapped his arms around my legs, tilted his head back, and spoke in a voice low enough that only I could hear. “Sophie, I haven’t seen you smile in so long.” Then he rose up onto his toes and brought his lips to my ear. And in a tone that was *identical* to the one I remembered from my brother, he whispered: *”Sis, want to guess who my next target is?”* In that instant, a bone-chilling cold washed over me. Now he was looking at me, a hint of a taunting smile in his eyes. I raised the knife. Everyone thought I was going to cut the cake. Even I thought I would. But my mind went completely blank. I couldn’t think at all. I only knew one thing — I couldn’t take it anymore. I spun around and ran for the balcony. Behind me came my mom’s screams, my dad’s roar, and the gasps of the guests. I couldn’t hear any of it. I climbed over the railing and jumped. The world went very quiet in that moment. Down below, I saw my boyfriend Liam. He had just parked his car and was still holding the “gift” he’d brought for me. He looked up and saw me. His eyes filled with terror and disbelief. Then I hit the ground hard. In the last second before my consciousness faded, I thought I heard him screaming — a raw, broken sound that tore through the air. But I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I was dead. And yet I could still see everything. I floated like a wisp of air, hovering above my own body. I saw Liam rushing toward me frantically, dropping to his knees beside me. He wanted so desperately to hold me, yet he didn’t dare to even lay a finger on me. I watched my parents come rushing down from upstairs. My mom took one look at my body, and her legs gave out. She crumpled to the ground. My dad — my father, who had been strict as always — pointed at my body and started screaming. “This ungrateful little wretch! She did this on purpose, just to ruin us! A perfectly good day, and she had to come and destroy it!” I saw Arthur being held by a relative, standing at a distance. He was watching me. There wasn’t a trace of grief on his face. If anything, there was the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He had won. I was dead. Now he could finally take my place completely — the one and only role of this family. — ### Chapter 2 ### My body was quickly covered with a white sheet and carried away. Liam followed in a daze, like a puppet with all the life drained out of him. My soul — or whatever was left of my consciousness — drifted along beside him without thinking. The lights at the police station were a harsh, blinding white. As my boyfriend, Liam was asked to give a statement. “Had she been acting differently lately?” the officer asked. Liam’s lips moved. It took a long moment before any sound came out, rough and hoarse. “She… she didn’t like her brother.” “You mean the clone?” “Yeah.” “Did you two ever fight about it?” Liam fell silent. I floated in front of him, watching him squeeze his eyes shut in pain. I remembered our last fight. The night before I died. I had told him I felt like something was wrong with Arthur. “The way he looks at me — it’s exactly the same as before. That look scares me,” I told him. Liam had been playing video games at the time. He didn’t even glance up. “Sophie, aren’t you being a little too sensitive? He’s ten years old. what kind of malice could he possibly have?” “You don’t get it! He’s not a normal kid! He’s *Arthur*!” I practically screamed the words. Liam finally put down the controller and looked at me with a frown. “Sophie, can we please stop bringing up the past? The dead are gone. The living have to move on. If you keep obsessing like this, you’re going to destroy all of us.” “I’m obsessing?” I was shaking with anger. “Liam, you’re my boyfriend. How can you say the exact same things they do?” “Because they’re right!” His voice rose. “You’re taking this too far! You can’t assume this Arthur is going to be like the last one just because the last one was a killer. Is that fair to a ten-year-old kid?” Fair. There it was again. Fair. But who was being fair to me? Who was being fair to all those people my age who died for nothing? I looked at him, and suddenly I felt so, so tired. “Tomorrow is his birthday. I don’t want to go,” I said. “You don’t have a choice. You’re going.” Liam’s tone left no room for argument. “Your parents have been through enough. Don’t make things harder for them. I already got a gift for you to bring. I’ll go with you tomorrow.” He thought that was love. That it was support. He didn’t know it was the last straw. Now he sat in that cold interrogation room, his face carved with regret. “We… had a fight,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “I called her obsessive… I pushed her go to the birthday party…” The officer sighed and slid a box of tissues across the table. “We’ll look into it. You should head home for now — go through her belongings, see if there’s anything that might give us a clue.” Liam walked out of the police station in a daze. He went back to the apartment we had shared. Everything was exactly as I’d left it. My slippers were still by the door. The book I hadn’t finished was still lying on the couch. Liam walked in and sat down on the sofa, pulling my favorite bunny pillow into his arms. He buried his face deep into it, his shoulders shaking violently. I hovered beside him, wanting so badly to hold him — but I could only pass right through him. He cried for a long time, until the sky began to lighten. Then, as if something suddenly hit him, he shot to his feet and rushed into my bedroom. My room was a mess. I’d left in such a hurry. He started searching through everything, like a man desperately grasping for something — anything — to hold on to. Finally, he found it under my pillow. My diary. It was the last record of my despair. Liam’s hands trembled as he opened to the first page. *October 1st. Sunny. They brought that child home today. He looks exactly like Arthur. Mom held him and cried, telling me he was our new beginning. I looked at him and felt nothing but a deep, bone-cold dread.* *December 25th. Overcast. today is Christmas Day. Liam took me shopping. He told me to look forward. But how am I supposed to look forward? Behind me is nothing but a bottomless abyss.* *March 15th. Rainy. I think I saw him again — that monster. He was hiding inside that child’s body, smiling at me. I told Mom. She slapped me and said I was losing my mind.* Liam turned the pages one by one. His hands were shaking harder and harder. His tears fell drop by drop onto the paper, bleeding into my handwriting and blurring the words. When he reached the last page and read those words — *”Sis, guess who my next target is?”* — his whole body went rigid. He sat there, frozen, like he’d been struck by lightning. For a long time, he didn’t move at all. Then, all at once, he snapped the diary shut — like it had burned him. For the first time, doubt crossed his face. Not doubt about me. Doubt about the so-called “truth.” He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Hey, it’s me. Liam. I need you to look into an illegal cloning experiment. Yeah. Whatever it costs.” — ### Chapter 3 ### Liam took my diary and drove straight to my family’s place. My parents’ house, I should say. After my death, the place looked like nothing had happened at all. My parents were watching TV in the living room. Arthur sat between them, peeling oranges for them like a perfect little child. “Dad, have some orange.” “Mom, this one’s sweet.” The picture of a happy family. If you didn’t know the truth, you’d never guess this family had just lost a daughter. Liam’s sudden arrival shattered that false warmth. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.” Liam’s voice was ice cold. My dad looked up and his expression darkened immediately. “What are you doing here?” My mom looked uneasy, avoiding his eyes. Liam ignored my dad’s tone. He walked straight to the coffee table and slammed my diary down on it. “I want to know if what’s written in here is true.” My dad picked it up, glanced at one page, and threw it right back at Liam. “Nonsense. That’s all just delusions she made up in her head!” “Delusions?” Liam let out a cold laugh. “Did Sophie tell you at her birthday party that Arthur threatened her?” My parents’ faces shifted at the same time. My mom’s lips trembled. She couldn’t get a word out. My dad stiffened and snapped, “You’re going to believe a child’s word for it? He’s only ten years old — what does he know? Sophie was the one with the psychological issues. She couldn’t stand us caring about Arthur!” “He doesn’t know any better?” Liam pressed forward, not letting up. “But you do. How much did you pay? What channels did you go through to run this cloning experiment? Can you even say it out loud?” Those words cut through every last layer of my parents’ pretense like a blade. My mom burst into tears. “Liam, we didn’t have a choice! He was our only son. When he died — what is left for us to live for?…” “So you spent all your savings, went to some illegal clinic, and cloned a murderer?” Liam’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “Did you ever think about how Sophie felt? and the victim’s family member! How could you expect her to live with a brother who looks exactly like the man who killed them?” “Why can’t she just face it? We’re family! Blood is thicker than water!” My dad still refused to back down. “Family?” Liam looked at him like he was staring at a complete stranger. “In your eyes, what is Sophie, exactly? Just a tool you can sacrifice whenever you like?” My dad had no answer to that. Arthur, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, suddenly jumped down from the couch. He walked up to Liam and tugged at the hem of his jacket. “Liam, Don’t be mad at Mom and Dad,” he said softly. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have teased Sophie. Did she die because of me?” He tilted his head up, eyes brimming with tears, looking pitiful and innocent. If I weren’t already dead — if I hadn’t heard with my own ears what he’d said — I might have fallen for it too. Liam looked down at him, his expression unreadable. My mom rushed over immediately, pulling Arthur behind her and snapping at Liam. “Look at what you’re doing! You’re scaring him half to death! He’s just a child!” “Is he, though?” Liam murmured. He kept his eyes on Arthur, as if trying to see past the surface — past the skin and the tears — straight into whatever was underneath. Arthur met his gaze without flinching. And in those eyes was a calm — a composure far too old for his face — and something else, Mockery. Liam felt something sink in his chest. He knew then. Everything I’d written in my diary was true. This child was no blank slate. He was the monster. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.” Liam dropped those words like a stone and walked out. My dad shouted after him. “Liam! If you dare to hurt Arthur, and you’ll regret it!” Liam didn’t look back. I followed him out of that suffocating place I used to call home. As I left, I looked back and saw Arthur flash my parents a wide, radiant smile. And my parents looked back at him with pure adoration — like he was the most precious thing in the world. No one gave a second thought to the fact that their daughter had just died. ### Chapter 4 ### Things developed worse than I ever expected. My best friend, Evelyn — a licensed therapist — gave a media interview after my death. “Sophie… she always struggled with serious psychological issues.” On camera, Evelyn was dressed in impeccable business attire, her expression a mixture of grief and resignation. “She had severe paranoia. She was convinced that Arthur — the clone — was going to hurt her. We all tried to persuade her, but she wouldn’t listen.” “So in your view,” the reporter asked, “Sophie’s suicide stemmed from her own mental health issues, rather than external pressure?” “To a large extent, yes.” Evelyn nodded. “Her family gave her every bit of love and patience they had. But she could never move past the trauma. It’s truly heartbreaking.” I hovered in front of the TV, watching the person I used to call my closest friend — the one who was now rewriting my story to win favor with my parents, to get whatever “connections” she was after — casually reduce me to a label. Paranoia. Mental illness. So that’s all I was to them. Just a crazy girl. Liam saw the interview while he was at the precinct, pulling the old case files on Arthur. He slammed his fist on the desk. “Damn it.” He called Evelyn immediately. She didn’t pick up. The pressure from outside kept mounting. Everyone seemed to agree that it was Liam’s “obsession” and “meddling” that had blown the whole tragedy out of proportion. Even his captain pulled him aside and told him to step back, to take some time to “cool off.” Liam was suspended. But he didn’t stop. During the day, he stayed home and played the part of someone falling apart. At night, he slipped out and made his way to my parents’ neighborhood. He was looking for proof. Something that would show the world what Arthur really was. One Saturday evening, my parents took Arthur to a dinner party. Liam used the opportunity to sneak into their house. He went straight upstairs to Arthur’s room. Arthur’s room was decorated like a prince of a fairy tale. Blue walls, a large nautical-themed bunk bed, and bookshelves packed with children’s books and model ships. Everything looked perfectly normal. Liam wasn’t satisfied. He started searching carefully. On the bottom shelf, hidden behind a stack of seemingly harmless comic books, he found a sketchbook. The cover had a smiley face drawn on it. Liam opened to the first page. It showed a little girl in a princess dress, a knife plunged through her chest. The blood was drawn big and bright red. Liam’s heart clenched. He kept flipping through. Page two, page three… each one was more of the same. A schoolgirl in uniform, dragged away on a rainy night. A woman in a white-collar work outfit, hands wrapped around her throat in an elevator. The victims in the drawings — their hairstyles, their clothing — bore a striking resemblance to the girls Arthur had killed all those years ago. And in the bottom right corner of every single drawing, written in a child’s unsteady hand, was one name. Arthur. The last page of the sketchbook was a blank frame. Beneath it, a single line of text. *”Who’s next?”* Liam’s hands trembled as he held the sketchbook, shaking like a leaf in the wind. This wasn’t the kind of doodle a ten-year-old should be making. This was a crime announcement straight from hell. Just then, the sound of a car engine drifted up from outside. My parents were home. Liam immediately shoved the sketchbook inside his jacket, climbed out through the window, and disappeared into the night.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432155”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

At twenty-eight, I was waiting tables at a restaurant when a lawyer in a black suit suddenly stepped in front of me and handed me an inheritance document worth fifty million dollars. It was left by a grandfather I had never once met. I thought maybe fate was finally cutting me a break — that my four-year-old son Leo and I could finally live like normal people. But that night, Leo clutched my leg with both arms, pointed at a water stain that had appeared out of nowhere on the ceiling, and sobbed like his heart was breaking: “Mommy, that boy — the one soaking wet — he says if we take the money, we’re both going to die…” I snapped my head up. A single drop of ice-cold water fell and hit me right between the eyes. It was ten o’clock at night. The restaurant had just closed. I was rubbing my aching back, getting ready to haul out the last bucket of kitchen slop. A man with a briefcase and gold-rimmed glasses appeared in the back kitchen doorway, blocking my path. “Ashley Miller?” He held out a business card. It had the name of some high-end law firm printed on it. I took a cautious step back, still gripping my dirty rag. “You’ve got the wrong person. I need to get back to work.” “Theodore Miller passed away three days ago.” The lawyer pushed his glasses up, his expression blank. “He owned an estate in the western suburbs and a fifty-million-dollar trust fund. Under the terms of his will, you are the sole legal heiress.” My head started buzzing. Theodore Miller. The old man who thought my mom wasn’t good enough, who pressured my dad into divorcing her, and who slowly drove her into depression until it killed her. I had never laid eyes on him my entire life. All I remembered was my mom on her deathbed, gripping my hand so tight her bony fingers left marks in my skin. “Ashy, don’t touch a single thing from the Miller family. Not one cent. It’s dirty. It destroys people.” I took a slow, deep breath and threw the rag into the sink. “I don’t know anyone named Theodore Miller. I don’t want the money. Please leave.” The lawyer didn’t look surprised. He pulled a thick stack of documents from his bag and pressed it into my arms. “Ms. Miller, I’ve already signed on your behalf. Theodore Miller’s instructions were clear — you have to accept this. Everything goes into effect tomorrow.” He didn’t give me a chance to argue. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark. I stood there holding the heavy documents, my hands and feet gone cold. By the time I got back to the basement apartment I rented, it was almost midnight. The place never got any sunlight. The air always smelled faintly of mold. My four-year-old, Leo, was sitting quietly on the fold-out bed, playing with a beat-up Ultraman toy. When he saw me come in, he scrambled off the bed on his little legs and threw himself into my arms. “Mommy, you’re home!” I held him tight, breathing in the faint milky smell of him, and felt the strange dread in my chest ease just a little. I tossed the documents onto the table and went to heat up some water so Leo could wash his face. But the moment I turned around, Leo screamed. “Ahhh—!” It was pure terror in his voice. It hit me like a needle straight to the eardrum. I spun around. Leo was staring up at the ceiling, his little finger pointing, his whole body shaking like a leaf. “Mommy… water… so much water…” I looked where he was pointing. Sometime in the last few minutes, a large dark-yellow water stain had spread across the ceiling of the basement. It was still growing, like something was slowly seeping through from above. Drip. A drop of water hit the floor near Leo’s feet. Leo suddenly threw his arms around my leg and buried his face in my pants, his voice going strange and high: “Mommy, that boy is crying… He says he’s so cold… He says if we take the money, we’re both going to die…” Every hair on my body stood up. Above the basement was the building’s garden courtyard. There were no water pipes up there. Where was the water coming from? What boy? I scooped Leo up into my arms, my voice shaking. “Leo, don’t scare me like that. What boy?” Leo squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face, his little fists twisting tight into my collar. “The boy in the school uniform… he’s soaking wet… he’s standing right behind you…” My breath stopped. A wave of cold hit my back — deep, bone-level cold, like someone had just been pulled out of icy water and was standing pressed against my spine.

Run. That was the only thought in my head. I didn’t even stop to change my clothes. I grabbed my phone and ID card off the table, held Leo tight against my chest, and ran. The hallway lights in the basement corridor flickered on and off. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears like a drum. Drip. Drip. The sound of water hitting the floor followed right behind me. I didn’t look back. I ran like I’d lost my mind, out of the basement and onto the street. The streets were deserted at this hour. A cold gust of wind hit me, and I realized my clothes were soaked through with sweat. Leo was slumped against my shoulder, no longer crying, but her small body was still trembling uncontrollably. I pulled out my phone to call a ride. The screen had barely lit up when an unknown number came through. My hand jerked. I answered. A man’s voice came through the line — low and threatening. “Ashley. That was fast.” My blood ran cold. It was my cousin from my uncle’s side of the family, Mason Miller. Years ago, when my mom and I were thrown out of the Miller family, Mason had been right there, watching with a smirk on his face like it was entertainment. “Mason. What do you want?” I said through gritted teeth. “What do I want? You’re a bastard child. What gives you the right to claim fifty million from Grandpa’s estate?” He let out a cold laugh. “I’m telling you — hand over that document, or I promise neither you nor that little bastard of yours makes it through tonight.” “I don’t want the inheritance! Split it among yourselves!” “Cut the crap! You already signed it — legally, you’re the heiress now! Where are you? I’m coming to find you right now!” I hung up and immediately powered off my phone. We couldn’t stay here. The Miller family had deep roots in this city, and Mason was the kind of guy who didn’t play by any rules. He kept a crew of hired muscle on his payroll. If he found us, Leo and I were finished. I held Leo close and flagged down a taxi with its light on at the curb. “To the train station — as fast as you can!” The driver was a middle-aged man. One look at my face and he didn’t ask a single question — he just floored it. The city lights blurred past the window. I let out a shaky breath and looked down at Leo. He was staring straight at the window, wide eyes fixed on the glass. “Leo? What’s wrong?” I reached up and touched his head. He turned to look at me. His eyes were completely blank. Distant. That was not the look of a four-year-old. He opened his mouth. What came out was low, hoarse — rough in a way that didn’t belong to a child’s voice at all. “He’s coming after us.” My whole body went cold. “Leo, say something — don’t scare Mommy like that!” I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. No response. He just turned back to the window and stared. I followed his gaze. In the rearview mirror, a black SUV was tailing us like a predator locked onto prey. The high beams were blinding. It was Mason’s car.

“He’s chasing us — please, drive faster!” I shouted. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and swore under his breath. “What is this, some kind of movie? Hold on tight!” The cab tore through the empty streets. But the SUV was faster. It was closing in. Bang. The SUV slammed into our rear bumper. The impact threw me forward. I threw my arms around Leo and held on. The driver panicked. He yanked the wheel, and the cab skidded off the road and crashed into the landscaped median, screeching to a stop. Before I could even catch my breath, the door was ripped open from outside. Mason stood there — thick-necked, heavy-faced, gripping a baseball bat. Two built guys flanked him from behind. “Go ahead and run! Keep running!” He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me out of the car. “Mommy!” Leo screamed from inside. I fought back as hard as I could and sank my teeth into Mason’s wrist. “You little bitch!” He backhanded me across the face. Stars exploded in my vision. I tasted blood at the corner of my mouth. The two men shoved into the car and yanked Leo out by force. “Don’t touch my son!” I lunged at them like a woman possessed — and Mason drove his boot into my stomach. I crumpled to the ground, gasping. The driver scrambled out of the car and bolted. He wasn’t going to stick around for this. Mason crouched down and grabbed my hair again, wrenching my head up to face him. “Ashley. You want to do this the hard way? Fine. Where’s the document?” “I don’t have it — I left it at home!” I lied, struggling to breathe. Mason let out a cold laugh and pulled the inheritance document from his jacket pocket, slapping it against my face. “You think I’m blind? Back at the basement door, didn’t I see this drop right on the floor?” My stomach dropped. I’d been running too fast. It must have slipped out. “Since I’ve got the document, you’re coming with me tonight to sign the transfer agreement.” Mason straightened up and jerked his chin at the two men. “Put them in the car.” I was shoved into the back seat of the SUV. Leo was huddled against me, trembling so hard he couldn’t even cry. Mason dropped into the passenger seat and lit a cigarette. “Drive. West Estate.” My head snapped up. “Why go there? You just need to sign the papers — anywhere works!” Mason blew out a slow ring of smoke and turned to look at me. There was something unsettling in his eyes — a strange, almost gleeful excitement. “Grandpa added a condition to the will. The transfer agreement has to be signed at the old house on the estate. In front of his portrait.” He let out a cold laugh. “Miserable old man, still making trouble from the grave.” The car pulled out and headed west. The sharp smell of cigarette smoke filled the cabin. I held Leo tight, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to get us out of this. Then I felt something cold on the back of my hand. A single drop of water. I blinked and looked up at the roof of the car. No leak. But I could feel it clearly — the temperature inside the car was dropping fast. The air that had been stuffy and warm just moments ago now felt like the inside of a freezer. Leo suddenly grabbed my hand. His fingers were ice cold. The kind of cold that has no life in it at all. He lifted his head and looked at Mason in the front seat. Slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled back into a smile — wide, wrong, deeply unsettling. Then he spoke in that same rough, cracking voice: “Mason. Long time no see.”

The SUV lurched sideways, nearly slamming into the guardrail. The driver wrestled the wheel with both hands, his voice shaking. “Mason — who the hell just said that?” The cigarette slipped from Mason’s fingers and landed in his lap. He yelped and shot upright. He spun around, eyes locked on me and Leo. “Ashley, what the f**k are you pulling?!” I pressed my hand over Leo’s mouth, my whole body trembling. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t say anything!” Mason’s face had gone white. For just a second, I saw something flash through his eyes — raw, genuine fear. He stared at Leo like he was looking at something that shouldn’t exist. “Mason.” The voice came again. “Don’t you remember? The lake at West Estate. The water was so cold.” Leo’s mouth hadn’t moved. But the words rang through the car, clear and unmistakable — coming from everywhere at once, from all four walls, from the air itself. Then, without any warning, rain exploded against the windows. A downpour out of nowhere. The wipers maxed out couldn’t cut through it. The road ahead disappeared. “Mason, something’s wrong with this rain — there’s fog everywhere, I can’t see a damn thing!” The driver hit the brakes. The car stopped on the winding mountain road that led to the West Estate. Everything outside was black. The headlights hit a wall of thick white fog and bounced back, casting a pale, sickly glow. The temperature kept dropping. A thin layer of frost crept across the inside of the windows. Drip. A drop of water hit the top of Mason’s head. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. When he pulled it back, his palm was smeared with dark, murky water. “What the — is this car leaking?!” The words had barely left his mouth when I looked down. The floor mats were soaked. Muddy water had pooled at our feet without either of us noticing, and it was rising — slow and steady, carrying the rotten, weedy stench of a lake bottom. “Get out! Everyone out!” Mason threw himself at the door. It didn’t move. He shoved harder. Then harder. The door held like it had been welded shut. He couldn’t budge it. The two men up front panicked, slamming their fists against the windows. “Help! Something’s wrong — the doors won’t open!” The water rose fast. In seconds it was over our ankles. I pulled Leo up onto the seat with me, pressing back as far as I could go. Leo’s eyes opened. The whites were gone. His eyes were completely black — solid, lightless, like two holes in his face. He stared straight at Mason, and when he spoke, his voice was soaked in something ancient and hateful. “Mason. When you held me under the water back then — I fought just like this.” Mason broke. He ripped a knife from his waistband, jabbed it toward Leo, and screamed. “Noah Miller! Don’t you dare try to scare me! You were a bastard — you never belonged in this family! I killed you once, and I can do it again!” Noah Miller. Something detonated in my mind. I remembered. Years ago — more than a decade — there had been an illegitimate son in the family. My uncle had fathered him with another woman. The boy had been brought to live with us eventually, but not long after, word came that he’d drowned in the lake at West Estate. An accident, they said. He’d been fifteen years old. Turns out, it wasn’t an accident. Mason had killed him!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432154”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was a corporate drone who stayed up every night grinding code — and sure enough, I dropped dead at my desk. When I opened my eyes again, I was a stray black cat, cornered by a group of punks who were beating the hell out of me. It was Yolanda who grabbed a broom and fought like her life depended on it to bring me home. She was a woman who’d had it hard her whole life — up before dawn, pinching every penny — and somehow she’d raised a son who was pure evil. To pay off two million dollars in gambling debts, that monster teamed up with a vicious caretaker to steal the deed to her house and use it as collateral. He even planned to sell his own mother to some creep as a bride for one million dollars. I was so furious I unsheathed my claws on the spot and raked his face into a bloody mess. If fate gave me a second chance at life, and put someone as good as Yolanda in my path, there was no way I was going to stand by and do nothing. So what if I’m a cat? Even as a cat, I’ll make sure every last one of these monsters ends up behind bars.

A sharp, searing pain tore through my chest. The computer screen in front of me blurred and swam. I didn’t even have time to call for help before I crashed face-first onto my keyboard. Seventy-two hours of straight overtime. I was a thirty-two-year-old game developer, and just like that — I was dead. When I came back to consciousness, cold rain was hammering down on my face without mercy. I tried to stand, but something was completely wrong with the way my limbs connected to the ground. I looked down. I had four fuzzy black legs. And a tail that was swinging around like it had a mind of its own. I had turned into a black cat. Before I could even begin to process the shock of being reborn, a burst of cruel laughter rang out above me. “That black cat looks like bad luck. Let’s just kill it.” Three punks with bleached rainbow hair were closing in on me, rusty iron rods swinging in their hands, backing me into a dead-end alley one step at a time. My instincts screamed at me to run — but a white-hot bolt of pain shot through my back leg. It was already broken. Had been before they even showed up. The iron rod came whistling down through the air. I squeezed my eyes shut. Then, out of nowhere, a battered old broom swung in from the side and cracked hard across one of the punks’ arms. “Back off! You little thugs — what kind of tough guys beat up a helpless little creature?!” I opened my eyes. Standing in front of me was a hunched old woman with white-streaked hair. She was wearing a faded blue jacket, worn soft from too many washes, and she had both hands locked around that broom like she was ready to go to war. She planted herself between me and the punks like a mother hen shielding her chick. The punks were rattled by how fearless she was. They cursed under their breath and took off. The old woman dropped the broom and crouched down, her face full of worry. She scooped me up with her rough, warm hands and held me against her chest. “Poor little thing. Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” She smelled faintly of soap. In that moment, something shifted in my chest — a heart that had gone cold after years in the corporate grind suddenly felt warm again. The old woman’s name was Yolanda. She was sixty-five years old. Her home was in a run-down old residential complex. The apartment was small and worn, but she kept it spotless. She dried me off carefully with a clean towel, then used a few small pieces of wood to splint my broken back leg. “You’re as black as a little lump of coal. I’ll call you Cole.” She brought out a bowl of warm goat’s milk and a piece of plain boiled chicken breast — no salt. I ate like I hadn’t eaten in years. I nearly cried into the bowl. When I was alive, I lived on takeout every single day. Now that I was a cat, I was finally getting a real home-cooked meal. The next afternoon, two uninvited guests showed up. A man in a knockoff designer suit, and a woman wearing enough makeup to paint a wall. The man was Yolanda’s son — Ethan. The woman was the so-called “professional caretaker” he’d hired — really just his girlfriend — named Ava. “Mom, what’s that smell in here? Did you seriously bring a mangy cat home? That’s disgusting.” The second Ava walked through the door, she was pinching her nose and curling her lip. She gave my little cat bed a kick with her foot. I bared my teeth at her and let out a low growl from the back of my throat. Yolanda quickly scooped me up and smiled apologetically. “Cole is very clean, I promise. Ethan, you haven’t been back in three months — let me run to the market and grab some pork belly. I’ll make you vegetable stew you love, okay?” Ethan waved her off like she was bothering him. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Go ahead. I could use some time to rest anyway.” I watched Yolanda head out the door with her shopping basket, a happy little spring in her step. And a deep, uneasy feeling settled in my gut. These two had shifty eyes and rotten smiles. They weren’t here for anything good.

Sure enough, the second Yolanda was out the door, Ethan’s whole face changed. He shoved open the bedroom door and started tearing through everything like a burglar — yanking open drawers, rifling through cabinets. “Hurry up and find it! Where did that old woman hide the property deed?” Ava was rummaging through the closet alongside him, complaining as she searched. “Ethan, you lost another eight hundred thousand at the casino last night. With the interest from before, that’s a two-million-dollar hole you’re in! The loan sharks said if you don’t pay up in three days, they’re cutting off your hands!” I crouched on top of the wardrobe, every hair on my body standing on end. Two million in gambling debts?! Ethan was sweating buckets. He finally dug out a little red booklet from an old cookie tin under the bed. “Found it!” His eyes lit up. “So what?” Ava rolled her eyes. “This dump is worth maybe a million and a half, tops. That’s still five hundred thousand short. And besides, you need the old woman to sign off on the transfer. You really think she’s going to agree to sell the only thing she has left?” Ethan let out a cold laugh, a vicious gleam flashing in his eyes. “I already had someone forge a power of attorney. We’ll use it as collateral directly. As for the rest of the gap…” He paused, lowering his voice. “Winston’s been looking for a woman to take care of him, hasn’t he?” Ava sucked in a sharp breath. “That Winston who owns the logistics company? He’s a psycho. He put his last two wives in the hospital.” “So?” Ethan spat without a care. “He’s willing to pay a million for a diamond ring. My mom’s healthy enough. She can survive a few years of his abuse. By the time he beats her to death, our debt’s cleared and we’ll have cash left over to go win it back in Las Vegas!” My mind went completely blank. Was he even human?! Yolanda had worked three jobs a day when she was young just to put him through college. She’d ruined her health doing it. And now he wanted to sell his own mother to a violent, twisted old man just to pay off his gambling debts. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I launched myself off the top of the wardrobe like a bolt of lightning. “MRROOWW—!” I raked my claws hard across Ethan’s face, leaving three deep gashes in an instant. “AHHH! What the hell?! Where did this crazy cat come from?!” Ethan screamed and drove his foot into my stomach. I went flying and slammed into the wall. It felt like every organ in my body had been knocked loose. Ava grabbed a clothes rack nearby and swung it at me with pure hatred. “I’ll kill this little beast!” Just at that critical moment, the front door clicked open. Yolanda walked in carrying heavy grocery bags. Ethan moved fast, shoving the property deed into his inner pocket. Ava quickly tossed the clothes rack behind her back. “What’s going on in here? Ethan, why is your face bleeding?” Yolanda dropped her groceries in a panic and rushed over. “Mom! This crazy cat you picked up just went berserk and attacked me!” Ethan covered his face, playing the victim before anyone else could speak. “A thing like this is nothing but trouble. Get rid of it now!” Yolanda turned to look at me. I was slumped in the corner. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, and the splint on my broken leg had come apart. I was shaking all over from the pain. Her eyes filled with tears. She rushed over and pulled me tightly into her arms. “Cole would never bite someone for no reason. Did you two hit him?” The moment Ethan heard that, he exploded. “Oh, that’s great! You’d rather believe a stray cat than your own son?! Fine! You can spend the rest of your life with your precious cat!” He stormed out in a rage, yanking Ava along with him and slamming the door behind them. I bit down on Yolanda’s pant leg as hard as I could, trying to drag her toward the ransacked area under the bed. I needed her to know. Your property deed is gone. Your son is going to sell you off. But no matter how hard I tried, all that came out were weak little meows. Yolanda thought I was frightened. She stroked my back gently. “It’s okay, little Cole. Grandma’s got you.” I buried my face in her palm, a wave of helplessness washing over me. I was a cat. I couldn’t even open my mouth to warn the person who had saved me. But I swore to myself — I was not going to let those two get away with it.

Three days later, Ethan came back with armfuls of expensive health supplements and a smile plastered across his face. Yolanda, soft-hearted as ever, melted the moment she saw her son making peace. She got busy putting together a full spread on the dinner table. At dinner, Ethan kept that wide smile going. “Mom, I’m sorry about how I acted before. Don’t hold it against me. Actually, I came today because I have some great news to share.” I sat stiff on the chair, every muscle in my body coiled tight. Here it comes. This monster is about to make his move. “Mom, you’ve had a hard life, and it breaks my heart. I found someone for you — a good match. His name is Winston. He runs a logistics company.” Yolanda’s fork froze in midair. She stared at him, speechless. “Ethan, what the hell are you talking about? Mom is sixty-five years old — who’s she supposed to be getting married off to?” Ethan set down his fork, a cold smile plastered on his face. “Mom, Winston is loaded. He’s got a huge mansion. You’d be living the easy life. Besides, he already gave me the engagement ring — worth a full million dollars.” Yolanda’s face went pale in an instant, her lips trembling violently. “You… you took his valuable gift ? You’re selling your own mother!” “Mom! Don’t make it sound so ugly!” Ethan slammed his hand on the table, dropping all pretense. “I’m doing this for you!” “I won’t go! I’d rather die than go!” Yolanda shot to her feet, tears streaming down her face. Ethan let out a cold laugh and pulled a document from his bag, slapping it down on the table. “You don’t have a choice. I’ve already transferred the house into my name. If you don’t marry Winston like a good woman, I’ll sell it tomorrow and leave you out on the street.” “You—” Yolanda pointed at him, choked on her own breath, and collapsed straight backward. I let out a sharp cry and lunged at Ethan, sinking my teeth hard into his wrist. “Stupid cat! Get off me!” He flung me away without even glancing at his unconscious mother, then said coldly, “Winston’s driver will be here tomorrow to pick you up. You’d better have your things packed.” With that, he walked out the door. I frantically licked Yolanda’s cheek, trying to bring her around. It took a long time before she slowly opened her eyes. The house was hollow and still. Dead silent. She didn’t cry. She just walked quietly to the bedside and pulled open the drawer where she kept the property deed. Empty. She took out an old photo album next — filled with pictures of Ethan from childhood to adulthood. There was one of him riding on his father’s shoulders. Another of him holding his college acceptance letter, grinning wide. Yolanda’s thin, bony fingers traced the face of that bright-smiling boy. Then she grabbed the photo and tore it. Rip. One. Two. Three. She tore every single photo to pieces — shredding them like she was shredding every ounce of love and hope she’d poured into him over a lifetime. “Cole,” she said, her voice rough as sandpaper, “we don’t have a home anymore.” She didn’t wait for Winston’s driver the next morning. That same night, she dug out an old canvas bag and packed nothing but a few changes of clothes and my cat food. The expensive supplements sitting on the table — she didn’t even look at them. Outside, the wind was fierce, carrying a fine, cold autumn rain. Yolanda — sixty-five years old — walked out into the dark with a worn bag on her back and a black cat in her arms, never once looking back. Her figure was bent and small, but every step she took was absolutely certain.

We wandered the streets all night. By the time dawn broke, we found ourselves at the entrance of an alley in the old part of town — and that’s where we met Linda, who was out running a street sweeper along the road. Linda was the warm-hearted type. One look at Yolanda’s lips, blue from the cold, and she immediately brought us inside her home. When she heard what had happened, Linda exploded. She cursed up a storm and spat on the ground in disgust. “What kind of monster does that?! That’s lower than dirt! Don’t you worry — I’ve got a storage room out back that’s just sitting empty. You can fix it up and stay there as long as you need. No rent.” Yolanda was deeply grateful, but she was a proud woman at her core. She insisted on paying monthly rent, no matter what. The storage room was tiny — dark, damp, with nothing but a hard cot inside. But every night, I curled up at her feet and pressed my warm, furry body against her to keep her from getting cold. As long as she was there, it was home. Once they’d settled in, Yolanda started thinking about how to make a living. Her family had been known for their handmade pizza for generations. She’d grown up watching and learning, and she made an incredible pizza — and her hot dogs were just as good. With the little money she had left, she bought an second-hand oven and some ingredients. Before long, the tiny storage room was filled with a warm, sweet smell. I’d sit on the edge of the counter and watch her knead the dough. Any rat or cockroach that dared come within a foot of the food got a swift paw to the face — no mercy. I was her black knight. It was my job. The first batch of pizzas came out golden and crisp, steaming hot, smelling absolutely amazing. Yolanda wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled — the first real smile she’d had in days. The next morning, Yolanda pushed a borrowed old cart to the entrance of the subway station. The early winter wind cut at her face like a blade. The morning rush crowd moved fast, everyone hurrying off to their nine-to-fives. Hardly anyone stopped to give a second glance to an old woman’s little food stand. Day after day, business was slow. The pizza had gone cold and been reheated so many times that Yolanda’s eyes had slowly lost their light. That evening, the sky hung low and gray, threatening rain. A young girl in a trench coat stumbled up to the stall, looking completely lost. Her name was Nicole — a micro-influencer who made food review content. She had refused to sleep with her agency’s boss, and in retaliation, he’d forced her out of her contract. Not only did she lose her job, but the account she’d spent years building — millions of followers — was shamelessly stolen by the company. She stood in the wind, tears streaming down her face. I sensed her despair immediately. That suffocating feeling of being abandoned by the entire world — I knew it all too well from my past life. I jumped down from the tricycle, walked over to her feet, and gently wrapped my tail around her ankle, purring softly. Nicole froze for a moment, then crouched down and stroked my head. “Little black cat,” she whispered through her tears, “did you lose your home too?” Seeing this, Yolanda wrapped a warm slice of pizza in wax paper and held it out to her. “Girl, no matter how hard things get, you still need to eat. Something sweet will take the edge off the pain. Take it — no charge.” Nicole’s hands trembled as she took the pizza and bit into it. The soft, pillowy dough, the creamy richness of the melted cheese, and that rare, simple warmth she hadn’t felt in so long — it shattered every wall she’d built around herself. She crouched right there on the side of the road and sobbed, loud and ugly, not caring how she looked. Yolanda didn’t ask a single question. She just quietly patted Nicole’s back, the way you would comfort your own child.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432153”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The night the Silver Moon Pack was slaughtered, I hid inside a hollow tree, listening to my own mother’s voice through the mindlink: “Leave no one alive.” Then she stole my aunt’s name, climbed over a mountain of corpses, and clawed her way onto the throne as Queen. I became the only survivor of Silver Moon. Fifteen years later, I’m the last Healer left in this world. A male is carried up the mountain on a stretcher. Stacks of gold are piled at my gate, all to buy my gift. He’s been hit with a rare poison. No one alive can cure it but me. But when I see the royal crest hanging at his waist, I set down my silver needle. “I won’t save him.” The lead guard freezes. He rushes forward with a bow. “Healer, is it the gold? We can add more! Our master said he’ll pay whatever you ask!” “It doesn’t matter how much you add,” I say. “I won’t treat him. Take him away.” The poisoned male on the stretcher forces himself upright. His eyes lock onto mine. “So you’re the hidden Healer everyone talks about? The one who supposedly cures anything?” I say nothing. He smirks. “I heard you heal anyone who comes to you. Even rogues begging on the street. Guess that was all just an act.” “Rogues and everyone else, I’ll heal,” I say calmly. “But you? Never.” His face twists. Rage floods his scent. “Do you have any idea who I am? You dare talk to me like that?” “No idea,” I say. “Don’t care.” His voice cracks through the clearing like thunder. “Then let me spell it out for you! I am the Crown Prince of this kingdom! My mother is the Queen! My father is the Lycan King! You’re nothing but a wild she-wolf hiding in the woods. You dare defy me?!” My heart sinks like a stone. So it really is him. The second I saw that royal crest, I had a feeling. He’s her son. My nails dig into my palms, but my face stays blank. The Prince takes my silence for fear. It makes him bolder. He’s panting, sweat dripping down his neck, but his voice is pure venom. “You think I’m bluffing? One word from me and your entire bloodline is dead! I’ll burn this shack to the ground! Everyone you care about will pay for your disrespect today!” I look up at him. “You done?” He chokes. The fury freezes on his face. My voice drops cold. “Then get out. And take your filth with you. You’re dirtying my yard.” That does it. “You lowborn bitch!” he snarls. “You dare look down on me?!” Every guard in the yard drops their gaze. No one makes a sound. The Prince’s eyes go bloodshot. He roars at his men. “What are you standing around for?! Tear this place apart! Tie her up! I want her on her knees begging for my mercy!” The guards glance at each other. Nobody moves. “Are you deaf?!” he screams. “Disobey me and I’ll have every one of you executed!” The lead guard has no choice. He steps forward. I stare straight at the Prince. Every word clear. “Do you want to die here?” He goes rigid. Fear flickers behind the rage. “The poison in your body gives you three days,” I say. “You keep raging like this, your blood will push the toxin straight to your heart. Another half hour of this, and no one in this world can save you.” The fear in his eyes is real now. He grits his teeth. “Are you threatening me?” “Just stating facts.” His chest heaves. He spits out three words. “Fine. Fine. Fine.” His voice drops low, dripping with malice. “You refuse to heal me? Good. The second I get back to the Palace, I’m telling my father and mother. I’ll have your whole pack wiped out. Every last one. Let’s see how tough you are then.” I laugh. Fifteen years ago, the sky burned red and bodies covered the ground. His precious mother already wiped out everyone I had. He frowns. “What the hell are you laughing at?” I just look at him. Silent. After a long moment, he snarls at his guards through clenched teeth. “We’re leaving!” They lift the stretcher and start down the mountain. At the tree line, the Prince whips his head around one last time. “You’ll regret this. I’ll make you beg for death and not get it!” I stand at my gate, watching them stumble down the trail like beaten dogs. That’s when Emerald comes running, eyes red and frantic. “Miss! What were you thinking?! That was the Crown Prince! Save him and we’d be set for life! You always said you wanted to save up to give your family a proper burial. This was our chance!” I stare at the distant mountains. My voice is ice. “If I saved him, their souls would never rest.” Emerald goes still. I turn and walk inside. I press my last few coins into her hands. “Emerald, you need to leave. Now. I just made an enemy of the Crown Prince. When the storm comes, you’ll die if you stay.” She drops to her knees. “I’m not leaving! You saved my life. Wherever you go, I go. Even if it kills me.” I look at her loyal face and lower my voice. “Then go to Silver Moon Valley right now. The coffins…” Emerald kowtows three times, tears streaming, and disappears down the mountain in the dark. I sit alone in the yard all night. I don’t sleep.

At dawn, the thundering of hooves shakes the mountain. Royal soldiers swarm up the trail, surrounding my little yard in layers. A figure in a golden gown walks through the gate, slow and unhurried. The Queen. My birth mother. The woman I haven’t seen in fifteen years. She looks me up and down like I’m dirt on her shoe. “So. You’re the one who refused to save my son.” I say nothing. Her eyes go colder. “I asked you a question. Are you mute?” I lift my gaze. “I’m not mute. I just won’t save him.” Her expression darkens. She lets out a cold laugh. “Bold. Do you know the punishment for defying the royal family?” “I do.” She takes a slow breath, holding back her rage. “I’ll give you one last chance. Heal the Prince, and I’ll give you mountains of gold. A life of luxury. When my son takes the throne, you’ll be untouchable.” I stare straight into her eyes. “And if I refuse?” She smiles. That same cold, thin smile from fifteen years ago, the night she butchered my entire pack. Heartless. Cruel. “Then I kill you,” she says lightly. “And wipe out your entire bloodline.” I hold her gaze. “If you’re wiping out my bloodline, does that include my birth mother?” She doesn’t even hesitate. “Obviously. Anyone connected by blood dies.” I actually laugh. Every word hits like a blade. “Then you deserve to die. And so does your son. I will never save him.” She slaps me across the face. Hard. “You dare curse me and the Prince?!” Her face is flushed red, finger jabbing at my nose. “What are you? You’re nothing! How dare you speak to me like that?!” “Guards!” she screams. “Throw this lunatic in the dungeon!” The soldiers grab my arms. I don’t resist. The next day, I’m dragged to the execution ground. I kneel on the platform. The executioner stands beside me. People pack the streets. Someone shouts first. “Isn’t that the Healer? She saved my mother’s life!” The crowd explodes. “The Healer would never hurt anyone!” “She’s a good person!” “She healed my son! Didn’t take a single coin!” Voices crash in from every direction. An old woman pushes through the crowd and throws herself down before the platform. “The Healer saved my grandson! He had a fever for three days, every doctor gave up, but she pulled him back from death’s door! She is a good woman! You can’t kill her!” More people kneel. One after another. Hundreds of them, dropping to their knees in a wave across the square. “The Healer is innocent!” “She’s done nothing wrong!” Someone runs to the grievance drum and slams it with everything they’ve got. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The sound shakes the sky. Inside the Palace, a servant crashes to his knees before the Lycan King. “Y-Your Majesty! Something’s happened!” The King’s voice is flat. “Calm down. Is the sky falling?” The servant presses his forehead to the floor. “Your Majesty! The entire city is beating the grievance drum for the she-wolf who refused to treat the Prince! Over a thousand people are kneeling outside the execution ground, begging for her life!” The King’s eyes narrow. “She publicly defied a royal order. Refused to treat the Crown Prince. That’s a death sentence. Why would the people defend her?” The servant looks up, face desperate. “Your Majesty! Every citizen in the capital calls her a living saint! For years she’s lived hidden in the mountains, never taking gold from the rich, only healing the poor! Countless wolves on death’s door owe their lives to her!” “They all say she is the most compassionate, most selfless healer alive! If someone this good is the only one who refuses to save the Prince, then there must be a reason! A terrible one!” Every word lands like a slap to the royal family’s face. The King’s voice goes cold. “Interesting. A wild healer, and the whole city rises up for her?” “Send my order! Delay the execution! Bring her to the Great Hall. I will question her myself. I want to see what makes her so special.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701IrshDxBjlp 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni952134”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix