Married for five years, Mark was, according to everyone on my X feed, the perfect husband. He never missed an anniversary, always with a surprise. Others envied me, but only I knew the truth. Those expensive gifts everyone raved about? All from some resale site. I used to think he was just frugal. Until one day, on a sudden impulse, I logged into his resale account. The transaction history showed the seller was his ex-girlfriend. It turned out the gifts I cherished were just discards Christina didn’t care for. In that moment, five years of deep affection became nothing but a cruel joke. I finally woke up. All his tenderness, all his love, had never truly been for me. He had never let go of his past. And I? I was just a subscription, a way for him to renew their love. My blood ran cold, phone clutched in my hand. The seller in the transaction history was always his ex-girlfriend’s name. Christina. My finger trembled as I scrolled and clicked on the link for the ring from five years ago. The product description clearly stated: “Engagement ring from ex-boyfriend, selling after breakup. Initials engraved on the inside. Please consider before purchasing.” My heart clenched. Unwilling to give up, I took off the wedding ring I wore every day and rubbed its inner surface repeatedly. Finally, in the most hidden corner, I felt the tiny engraving. It was her initials. This wedding ring had been with me for five years of marriage. I treasured it so much I’d carefully take it off and put it away even when washing my hands. Actually, the size wasn’t quite right. Once, it slipped off and got lost while skiing. I searched on my own in the snow all night. My hands and feet got frostbitten, and I almost needed an amputation. It turned out, all those promises of a lifetime, they were just scraps from someone else’s table. I flipped through the records. Christina had specified the origin of each item in the product details: “Selling unused items after breakup, gifts from an ex.” My pajamas from our wedding night? Her old clothes. All those exquisite pieces of jewelry, those designer bags over the years… Every seemingly thoughtful gift was just a witness to his story with another woman. I stood there, phone in hand, fingers icy. I asked him in a choked voice, as he stepped out of the bathroom: “Are all the gifts you’ve given me secondhand?” He casually looked up, drying his hair, his tone candid and indifferent: “Gifts are about the thought, and secondhand items are just as good. No need to waste money.” “Don’t be so materialistic like other women.” He thought I cared about the price, but he didn’t realize what sickened me was being a substitute, a cheap replacement, from start to finish. I finally couldn’t hold back the tears. “Why would you re-gift things you gave to Christina, to me?” He paused, his gaze flickered away. “She sold them at a good price, and the channel was verified…” “Christina and I are in the past. Can you stop being so dramatic?” I looked at him, utterly disbelieving, tears streaming down my face. “You bought back your ex-girlfriend’s engagement ring and gave it to me as my wedding ring, and I’m being dramatic?” He frowned. “Is a ring she’s worn not a ring anymore?” “Alright, I’m tired from work. Do you have to cause a scene over something so trivial?” Every word dripped with impatience and accusation. I watched him turn his back to me and fall asleep. My heart felt like it was being strangled by that ring, the pain so intense I couldn’t breathe.

Using that unique ID, I easily tracked down all of Christina’s social media accounts. Following the digital breadcrumbs, I found her long-inactive Ins account. It hadn’t been updated in years, but it was still linked to that familiar profile picture – Mark’s account. Her posts were, predictably, restricted. I thought for a moment, typed in Christina’s publicly listed birthday from her other social media and, just like that, it unlocked. It was packed with all of his and her past. In five years of marriage, Mark had never posted a single picture of me on X. Even on the day Harry was born, he posted “Grateful for the miracle of life,” but the accompanying picture was just a random stock photo he’d downloaded. But in this restricted feed, he posted Christina’s pictures for every holiday. She looked vibrant and full of life through his lens. Drooling in her sleep, getting ice cream on her nose, laughing so hard she had a double chin, crying with tears and snot running down her face… Anyone could see he was madly in love with her, every single expression. Unlike me, when I cried, he would just calmly say, “Wipe it off. You don’t look good like that.” There were several videos from when they were deeply in love saved in the album. He’d call her in a soft, doting voice, “My darling.” And me? From dating to marriage, he always just called me by my name. He never called me “darling.” I used to think he was just reserved, not good at expressing himself. But it was only because every time he said it, it felt like he was calling someone else. Unable to stop trembling, I shook him awake. “Mark,” I heard my voice, broken. “Can you call me ‘darling’ just once?” His sleepy eyes instantly cleared, his pupils constricted. He still couldn’t say it. He just whispered, “Stop it, go back to sleep.” I closed my eyes, my heart utterly disheartened.

The next day, Mark came home from work and immediately zoned out on the couch. Every day after work, he would sit there for ten minutes. Silent, no phone, no TV. I once thought it was just his way of relaxing. It was only today, looking at his empty, distant gaze, that I understood: his body was here with me, but his mind was miles away. A chill snaked up my spine, my voice dry. I blurted out: “Mark, who are you thinking about right now?” “Is it Christina?” His face instantly changed. “Are you done or not?!” “She’s getting married soon, why can’t you just let it go already?!” With that, he got up, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the door shut. A loud “BANG” echoed through the living room. His phone, which had slipped from his pocket, lay quietly in the couch cushion. I couldn’t help but reach for it and unlock it. The WhatsApp interface was open to his chat with Christina. The messages were frequent, especially recently, with her wedding approaching. Mark was bustling around, a hundred times more invested than he ever was for our wedding. He helped her pick out wedding dresses, finalize the hotel menu, and even painstakingly reviewed the wording for the invitations. When we got married, his best man helped him choose his own suit. Scrolling further up their chat history, I felt like a beggar who had stumbled into a lavish feast, utterly out of place. His messages to me were always the same few things: “Working late tonight.” “Okay.” “Alright.” I used to think he just had a bland personality, not good at online communication. Every time I shared a pretty cloud, a cute dog, or a funny meme with him, he never replied. But it turned out he forwarded all of those to her. They could chat back and forth for ages, even about trivial things like “The pork chop for lunch today was really good.” His capacity for emotional connection was always there; he just never shared a single ounce of it with me. I remembered when Christina lost her job. He pulled every string to get her into his own company, with a salary even higher than mine. I was fresh back in the workforce after having Harry, suffocating from the office politics, and I begged him to help me transfer. He coldly refused: “I’m just helping a friend; there’s nothing more to it. You’re my wife, I need to keep things professional.” Christina cried in the breakroom, red-eyed, because her boss was giving her a hard time. When Mark found out, he stormed into the office and ripped that boss a new one, almost getting physical. Then he transferred her to work directly under him. But when my boss publicly humiliated me, and I came home crying for help. He just shrugged it off, still playing his game: “Isn’t that just how workplaces are? Just deal with it.” I couldn’t help but say, “He said some really nasty things.” He didn’t even look up: “You’re just too sensitive.” My heart sank further and further, dropping into an icy pit. I looked at our son playing. His little face, so much like Mark’s, made the pain almost unbearable, choking me. Where was I supposed to go from here?

On Christina’s wedding day, Mark went to help set up the venue at 3 AM. Harry suddenly started convulsing with a fever. I rushed out of the house, clutching my burning hot child, calling Mark dozens of times on the way, but he never answered. I handled the registration, the payments, held Harry’s eyes closed for his shots… all by myself. Tears mixed with sweat streamed down my face. It wasn’t until evening that I saw a photo on a mutual friend’s X (Twitter) feed. During the ring exchange, I saw a familiar figure in a suit standing among the guests. Just from his silhouette, I knew it was him, and he was crying. Meanwhile, on my phone, there was a message from him, sent just hours earlier: “If the kid has a fever, just take him to the hospital. I’m not a doctor.” In that moment, I could no longer deceive myself. For these five years, I was just a placeholder. Right after we got married, Christina lost a big investment and racked up debt. She called, weeping. Mark transferred two hundred thousand dollars without a second thought. That money was supposed to be our wedding gift fund, the down payment for our house. When I questioned him, he retorted, with a defiant air: “She’s in trouble and she came to me, what was I supposed to do?” Later, looking at his bank statements, I realized it wasn’t the first time. She opened a business, and he provided the startup capital. She bought a car, and he was the guarantor. Even her utility bills were being paid from his card. Yet for five years of our marriage, he always claimed he was “short on cash,” and we even skipped our honeymoon. One night, she called late, saying her boyfriend was out of town, and the power was out, making her scared. Mark got dressed and left immediately. I blocked his way at the door: “She’s almost thirty, and she’s afraid of the dark?” He pushed me aside: “You don’t understand, she has anxiety. If it gets bad, something could happen.” Later, I learned her so-called “anxiety” was just being unable to sleep alone. During my postpartum depression, I spent half a year sleepless, crying all night, standing on the balcony and thinking of jumping. He only had one cold line: “Are you just bored?” My heart truly died. In those five years, my light was never lit. He poured everything into ensuring her happiness, so I would grant him his “deep affection” for her. I called my lawyer, my voice calm: “Please draft a divorce agreement for me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “421761”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Ethan Thorne spent over a million dollars customizing a vintage wedding dress for me from Paris, saying I’d wear it on our wedding day. He called it a once-in-a-lifetime romantic gesture, promising me the perfect dream. But when I tried it on, I couldn’t even zip it up. The waist was a size too big, yet the bust felt suffocatingly tight. I thought the designer had mixed up the measurements and flipped up the skirt to find the tag. That’s when I noticed a few words embroidered in silver thread on the delicate tulle closest to the heart. [Sera, forever.] I thought it was a romantic blessing from the French designer. Until I scrolled past a ballerina on Instagram. She was wearing the prototype of this very wedding dress, with a caption that read: [Thank you. Even if I’m not the bride, you hid my name in the place closest to your heart.] And her ID was “Sera.” I calmly took off the million-dollar wedding dress. I’m not getting married. The custom haute couture wedding dress, air-freighted from Paris, hung in the most prominent spot in the VIP fitting room. Layers upon layers of silk chiffon, embedded with thousands of hand-sewn Swarovski crystals. Under the lights, it shimmered and sparkled, like an ethereal dream. The store manager, along with three assistants, carefully helped me put it on. “Miss Hayes, Mr. Thorne really outdid himself for you. He oversaw everything from design to final fitting, even personally selecting the lace pattern.” The manager sighed with envy as she adjusted my skirt. I looked at myself in the mirror, but a frown creased my brow. “The zipper won’t go up.” An assistant struggled for a long time behind me, sweat beading on her forehead. “Miss Hayes, have you gained a little weight recently? The waist is quite loose, but the bust and back are really too tight.” I didn’t say anything. My weight hadn’t changed much in years. I’d had a physical last week, and it was exactly the same. My figure had always been standard, but the cut of this dress was clearly for an extremely slender, almost flat-chested girl. “Maybe I haven’t rested well these past few days; I feel a little swollen,” I offered a casual excuse. “In that case, please take it off, and we’ll have the tailor add a bit of allowance.” The assistants helped me out of the dress. The heavy skirt piled onto the carpet. As I bent to lift the hem, my fingers inadvertently brushed against the sheer fabric on the inside of the bodice. There was a slight protrusion. I thought it was a loose thread, but when I flipped it over, I froze. In the spot closest to the heart, a line of words was intricately embroidered with incredibly subtle silver thread. [Sera, forever.] The silver thread gleamed with a cold, piercing light under the cool white lamps. “Miss Hayes, what’s wrong?” The manager noticed my changed expression and leaned in to look. “Oh, was this something Mr. Thorne specifically requested? Young couples these days love this kind of exclusive romance, embroidering each other’s names or vows into the wedding dress.” The manager smiled, a hint of suggestive amusement in her eyes. I didn’t smile. My name is Aurora Hayes. Ethan usually called me Rory, or my full name. Who was Sera? I clutched the tulle, my fingertips turning white. “I’m not trying it on anymore.” I let go, allowing the million-dollar wedding dress to fall to the floor. “Miss Hayes? We haven’t even altered the size yet…” “No need to.” I changed back into my regular clothes, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the bridal shop without looking back. Sitting in my car, I didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, I pulled out my phone and typed “Sera” into Instagram’s search bar. In the age of big data, no secret can stay hidden. Especially not when Ethan Thorne’s social circle was so small. After just a few pages, an account verified as a “Young Ballerina” popped up. The profile picture was the back of a woman in a white swan ballet tutu. Account ID: Sera. I clicked on her profile. The top pinned video was posted a week ago. In the video, she was dancing gracefully in a rehearsal room, wearing an initial prototype almost identical to the haute couture wedding dress I had just tried on. Because it was a sample, it wasn’t encrusted with crystals, but the cut, style, and even the direction of the lace were exactly the same. She was incredibly slender, with a flat chest and a delicate waist. The dress fit her perfectly, seamlessly, as if it were a second skin. The video’s caption read: [He said he would make my dream a reality. Thank you. Even if I’m not the bride, you hid my name in the place closest to your heart.] A comment below asked: [Wow! Such a beautiful wedding dress! Are you getting married?] Sera replied: [No, it’s a gift from a very important person. Unfortunately, I can’t wear it to walk towards him.] I stared at the screen, a sudden wave of nausea washing over me. Three years. I’d been with Ethan Thorne for three years. I thought I was his carefully chosen fiancée. It turned out I was just a stand-in, forced to wear someone else’s hand-me-down wedding dress. A stand-in who didn’t even fit the dimensions.

I drove home. This apartment, located downtown, was the wedding home Ethan had bought. Opening the door, I was met with a panorama of black, white, and gray. Hard, cold marble floors, a black leather sofa, and a minimalist metal coffee table utterly devoid of any warmth. Before we moved in, I’d enthusiastically shown him soft furnishing catalogs. I’d said I wanted a cream-colored fabric sofa, a fluffy rug in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a few brightly colored oil paintings. Ethan had looked up from his computer, his brow slightly furrowed. “Rory, those things are too cluttered, too tacky. A home needs quality, not cheap coziness.” I compromised. Over three years, I had compromised countless times. I thought it was just his occupational hazard as a CEO, accustomed to rigidity and efficiency. Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t that at all. I walked to the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the gray sky. The lock chimed. Ethan was back. He wore a impeccably tailored suit, his tie loosened slightly, his eyes holding their usual fatigue and indifference. “How was the wedding dress fitting?” He asked casually as he changed his shoes. “It didn’t fit,” I turned to face him. “What didn’t fit?” He walked to the island counter and poured himself a glass of ice water. “The size was wrong. The waist was too big, the bust too tight.” Ethan paused his drinking, then frowned. “That was cut by the Paris atelier according to the golden ratio. Have you been slacking on your workouts lately, is your posture off? Haute couture is about the person adapting to the dress, not the dress adapting to the person.” His tone was condescending, lecturing. The person adapting to the dress. I suddenly felt like laughing. “Really? Because I feel like that dress wasn’t tailored for me to begin with.” Ethan put down his water glass, his gaze hardening. “Aurora, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? That wedding dress cost me $1.2 million; do you know how much effort I put in to get the chief designer to rush it? Can’t you be more reasonable?” “Reasonable?” I looked at the face I had loved for three years. He was handsome, wealthy, and in outsiders’ eyes, a flawless fiancé. But at this moment, I only felt a profound unfamiliarity. “Ethan, was ‘Sera’ embroidered inside the dress part of the golden ratio?” The living room fell silent. Ethan’s pupils constricted, and the muscles in his jawline tensed sharply. But he quickly regained his composure, his voice not even wavering. “You saw it.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “Yes, I saw it,” I stared into his eyes. “Aren’t you going to explain?” Ethan quirked his lips, a look of extremely perfunctory helplessness. “That’s just a friend. The initial design draft of this dress was something I drew many years ago to help her achieve a stage dream. With the wedding approaching quickly, I just used that old draft. The words? The studio messed up, thinking it was the bride’s name. I’ve already had someone sent to remove it.” “A friend?” I took a step closer to him. “A friend whose name you need to embroider on your fiancée’s wedding dress, closest to her heart?” “Aurora!” He raised his voice, clearly losing patience. “I told you, the studio made a mistake! Do you have to be so petty about a trivial matter? The invitations have already been sent, the wedding venue booked. Are you trying to make us a laughingstock by pulling this stunt now?” He was always like this. Whenever I questioned him, he’d label me “unreasonable” or “petty.” As if I was always the one at fault. He sighed, pulled a velvet box from his pocket, and held it out to me. “Alright, don’t be mad anymore. I passed an auction house today, and this necklace looked perfect for you, so I bought it. Consider it my apology.” I didn’t take it. The box was open. Inside lay an incredibly luminous South Sea pearl necklace. I looked at the pearls and said softly, “Ethan, I’m allergic to pearls; they make my neck break out in a rash. I’ve told you three times.” Ethan’s hand froze mid-air. A flicker of panic finally crossed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I… I’ve been so busy lately, I got it mixed up.” “Got it mixed up?” I curled my lips. “Did you get it mixed up, or did you subconsciously think the person standing here should be Sera, the one who loves pearls?” In every one of Sera’s photos, she wore pearls around her neck. Ethan slammed the box shut, his face turning ashen. “Aurora, you’re being utterly unreasonable!” He turned and walked towards his study, slamming the door shut with a bang. I stood in the empty living room, not shedding a single tear. My heart had simply died. When all the details came together, the truth was often uglier than imagined.

The next day, Ethan went to the office. I didn’t go to work. I walked to the study door and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. Ethan had a habit: he didn’t like anyone touching his things, especially the safe at the very bottom of his desk. He said it contained the company’s core secrets. I used to believe him implicitly, even carefully avoiding it when I cleaned. But today, I wanted to open it. I knelt in front of the safe, looking at the keypad. Six digits. I typed in my birthday. A red light blinked; incorrect password. I typed in our anniversary. Incorrect password. I typed in Ethan’s own birthday. Still incorrect. I paused for a long time, my finger hovering, trembling slightly. Then, I took out my phone and pulled up Sera’s account. Two years ago, she had posted a birthday video; the date was October 27th. I took a deep breath and pressed 102799 (she was born in ‘99). Click. A green light illuminated, and the heavy metal door sprang open. In that instant, I felt something inside me shatter. Inside the safe, there were no company confidential documents. No multi-million dollar contracts. Only a few exquisitely crafted storage boxes. I opened the first box. Inside was a thick stack of ballet performance tickets. Every single one was for Sera’s performances. The dates ranged from three years ago all the way up to last month. On the 15th of last month, Ethan told me he was going to London for a business trip to discuss a crucial merger. But the location on that ticket was the Paris Opera House. I opened the second box. Inside was a thick stack of boarding passes. Ethan’s name and Sera’s name were printed side-by-side. Destinations spanned the globe. I thought he was working hard for our future, countless nights I worried about his exhaustion. It turned out he was just traveling the world with another woman. The last box contained a sketchbook. I opened it. Inside were all his hand-drawn designs. Wedding dresses, evening gowns, everyday wear. The bottom right corner of each one read: [To my little swan, Sera.] The very last drawing was of that million-dollar haute couture wedding dress. The note beside it read: [Waist 23 inches, Bust 31.5 inches. She’s too thin; add a few layers of silk so it doesn’t look flimsy.] My waist was 25 inches, my bust 34.5 inches. No wonder I couldn’t wear it. No wonder he thought I was “lacking exercise.” I put everything back into the safe exactly as I found it and closed the door. When I stood up, my vision blurred, and I had to hold onto the desk for a long time to steady myself. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. I thought I was the most intimate person in his life. It turned out I didn’t even have the right to enter the most secret corners of his heart. I was just a shield. A perfect fiancée he used to appease his parents and the outside world when he couldn’t openly marry Sera. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Chloe Green. “Chloe, are you free for lunch? Let’s meet up.” “What’s wrong? Your voice is so hoarse, do you have a cold?” “No,” I looked at the sunlight outside the window. “I just feel like it’s time for me to wake up.”

Chloe and I met at a discreet coffee shop. After hearing my story, Chloe was so furious she almost crushed her coffee cup. “That jerk, Ethan! How dare he?!” Chloe suddenly stood up, drawing glances from people around us. I tugged at her sleeve. “Sit down, don’t get so worked up.” “How can I not get worked up?!” Chloe lowered her voice, her eyes red. “Aurora, how have you been surviving these past three years? You even gave up your beloved design career for him! You willingly went to his company to be an uncredited ghost designer. Which of his new brand ‘Thorne’s’ hit products wasn’t something you stayed up all night drawing? How dare he treat you like this?!” She was right. I used to be an award-winning new designer. When Ethan was starting his business, his funding ran out, and he couldn’t afford good designers. Without a second thought, I resigned from my high-paying job and joined his company. To avoid suspicion and not overshadow him, none of my designs were ever credited. The outside world thought Ethan Thorne was a business prodigy and a design genius. Only I knew that those stunning works were born from my tireless efforts, stroke by stroke. “Chloe, crying won’t help,” I stirred my coffee, my eyes as cold as ice. “I didn’t ask you to meet me today to cry.” Chloe paused, looking at me. “Then what do you plan to do? Break off the engagement just like that? That’s letting those two off easy!” “The engagement is definitely off,” I put down my spoon. “But I’m not letting him off easy.” “How so?” “The wedding venue is the top hotel in the city, the deposit was fifty thousand. That wedding dress, $1.2 million. And other miscellaneous preparation costs, it all adds up to nearly two hundred thousand.” I looked at Chloe. “All that money came from my parents.” Ethan had said his company was having cash flow problems, and my parents, feeling sorry for me, had pulled out their life savings without hesitation. “If I unilaterally announce the breakup now, according to the contract, none of those deposits will be refunded.” Chloe gasped. “Damn it, he used your parents’ money to make a wedding dress for his ‘white moonlight’?!” “Exactly. So, I need evidence,” I calmly analyzed. “I need to prove that he was at fault first, that he violated the principle of fidelity in our engagement. Only then can I, through a lawyer, get all that money back, down to the last penny.” Not only that. I also wanted to reclaim everything that belonged to me. My designs, my hard work, my dignity. Chloe looked at me, her anger slowly turning to heartache. “Aurora, you’ve changed.” “People always have to grow up,” I smiled faintly. “I used to think love could sustain you, but now I realize that money and a career are the most reliable things.” “What do you need me to do?” Chloe asked without hesitation. “Help me contact the best lawyer in the city for divorce and contract disputes,” I looked at her. “The tougher, the better.” “No problem. Leave it to me.” After parting ways with Chloe, I didn’t go home. Instead, I went to a shopping mall. I bought several sets of brightly colored clothes. Red, bright yellow, royal blue. I threw all those black, white, and gray clothes into the trash. Ethan loved minimalism. But I, Aurora Hayes, was born to love passion and vibrancy.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “421760”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

As I massaged my half-paralyzed husband, Brandon Carter, a flicker of sensation ran through his left foot. I was ecstatic. I immediately called Dr. Miller for a re-examination. The result came back: “Still nothing. The chances of your husband ever walking again are practically zero.” I gritted my teeth. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of him for the rest of my life.” Tears blurring my vision, I headed to work. Halfway there, I realized I’d forgotten my car keys and had to turn back. Through the crack in the door, I saw Brandon, who was supposed to be confined to his hospital bed. He was standing, pinning Skylar Reed against the wall, kissing her with frenzied abandon. “How much longer do we have to lie to her? Being together always feels so risky, it’s driving me crazy.” “Just a little longer. In a few days, I’ll figure out a way to fake my death. Then, we can take the money and move abroad.” My mind cleared instantly. So, his suicide attempt five years ago had all been a sham. It was just a ploy to escape his company’s debt crisis and spend every waking moment with Skylar. I stood there in silence for a long time, then walked into Dr. Miller’s office. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m stopping my husband’s treatment. Proceed directly with the amputation.”

When I pushed open the door, Brandon was, as usual, pale and frail, huddled in the corner of the bed, his eyes devoid of any life. “The nurse told me you went to bother Dr. Miller again. I’m a cripple, there’s no need to waste medical resources.” He always used to say such disheartening things. On the surface, I’d pretend to be strong and try to cheer him up, but in reality, I’d hide in the bathroom, crying countless times. My hand clenched around the small silver cross I held. My gaze drifted to the trash can. A sickening, sweet odor hit me instantly. Inside, unmistakably, were several freshly used, utterly disgusting condoms. So, Brandon had been putting on an act for me all along. Five years ago, his company failed, leaving him deeply in debt. Creditors hounded him, pushing him to the brink of ‘suicide’ by jumping off a building. No matter how I pleaded, even getting down on my knees, he remained utterly unmoved. He supposedly plummeted from the fifteenth floor, landing in a pile of mud, which left him permanently paralyzed. I, too, suffered from extreme shock and lost our seven-month-old baby. That period was the most helpless and darkest time of my life. During the day, trying to secure orders, I’d force myself to tolerate disgusting, lecherous old men, drinking with them at business dinners. After work, I’d rush to the hospital, trying to talk Brandon out of his constant suicidal urges. Everyone told me to give up. “He blew all his money himself; it has nothing to do with you. You’re young, find someone else and marry them quickly.” “A man who threatens suicide every other day is useless to keep around. Let him go.” Even Brandon’s parents tried to persuade me to leave him. “He’s lost all his fight. Living like this is just torture for him. Don’t push him any further.” But I refused. I gritted my teeth and held on, reaching this point. The company, on the verge of bankruptcy, I brought back from the brink. Whenever I had time, I’d sit by Brandon’s bedside, connecting him with renowned orthopedic specialists from all over the world. The silver cross in my hand was something I’d prayed for him in church. Yet, before I could even offer it, it was met with scorn. “More of this useless junk, trying to guilt-trip me.” In the last few days, his temper had grown increasingly volatile. He snatched the cross from my hand and threw it out the window. Afterward, he hung his head, covering his face with his hands, tears streaming down like a wounded animal whimpering. “Eleanor, if you really love me, just give me a bottle of sleeping pills. I’m tired. I want to sleep forever.” I swallowed the bitter mockery rising within me. His feigned despair was a stark contrast to the man who had been fiercely kissing Skylar against the wall. It made me frown. “I won’t let you die.”

My throat felt like it had been scoured with sandpaper, every word tasting like blood. He’d lied to me for so long. At the very least, I wouldn’t let him die that easily. Leaving the hospital, I wandered aimlessly down the street. There was hurt in my heart, but even more, there was resentment. We’d been together since our school days, from prom night to our wedding day. Right after we graduated from college, he took my hand and we went to the courthouse to get married. In that cramped, damp basement apartment, we spent several happy years. Even when we had to rely on discounted food nearing its expiration date, I never complained, never felt it was a hardship. Then, when he had his ‘accident,’ I used my slender shoulders to prop up the company we had built together. For years, I’d been covering his parents’ expenses and all our daily bills. As a wife and a daughter-in-law, I’d done everything humanly possible, earning praise even from outsiders. To treat Brandon’s legs, I worked three part-time jobs a day, once even collapsing from exhaustion. Looking back now, I was such a fool. Sacrificing myself for a man full of lies—it wasn’t worth it! At ten that night, I returned to the dream home we’d prepared for our marriage. A three-story, beautifully furnished house with a front and back garden. I’d only helped with the decorating and buying furniture, but I’d never spent a single night there. Most of the time, I’d slept in the hospital hallway or on my office sofa. The moment I opened the door, I was stunned to find the interior completely redecorated. The sleek, designer leather sofa was now buried under an assortment of plush toys and stuffed animals. On the table, there was a new set of cartoon couple mugs, one pink, one blue—a sickeningly sweet, mismatched set. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be patient as I walked into the bedroom. Our wedding photos had been taken down and tossed haphazardly into a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust. My clothes were all gone from the walk-in closet. Even my treasured wedding gown, the one I loved most, had been cut into pieces and thrown into the trash. My feet moved uncontrollably to the bed, gazing at the messy, wrinkled sheets. I vaguely guessed what those two had been doing here not long ago. Suppressing my disgust, I fished out a pair of women’s lace panties from between the sofa cushions. No doubt, their activities hadn’t been confined to just the bedroom. Instantly, a surge of bitter bile rose in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom, clutching the toilet bowl, and vomited for a long time. It was only when my phone rang that I wiped away my tears and answered. My usual butcher called, kindly reminding me. “Ms. Vance, I saved you a prime cut of steak today. Perfect for your husband’s grilled steak. When can you come by the market to pick it up?” My voice was calm. “No need.” The butcher paused, sounding surprised. “That’s not like you. You used to wait in the longest lines to get the freshest beef bones for him. What’s wrong today? You don’t want it, even when it’s ready?” A sharp pang went through me. “I won’t be needing it anymore.” Soon after I hung up, I heard the front door downstairs open. I held my breath, like a thief, and hid inside the empty closet. As the sounds of intertwining moans and whispers grew closer, I peered through the crack and saw Brandon’s face. And, the naked woman in his arms.

Skylar Reed. She was a college acquaintance, two years my junior. Every semester during finals week, she’d always pester me for my class notes to cram for her exams. At first, Brandon actually had a bad impression of her, often complaining to me that she was cutting into our date time. But gradually, things changed. He’d openly compliment Skylar’s dresses, saying she looked so ‘innocently sweet.’ Once, I even walked in on them coming out of the men’s restroom. Skylar was crying, calling him a ‘bad boy’ and complaining that he clearly didn’t know how to treat a lady gently. So, they’d been hooking up since then. About two hours later. Brandon carried Skylar out of the bathroom, one arm around her, and stood by the bed, attentively blow-drying her hair. They fooled around for a while before Skylar playfully pushed his shoulder, pouting dramatically. “It was Leo’s first day of preschool today, and you, his dad, didn’t even show up. Honestly, you’re so useless sometimes.” Brandon pulled her close. “It’s all Ellie’s fault. She always takes forever to leave, wasting so much of our time together as a family.” “Don’t be mad, baby. How about I get you some new jewelry to make up for it?” “What about Leo?” Brandon chuckled, holding up three fingers, swearing solemnly. “For the next week, I’ll handle all the school pickups and drop-offs for Leo. Happy now?” My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, yet I felt no pain, only numb fury. I wondered, how could a person be so shameless? Brandon had been faking his illness for eight years, giving me the cold shoulder for eight years. Yet, behind my back, he and Skylar had even had a child. I’d seen the child before. Brandon’s parents had lied, claiming he was a distant relative’s kid staying with them temporarily. But they doted on him like their own flesh and blood grandson. Every time I went to drop off their allowance, the kid would jump out, deliberately squirting me with a toy water gun, spitting out nasty words like ‘bad lady’ or ‘you stole my daddy.’ Like mother, like son, I thought bitterly. At that moment, Skylar, clearly aroused again, tangled herself around Brandon and they went at it for what felt like hours. Afterward, she smugly cupped his face, her gaze drifting to my wedding photo on the wall. It was a blatant declaration of ownership. “Brandon, do you know why I threw out everything else in this house that belonged to Ellie, but kept that photo?” Brandon smirked, playfully rubbing her small nose. “Are you being naughty again?” “Oh, yes! I want her to see with her own eyes that every unremarkable night, you and I are here in this new house she decorated, entwined, inseparable.” “She got to you before I did, the nerve! When it was clear we were the perfect match.” “Still, seeing her get played for a fool all these years by us? I finally got my sweet revenge.” “Speaking of which, don’t you feel sorry for her? She’s practically withered into an old hag trying to find a cure for you. She’s not even thirty and she’s got huge patches of gray hair and a face full of wrinkles. Honestly, every time I see her, it makes me cringe.” “That was her choice.” Brandon playfully twirled a strand of Skylar’s hair. “I, pretending to be paralyzed, lying in bed, was much more pitiful. Why didn’t you ever feel sorry for me?” “You’re awful.” … The night stretched on, long and dark. Some slept in peaceful embrace, others felt their hearts rip apart.

The next morning, for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t show up at Brandon’s bedside, carrying a warm breakfast. Instead, I leisurely went shopping and treated myself to a few beauty treatments. My once mottled, waist-length hair, streaked with gray, was chopped into a chic, short bob, then dyed a rich chestnut brown. It was sharp and stylish, yet still carried a quiet elegance. The fine lines around my eyes, once etched by relentless exhaustion, were now gently fading, thanks to a hefty dose of self-care. Just like my surging love for Brandon, once gone, it would never return. When I arrived at the hospital entrance, I suddenly didn’t want to go in. Brandon had hurt me too deeply; even seeing him felt superfluous. Just then, my assistant Chloe called urgently. “Ms. Vance, for that overseas construction materials deal, should we still have Mr. Davison, the Vice President, handle it as usual?” In the past, I only wanted to stay by Brandon’s side, hoping that the first person he hugged when he stood up would be me. So, even if sending a VP to sign was unprofessional and would inevitably cost the company almost half its potential profits, I didn’t care. But people grow, don’t they? You have to learn to love yourself first before you can truly decide who else is worthy of that love. This time, I firmly shook my head. “No need. I’ll go myself.” The moment I hung up, I made eye contact with Skylar Reed, who was walking towards me. The atmosphere was awkward for a few seconds. She flashed a sickly sweet smile, chirping, “Ellie, what a coincidence! You’re at the hospital too?” Her feigned surprise was sickening. I had no intention of making small talk and turned to leave. But Skylar raised an eyebrow, blocking my path. Then, she deliberately let slip a crumpled ultrasound report from her hand. “Ellie, I’m pregnant and can’t bend over. Could you pick that up for me?” I remained unmoved, my gaze fixed on her abdomen, my breathing tight. “Pregnant so soon? And where’s the baby’s daddy?” Skylar touched her belly with a blissful expression, smiling sweetly. “This is our second baby. His dad is overjoyed! Even though he can’t always be with me and Leo, his love is always there.” “He bought us several houses, and even set up a trust fund of billions for both kids. Oh, and tonight’s city-wide fireworks display? That’s what his dad arranged to cheer me up. He always says women are born to be pampered.” Skylar gushed, her hands animated with excitement. She paused for a second, then looked at me with a sympathetic expression. “I’m so sorry, Ellie, I brought up your sore spot. Brandon’s been sick for so long, you must be so lonely, aren’t you?” I forced a smile, my voice flat. “I’ve arranged a new treatment plan for him recently. He’ll be able to stand up soon. I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.” “Really? Well, congratulations then.” She sneered as she walked past me. Before boarding the plane, I called Brandon. “Brandon, I won’t be able to stay with you for the next week. Company business needs me.” He’d always been a reserved man, but after his ‘illness,’ he’d become even more quiet and withdrawn. Now, though, his voice was filled with joy and excitement. “Took you long enough to get smart. You should have given up on me and focused on work ages ago, Ellie. Honestly, I always preferred you as a fierce, capable businesswoman.” I chuckled. “Alright, then I’ll live up to your expectations—a formidable businesswoman, undisturbed by trivial matters. But you have to promise me one thing.” “What is it?” His excited tone quickly flattened, morphing back into his familiar, impatient drawl. “I’ve arranged the latest treatment plan for you. Next week, will you cooperate with the doctor obediently? There’s a pre-surgical agreement; remember to sign it later.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “421759”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After I was reborn, I saw my billionaire ex-husband, Anderson, again. He was leaning against his luxury car outside City Hall, asking me for a divorce. Then, he tossed me a black card. “There’s thirty million in this card. Plus, I’m giving you a villa and a sports car as compensation for the divorce. It’s enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” He paused, his expression a little awkward. “If you want anything else, as long as it’s not too much, I can compensate you.” In my previous life, I looked at his handsome face and refused to divorce him no matter what. As a result, his family humiliated me, and his mistress, Anya, beat me. He remained indifferent the entire time. Even when Anya tormented me to death, he only said coldly: “Finally dead. I can finally get my divorce.” This time, I calmly took the bank card and walked towards City Hall. “Okay, divorce!” Filling out forms, signing, stamping. The whole process took less than twenty minutes. The staff informed us: “There’s a 30-day cooling-off period. After that, both parties need to be present to pick up the divorce certificate.” I breathed a sigh of relief, turned to Anderson, and smiled. “Anderson, you’re a man of your word, right? We’re divorced today, so I can expect what you promised tomorrow?” After all, that was thirty million, plus my own house and car. Enough for me to live a good life this time. Unlike my last life, when I was so broke I couldn’t even scrounge up three hundred bucks. I was repeatedly humiliated by his family and mistress, and eventually died a miserable death on the streets. Thinking of the tragedy of my previous life only strengthened my resolve to live my own life well this time. Anderson turned and walked out. The driver, quick on the uptake, opened the car door. “The things I promised you will be delivered to your new address.” He bent down to get into the car, his dark eyes sweeping over me once more. “As long as you don’t try any tricks during the 30-day cooling-off period.” The car drove off into traffic and disappeared. I paid it no mind. I took out my phone, ordered a ride-share, and headed to my new place. A three-story detached house, with an artificial lake just beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Anderson certainly spent a fortune to get rid of me. My previous self never had time to enjoy anything. This time, I immediately called a few friends over. My friends had just arrived, and we hadn’t even caught up yet, when the doorbell suddenly rang. I opened the door. It was Anya. Anderson’s mistress from my previous life. Because I refused to divorce, she couldn’t officially become his wife for decades. But she was no saint. She was an expert at manipulation, humiliation, and torment. On the surface, she put on a facade of being pure and innocent, but in my previous life, she was the one who hired people to kill me. “Can I help you?” Meeting my enemy, I naturally wasn’t in a good mood. Anya stood at the door, her gaze sweeping over my friends inside, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “Luna, I know you can’t accept divorcing Anderson, but there’s no need to be so self-destructive, is there?” She walked in, high heels clacking, looking down on me. “How can you invite these low-life friends to mess around in Anderson’s villa?” “What if someone with bad intentions spreads rumors? It would be an embarrassment to the Anderson family.” “Oh, I forgot. You were never really a classy person to begin with.” Hearing that, my best friend Mira’s face went white with anger. She sprang up, ready to stand up for me. But I held her hand and shook my head. Then, I stood up and walked over to Anya. “Done talking?” Anya looked at me, chin slightly raised, her eyes full of undisguised contempt. “Luna, I’m not attacking you, I’m thinking of your best interests, after all…” “Since you’re done, pay up.” I smiled, cutting her off, and held out my hand. She froze. “What?” “This house, Anderson gave it to me. It’s my private property now.” I pointed to the floor, then to where she was standing. “You walked in without permission and are standing on my property, bossing me around. Shouldn’t you pay me compensation?” Anya’s face darkened instantly.

“Are you really that broke?” Facing her incredulous question, I calmly nodded. “Yes, I’m broke. Is Ms. Anya perhaps going to offer me some extra financial aid?” “You!” She looked like she’d never encountered anyone as brazen as me. For a moment, Anya just pointed at me, unable to utter a single word. I tilted my head, smiling even more brightly. “Ms. Anya, a moment ago you were talking so eloquently about decency, propriety, and upbringing. So articulate.” “But when it comes to paying up, you’re suddenly speechless?” “Does your family consider not paying debts a sign of good upbringing, Ms. Anya?” At that, the room went silent for a second. Then, Mira let out a snort of laughter. “You…” Anya bit her lip, looking as if she had been terribly wronged. Unfortunately, Anderson wasn’t here, and no one here was falling for her act. Finally, Anya pulled a wad of cash from her bag, slapped it hard into my hand, and snapped. “Is that enough?!” With that, she turned and left. At the door, perhaps feeling embarrassed, she looked back at me and said. “Luna, you low-class trash! No wonder Anderson wants to divorce you?!” The door slammed shut. I didn’t mind. I counted the money. Sixty-eight hundred. Rich people really do have a lot of cash! I split the money among my friends. “No worries, let’s keep having fun.” The atmosphere livened up again. But Mira came over to me, looking at me with a touch of concern. “Luna, are you okay?” I shook my head. “Of course, I’m fine.” This is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. Anya’s tactics against me in my previous life were far more despicable, and I still made it through. Besides, this time I just want to live my own life. As long as Anya doesn’t push her luck, I won’t even bother with her. “By the way, Mira, are you interested in starting a studio with me?” I turned to her, stating my purpose. Mira was a brilliant student in college, and after graduation, her abilities at work were also exceptional. She had thought about starting her own business, but lacked startup capital, so she was stuck working for unscrupulous bosses. But this time was different. I had money! Anderson’s divorce compensation was a hefty thirty million! So, we hit it off immediately and decided to build our careers together. Day one of the cooling-off period. I got up early and spent the whole day with Mira exploring downtown to decide on a location. Suddenly, Anderson’s call came in. Seeing his name, I was momentarily puzzled. We were both sick of the sight of each other on divorce day. Why was he calling me now? But I answered anyway. “Can you please stop provoking Anya?” His voice was faint, devoid of emotion. I was standing in the middle of a crowd, surrounded by noisy hawkers. In my previous life, hearing him say that, I would have immediately started frantically explaining myself. But now, I just felt like he was wasting my time. I’d rather spend this time looking at more locations and finalize my store address. “Luna, I thought you agreed to the divorce because you wanted a dignified ending.” “But I didn’t expect you to be just like before…” “Anderson!” Listening to him, I cut him off directly. “As long as Anya doesn’t come looking for trouble, I won’t provoke her. You should spend this time managing her instead!” With that, I hung up without waiting for his response. Then, I blocked all his contacts.

Day three of the cooling-off period. Mira and I had explored several nearby streets, finally stopping in front of a newly developed art district. “Here?” Mira turned to me. “Yes,” I nodded. This street wasn’t the most bustling, but it had several high-end residential areas nearby, with a young consumer base that valued quality and personalization. Mira and I both studied design, so setting up a handmade craft studio here was perfect. Three days for location scouting, five for renovation, ten for opening. During those ten days, I slept only five hours a day, pushing the renovation team to meet the deadline, personally visiting building material markets to select materials, and contacting suppliers to negotiate raw material prices. Mira was responsible for brand design and online operations, while I handled offline implementation and the supply chain. Our division of labor was clear, and our cooperation seamless; we were like natural partners. Day ten of the cooling-off period, the store opened. But for the first three days, very few people came into the store. Occasionally, a few customers would come in, look around, touch things, ask the price, and then leave. Just then, Anya walked in, high heels clacking. “Luna, opening a store and blocking Anderson… are you playing hard to get, hoping to attract Anderson’s attention?” She looked around at the store’s decor, disdain evident in her expression. I ignored her and continued trying to attract customers. “Too bad, Anderson likes me for who I am, not for what I do. Copying me won’t work.” People nearby, hearing the gossip, couldn’t help but stop. I quickly introduced the unique features of our store to them. “Purely handmade and custom-made, one of a kind.” Seeing me ignore her, Anya got angry out of embarrassment. She swept all the handmade accessories from a display shelf onto the floor. “Thud—” The sound of shattering glass was particularly jarring in the quiet store. The customers were startled and quickly dispersed. Anya folded her arms, giving me a defiant look. I took a deep breath, pulled out a calculator, and started tallying the damaged items one by one. “Three pairs of handmade glass earrings, priced at $120 each, total $360.” “Two imported ceramic brooches, priced at $280 each, total $560.” “…” The calculator’s mechanical female voice called out the numbers, echoing repeatedly in the silent store. Anya’s expression changed from defiant to impatient. “What exactly do you want?” “Pay for the damages.” I stood up and turned the calculator screen towards her. “Twelve thousand three hundred.” “What if I don’t pay?” Anya sneered. I didn’t say anything, took out my phone, opened a video, and turned the screen towards her. In the video, Anya was in a lounge, punching and kicking a staff member, verbally abusing them. This was some dirt I had paid a lot for in my previous life when I was constantly at odds with her. “Celebrity bullying staff. If this gets out, will your upcoming endorsement deals still be safe? Can you still make it in showbiz?” I whispered in her ear. Anya’s face instantly went white. “Pay up.” I held the QR code for payment in front of her. This time, she didn’t dare say another word. She transferred the money quickly and efficiently. Seeing the money arrive, I gave her a standard smile. “Welcome back anytime.” Anya had a bitter taste in her mouth. She stomped her foot and left. Her little scene, however, actually brought more foot traffic to the store. When I tallied the sales that evening, we had our best day since opening. When we closed, an uninvited guest arrived. Anderson.

“Here to stick up for Anya?” Just like in my previous life, when she couldn’t win an argument, she’d go complain to Anderson about me. That was her only move. Too bad, this time I didn’t care about Anderson at all. Complaining to him was useless! “Why did you block me?” Anderson countered without answering. I frowned. “A good ex should act like they’re dead.” “After all, you don’t want me to bother you, do you?” He froze, his gaze at me a little complex. In my previous life, he would have just walked away. But now, he actually started looking around the store. “Good location, good craftsmanship, but business isn’t great, is it?” I was about to tell him to leave, but then I heard that, and my interest was piqued. “You have a solution?” Anderson made a name for himself at a young age, taking over Anderson Group at twenty-two and tripling its size in just a few years. When his name was mentioned in the business world, everyone admired him. Why wouldn’t I use an available expert? I’m not stupid. He glanced at me, a flicker of sadness in his eyes for a moment, then finally spoke. “You’ve changed a lot.” “Hey, people have to move on.” I answered casually, but my mind was only on the sales figures. I pressed him again, “So, do you have a solution or not?” He didn’t answer, just found a seat. After a moment of thought, he spoke. “I have a solution, but I never do business at a loss.” “How about this, I’ll invest my expertise for a twenty percent stake in your studio. If you agree, we can continue talking.” I turned to Mira, and she nodded at me. I immediately accepted. “Deal.” Anderson didn’t waste words, pulling a gold-embossed invitation from his suit jacket and sliding it across. “The Anderson Group’s Designer Invitation Exhibition is in five days. All the attendees are prominent figures from various circles. Your products don’t lack quality; they lack the right clientele.” He paused, then added. “Prepare well. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me anytime.” With that, he pulled out his phone and showed me the screen. Only then did I remember I had blocked him two days ago. I quickly pulled out my phone and unblocked him. He glanced at the notification that his contacts were restored, said nothing, and then left. The black Maybach drove away from the street corner. Mira poked my arm. “Luna, don’t you think Anderson is acting strange? Why is he suddenly interested in our little shop?” I looked at the invitation in my hand, not lifting my head, and casually said. “Because our shop has potential.” Mira opened her mouth, but ultimately didn’t press the matter. Day eleven of the cooling-off period. Mira and I arrived at the shop before dawn. We sifted through dozens of sketches, finally settling on three main showcase pieces. Mira and I didn’t dare be careless with any step of the handmade process. Just as we were busy, the door pushed open. “Luna, I hear you’re going to participate in the Anderson Group’s design exhibition?” Anya walked in, her stilettos clicking. “Wanna make a bet?” “If you can attract customers with your own work in this competition, you win. If not—” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’ll publicly admit, in front of everyone, that you opened this studio and started this business just to copy me and seduce Anderson. And then, you’ll never try to go after him again.” Mira’s face fell. Just as she was about to speak, I pressed her hand. I looked up, meeting Anya’s defiant gaze, and smiled. “And what if I do win?” Anya looked like she’d heard a joke. “Oh, please, Luna. That exhibition will be full of important people. Who would even bother to look at your little trinkets?” “Well then,” I put down my tools and said slowly, “If I win, you’ll promote my studio for free.” After all, the sales power of a popular celebrity is too good to pass up. Anya clearly didn’t take me seriously and scoffed. “Fine. I’ll be waiting to see you make a fool of yourself.” With that, she turned and walked out, her high heels clicking. Mira grabbed my arm, her face full of worry. “Luna, what if she sabotages us?” I patted her hand, reassuring her. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” After all, starting a business is a high-reward, high-risk endeavor. Day fifteen of the cooling-off period, the day of the competition. I sent Mira a message on my phone. “I’ll be at the venue in twenty minutes. Where are you?” I sent the message, but got no reply. I called again. It rang several times, but no one answered. A strange panic began to set in. Maybe she’s stuck in traffic, I told myself. Just as I hailed a cab, my phone vibrated. It was an unknown number. “Is this Ms. Luna? This is the emergency center. Your friend, Ms. Mira, was in a car accident and is currently in critical condition. Please come as soon as possible.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “421758”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was born with a visual impairment. When we took our wedding photos, I asked the photographer to dim the lights. But my fiancé, Brandon, said it wouldn’t look good if it was too dark. I had no choice but to endure the discomfort and continue the shoot. “Annie, our wedding package includes a solo photoshoot, so I called Audrey to use it.” Seeing my expression, Brandon came over and kissed my forehead. “You’ve taken so many already, it’d be a waste not to give it to her.” Yet, when Audrey took her solo shots, the moment she said it was too bright, Brandon immediately dimmed the lights. And it wasn’t just that. At our destination wedding, before I even boarded the boat, I saw him thoughtfully putting my sunglasses on Audrey. “Audrey, it’s sunny on the boat, protect your eyes.” I stood silently, not getting on board. I sent Brandon a message. “Let’s cancel the wedding.” “I don’t know if I’m blind, but it seems you already have someone else in mind to marry.” The moment I sent the message, my phone immediately rang. “Annie, it’s our wedding, why are you suddenly throwing a tantrum?” I listened quietly, saying nothing, and Brandon seemed to find an outlet for his frustration. “It all comes down to you not getting the laser eye surgery. If you’d just done it earlier, wouldn’t there be no problems at all?” “Audrey had her surgery ages ago, and her eyesight is perfectly fine now. Why do you have to be so difficult and disobedient?” I sighed, my chest tightening with a suffocating feeling. He never seemed to understand that my visual impairment was due to a congenital retinal defect, making surgery impossible. What made me even more hysterical was that this was “our” wedding, yet he insisted on bringing Audrey along. He took her to work, on business trips, and even on our dates. When I protested and got angry, Brandon would just cuddle me, acting sweet. “My professor asked me on his deathbed to take care of Audrey. Annie, we’re getting married, can’t you just let her be?” How could I not? He’d remember to buy Audrey birthday gifts but forget mine. He’d watch movies she liked, pushing aside our dates. Even when Audrey had a cold, he’d stay up all night to care for her, while if I wasn’t feeling well, he’d merely tell me to rest. I gave a bitter laugh and hung up the phone. There was nothing left to say between us. I got into a car home and called my arch-rival. “Didn’t you tell me not to marry Brandon? I agree. I won’t marry him. You marry me.” There was silence for a few seconds on the other end. Unusually, he didn’t curse at me, just replied with a “Fine.” After hanging up, I looked at the schedule my rival sent and immediately found a lawyer to draft divorce papers. Just then, Brandon sent me a message. “Annie, I’ve changed the destination wedding to tomorrow. Audrey and I are going to the island today to get a feel for it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” “Annie, I’m happy today, so I’ll indulge your little tantrum. Don’t let it happen again.” At the same time, Audrey’s social media updated. She wore my sunglasses, a revealing tube top dress, and hooked her arm around Brandon’s neck for a selfie. The caption: “Happy two-person getaway!” The comment section was filled with blessings for the two of them. “Your girlfriend is so pretty! Much prettier than Annie!” “Looks match, education matches! Most importantly, she’s healthy. Brandon, are you sure you don’t want to switch fiancées?” Brandon seemed to see that comment and immediately snapped back: “Shut up, all of you. I only see Audrey as a little sister. And you have no right to comment on my fiancée.” I scoffed. He seemed to be defending me, but he never stopped them from treating Audrey like his girlfriend. He didn’t even delete that misleading post. After leaving a comment saying “What a perfect match,” I turned to pack my things. As soon as I finished packing, Brandon’s call came in. “What did you mean by your comment? Annie, if your eyes were really bad, you wouldn’t have time to look at your phone and post those comments!” “Ruining our destination wedding wasn’t enough, now you have to ruin my trip with Audrey? When did you become so unreasonable?” I quietly listened to him finish his rant, then calmly said, “Then let’s get divorced.”

I didn’t get a reply from Brandon. Instead, it was Audrey, who was next to him, who spoke first. “Annie, Brandon and I really aren’t like that. If you don’t believe me, I can kneel down for you. No, I’ll die right now!” Then came sounds of pushing and Brandon’s shouts: “Audrey, what are you doing!” Although I couldn’t see Brandon stopping Audrey, I knew he must be holding her tightly in his arms. Just like countless times before, when Audrey cried from being wronged, he would definitely hold her close. If I protested, he would say, “I just see her as a sister.” Brandon’s voice came through the phone again: “Annie, do you really have to escalate things to this point? When did you become so utterly irrational!” I didn’t speak, but he seemed to think I was being stubborn, and he said as punishment: “I won’t see you before the destination wedding. You’re on your own.” In the past, when he said things like that, I would desperately beg for his forgiveness, rushing to him that very night to apologize. But today, I just calmly said, “Remember to sign the document in your email…” But before I could finish, he hung up. It didn’t matter. He would see that divorce agreement eventually. I got up and continued packing. As I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk, a neat stack of photos fell out. They were all of Audrey. By the sea, at a coffee shop, in a laboratory, and a close-up of her in a white lab coat, making a peace sign at the camera. Turns out, they had known each other for a long time. Beneath the photos was a folded piece of paper. I pulled it out and unfolded it, discovering it was a prenatal check-up report. Audrey’s name was clearly written on it, along with the prominent words “fetal heartbeat visible.” The date was three months ago, the day Brandon and I confirmed our marriage. I gasped, then laughed, but the laughter soon turned to tears. Brandon and I also had a child. However, that child passed away when I was seventeen. That year, Brandon and I secretly had sex, and I accidentally got pregnant. He insisted on forcing me to have an abortion. On the operating table, I trembled all over from the pain, and he cried even harder than I did, holding my hand. He told me he loved me over and over again. He said he would be good to me for life, that he would definitely marry me. Later, I could never get pregnant again. Just as I was about to photograph the pictures for Brandon, a message popped up in the family SnapChat group. Mrs. Thompson said: “We’ve watched Audrey grow up, she’s like one of our own. No matter what, Annie, you can’t bully her.” Mr. Thompson added: “Someone with your challenges should know their place! If Brandon hadn’t insisted, do you really think you’d have a chance to marry into our family?” Several relatives followed suit below, and unusually, Brandon didn’t speak up for me. It wasn’t until the relatives finished their barrage of insults that he finally said: “I’ll make her apologize to Audrey.” I stared at the screen for a long time. It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted to integrate into Brandon’s family. I had repeatedly suggested joining the SnapChat group. But he wouldn’t let me use a smartphone, saying my eyes were bad anyway and there was no need. This group was actually one Audrey had added me to. On the day I joined, Brandon’s family all opposed my entry as an outsider, but they never questioned Audrey. She, clearly also an outsider, had joined the group before me, Brandon’s long-established fiancée. I gave a bitter smile, photographed the prenatal report, and sent it into the family SnapChat group.

The group immediately fell silent. No one spoke again. I stared at the dead quiet chat box, suddenly finding it laughable. I put down my phone and, carrying my suitcase, prepared to go to the wedding house my rival had prepared for me early, when Brandon rushed in, looking disheveled. He must have seen the prenatal report, but he didn’t explain anything to me. “Annie, say something in the group.” His tone was unusually soft. “Just say that report isn’t Audrey’s, it’s yours, and the name was just entered incorrectly.” “Audrey is still a young woman, how can she face people if this gets out?” He crouched down and took my hand. “I don’t blame you for sending the report to the group, really. And we’re getting married soon, you don’t need to care about reputations…” Before he could finish, I slapped him across the face. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to cry: “Is the child yours?” Brandon’s face was turned away, he didn’t move. After a moment, he turned back, bypassing the topic. “Annie, I know your eyes aren’t good, you can’t see clearly. Give me your phone, I’ll send it for you.” I refused, but he forcefully snatched it and began editing a message. I turned my head, wiped away my tears. It didn’t matter. Whether it was mine or not wasn’t important. Anyway, I wasn’t going to marry him. After he sent the message, he looked at the suitcase in my hand, then at my tear-reddened eyes. He hesitated for a moment, wanting to hug me. “Annie, be good. I’ll help you carry the travel bags down. Don’t cry, your husband will love you well.” Just then, his phone rang. He stopped what he was doing and answered. Audrey’s broken sobs came through the phone, and Brandon, without a word, turned to leave. I grabbed him: “Don’t forget to check your email.” He paused, frowning as he looked at me, thinking I didn’t want him to leave. “Don’t be difficult. You’ve really upset Audrey, I need to be with her.” He leaned in to kiss my forehead: “You prepared a surprise for me, I’ll look at it when I get back, okay?” I turned my head away, his lips met empty air. Brandon’s brow furrowed deeper, but he didn’t fuss about it. “Wait for me to come back. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” The door closed. The room fell silent again. Less than a minute later, I received a message from Brandon. “I won’t be picking you up tomorrow. Audrey is very distressed, I need to take her to a therapist.” “The destination wedding is postponed until I inform you.” I sighed, carried my suitcase downstairs myself, and just finished dropping off my luggage. As I was about to call a taxi to my new wedding house, Brandon’s call came in. “Annie! You’ve really gone too far. You know Audrey just had eye surgery, why would you have someone lock her in the sauna!”

“I didn’t. I’ve been at the villa handling my luggage. And, haven’t you checked your email?” “Enough!” He cut me off. “Isn’t it just because Audrey delayed our destination wedding, and you’re feeling resentful?” “I didn’t, I really didn’t…” Before I could finish, my phone suddenly vibrated. Audrey sent a message: “Annie, your good days are over.” I froze, before I could even understand what was happening. Footsteps suddenly came from behind me. Before I could turn around, the back of my head was hit with a sharp pain, and the world plunged into darkness. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the floor of a sauna room. Steam billowed, and my eyes, already poor, could see almost nothing. Brandon’s voice came from outside the door. I struggled to get up and saw Brandon holding and comforting Audrey. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll get revenge for you.” Audrey was sobbing hysterically in his arms. As the temperature rose, a pain shot through my eyes. I propped myself up and furiously pounded on the door. “Brandon, my eyes can’t be in here, they’ll bleed! Let me out!” He froze slightly, and Audrey cried even harder. “My eyes hurt so much, what do I do? What if I can’t see anymore, what do I do?” Brandon tenderly wiped Audrey’s tears, not responding to me. “I really didn’t do it! Look at the message she sent me!” I held my phone up to the glass window, Audrey’s text message displayed on the screen. Brandon glanced at it. Before he could speak, Audrey shrieked again: “My eyes hurt so much! I’ll never see again! Brandon, I’m so scared…” “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.” Brandon pulled her into his embrace, then turned to look at me, his eyes cold: “Annie, no excuse will work this time. Whatever you did to Audrey, I’ll do to you.” I covered my eyes, screaming: “At least look at my phone…” He didn’t listen. He was already embracing Audrey and turning to leave. The heat grew heavier. Tears streamed uncontrollably from my eyes, only to be evaporated by the high temperature. My eyeballs hurt more and more. I desperately smashed the door. Just then, the door opened. I was overjoyed, trying to get out, but a man pushed me to the ground. The man was drunk. He lunged at me, mumbling obscenities: “Pretty girl, I’m here.” My eyesight was too poor, I couldn’t see his movements, I could only struggle to dodge. But the sauna room was so small, there was no escaping. That filthy hand grabbed my wrist. I gritted my teeth, fumbled for the self-defense weapon I had hidden on me, and forcefully plunged it into my throat. … The steam fogged up the glass, obscuring the scene inside. Brandon’s friend, Mike, kindly reminded him. “Brandon, aren’t you going too far? She’s your fiancée, after all.” Brandon lit a cigarette, his tone nonchalant: “Just to scare her a bit. I didn’t even turn on the temperature.” “I have to teach her a lesson, otherwise she’ll keep bullying Audrey.” Mike paused: “Then why is she constantly screaming that her eyes hurt?” “She’s being dramatic.” Brandon exhaled a puff of smoke. “That’s just how she is…” Before he could finish, a staff member stumbled over: “N-no good! The lady in the sauna room… she killed herself!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “421757”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The night before my wedding to the Don, I drive sixty miles to bring his mistress home myself. When Damien pushes the door open, he finds the two of us sitting at the table with an open bottle of red between us, laughing like old friends. He exhales. He’s relieved. “Aria. Since you already know, let Cordelia move in with us.” I don’t look up from my glass. “You’re still my wife on paper. But Cordelia is delicate. Let her have the ceremony tomorrow. Once she’s settled, I’ll marry you properly. I promise.” I swirl my wine. I say nothing. He takes that as a yes. He always does. He grabs Cordelia’s hand and walks out without looking back, off to pick a gown. My gown. For my wedding. I’m not angry. I open my phone. There’s a private channel. Five names. Every man on it sworn in blood to a Family older than this city. I type one line. I need a groom for tomorrow. Anyone in? Three seconds. The screen explodes. Damien’s own Capos. His sworn brothers. Crawling over each other to be the first to volunteer. I smile. See, Damien? You won’t marry me. There’s a line. I mute the channel and put the phone face down. “Miss Moretti.” Marco, the house consigliere, has been standing in the doorway for a while. He clears his throat. “The Don is asking for tomorrow’s gown.” A pause. He hates the next part. “He says since you’re not getting married tomorrow anyway, the gown should go to his bride.” The gown. Six months of design. A year of flying between Milan, Paris, and Sicily, every stitch done by hand inside a Moretti atelier. The same silk four generations of Moretti brides have worn. The family crest sewn into the bodice with thread spun from melted-down heirloom gold. Nobody knows what that gown means better than Damien. It isn’t a dress. It’s a contract. It’s my name made flesh. And now Cordelia Vance, the daughter of a rival consigliere, a girl with no blood claim to anything in this world, says she likes it, and I’m supposed to hand it over? “Tell him,” I say, “if he wants it, he can come crawling for it.” Thirty minutes later, the front door slams open. Damien strides in with a dozen boutique girls trailing behind him, each one carrying two gowns. He drops onto the couch and twists a lock of my hair around his finger. “Aria. Our wedding is still happening, just later. The girl wants the gown. Let her have it.” He waves at the boutique girls. “Pick a new one. Or don’t bother. Cordelia can return mine after the ceremony. I don’t mind if you wear it second.” Cordelia laughs. She throws herself across his lap and traces lazy circles on his chest. “Damien, you’re awful. You told all of New York no Moretti bride would ever wear a used gown. Now you want her to wear mine? She must hate me so much.” Damien strokes her hair. “She’s not that petty.” Then, lazy and cruel: “Besides. She’s been mine for ten years. Who else is ever going to take her?” I glance at my phone. The channel is still scrolling. Every one of those men sharper, hungrier, more dangerous than the one sprawled across my couch. Damien checks his own phone. Snorts. Drops a voice note into his groomsmen’s chat. “Boys, listen. Tomorrow at the ceremony, you treat Cordelia like the Donna. Full respect. I don’t want to hear a single name out of place. Understood?” He doesn’t notice. Not a single one of his sworn brothers replies. He pulls Cordelia tighter against him and reaches for me without even looking. “Aria, where do we keep the condoms? You know how Cordelia is. She’s all over me every night, and she throws a fit if she doesn’t get what she wants.” A pause. He smiles. “Don’t worry. I made you a promise. The first Sinclair heir comes out of you. Nobody else.” I almost laugh out loud. That promise. He remembers half of it. At twenty, under the harbor fireworks, he held my face in both hands and swore only you. The wedding will be yours. The first child will be yours. Always you. Ten years later, everything’s changed except the half that still works in his favor. He catches the look on my face and softens for a second. “You should smile more, Aria. You laughed all the time when you were twenty. These days you just look cold. I miss the old you.” I let the smile fall off my face. I tell Marco to bring the Don a box of condoms. Damien forgets the conversation the second it’s over. He’s pleased. I’m being good. I’m being reasonable. He scoops Cordelia up and heads for the stairs. “Take the guest room tonight, Aria. Cordelia wants me to herself. She’s a nightmare in the morning, so have the stylist wait outside her door. Don’t go in until she’s awake.” “Damien.” He stops on the landing. Turns his head. Eyebrows up, impatient. I look him in the eye and smile, soft, almost gentle. “The wedding tomorrow is still happening. Just so you know. If you’re not standing at the altar, someone else will be.”

Damien doesn’t buy it. He scoffs and shakes his head, like I’m a child throwing a fit. “Knock it off, Aria. This isn’t the time to fight for attention.” “Let me handle Cordelia first. Maybe if I sweeten her up, she’ll let you walk behind her as a bridesmaid tomorrow.” Cordelia pouts against his chest, tugging at his shirt, sulking. He doesn’t look back. He climbs the stairs with her in his arms, and a few minutes later the sounds start. The kind of sounds I’m supposed to pretend I can’t hear through the floor. Marco opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Miss Moretti.” His voice is low, careful. “The seat of the Donna in this house… the Don has never once considered giving it to anyone else. You should know that.” I glance at the box of condoms in his hand. Then tip my chin toward the ceiling. “Take them up.” Around midnight, my phone goes off. Bianca. Her voice nearly punctures my eardrum. “Aria! What the hell is going on over there?!” “Damien just told everyone the wedding is off?! Are you kidding me? You’ve been bleeding for this thing for a year! Do you remember how many nights you didn’t sleep? Do you remember Sicily? Do you remember Milan?! And he just cancels it like he’s canceling brunch?!” I rub my ear and sit up. Sleep is gone. I open my mouth to tell her the wedding’s still on. She doesn’t let me get a syllable out. “Wait. Hold on. Hold on. That son of a bitch just sent me a new invitation. Same date, same venue, new bride. Some bitch named Cordelia Vance. And he wants me to show up and clap for her?!” “Who in God’s name is Cordelia Vance?! I’ve never even heard of this girl!” I lower my eyes. This is who Damien has always been. When he loves you, he gives you the moon. When he stops, he comes for the moon back, and the sky, and the air you breathe with it. A pair of headlights flashes across the wall. The room sinks back into darkness. “Bianca. Listen.” I keep my voice soft. “Don’t worry about any of it. Just show up tomorrow. The wedding is still on.” “He’s swapping out the bride. So tomorrow, I’m swapping out the groom.” The line goes dead quiet. She figures it out fast. Then she explodes. “That motherless snake. Swap him. Swap him hard. I want him on his knees by Sunday.” “Three years, Aria. Three years he’s been screwing some side piece while he had you flying around the world picking out flowers and silk samples. Three years he’s been telling you to wait for the date, the venue, the dress. And now he wants you to sit in the back row and watch?” Her voice breaks. “Don’t you dare cry. I’ll cry. I’m waking Marco’s brother right now. We’re burning this man’s life to the ground for you. Hold on, baby. Hold on.” I laugh, soft and exhausted. I want to tell her not to bother. The men lining up to take Damien’s place tomorrow each outrank him in blood, in territory, in body count. There’s nothing left of his life worth burning. I don’t get the chance. There’s a knock at my door. It’s Marco. He doesn’t have to speak. The look on his face says it all before his mouth opens. He hesitates, like the words physically hurt him. “Miss Moretti… the Don is asking for you. In the master bedroom.” I know what this is. If I refuse, Damien will take it out on Marco. I tell Bianca to put her maid of honor dress on tomorrow and meet me at the venue. Then I head upstairs. The master bedroom door is half open. The room is a wreck. Sheets twisted on the floor. The smell of sex hangs in the air, thick enough to choke on. Damien just got out of the shower. His hair is still dripping, water running down a neck covered in fresh bite marks and bruises, sliding into the open collar of his robe. I dig my nails into my palm and shove the pain in my chest down somewhere I can’t feel it. He sees me and waves lazily at the floor. At the bridesmaid dress crumpled there, stained, ruined. “Aria. I know you put a lot into this wedding. So here. Put this on tomorrow and stand behind Cordelia as her bridesmaid. Think of it as the year of your life paying off. At least you’ll be in the photos.” Cordelia smiles like a snake under those sheets. She leans in and whispers against his ear, loud enough for me to catch every word. “Damien, baby. Aria’s the one who made the Moretti ring, isn’t she? The one with all the family stones. I want it. Put it on me tomorrow.” My face doesn’t move. That ring isn’t jewelry. It’s a Moretti family signet. Four generations of Donnas have worn it. The inside band carries an engraving only the blood heir knows how to read. Whoever wears it carries the keys to my family’s ledger. Damien knows exactly what that ring is. He has to know. But he just raises an eyebrow and lets out a slow, lazy breath. “Aria. It’s a ring. The girl wants it. Don’t be stingy.” “You and I don’t even have a new date yet, sweetheart. You’ve got all the time in the world. Forge yourself a new one.” He says it the way you’d offer someone the last fry on your plate. And just like that, the pain in my chest dies. Every bit of it. Gone. I can’t feel a single thing. I look him dead in the eye and say it one more time, soft and slow. “I told you, Damien. Tomorrow’s wedding is still happening.”

Damien freezes for a beat. Then he laughs, low and certain, like a man humoring a child. “Continue with what, sweetheart? Your groom isn’t even in the room. You marrying the wallpaper?” “Come on, Aria. You’ve never been the clingy kind. I gave you my word. I’ll marry you. Just sit tight a couple more years and be a good girl. Hm?” Wait. Always wait. Ten years of waiting. I finally clawed my way to a wedding date. Three months out, I found out he’d been screwing someone else for three years. And now he wants me to wait again. Wait for him to marry another woman, give her his name, his bed, his ring. And then, when he gets bored of her, drag me out of storage and put me on the altar? “I’m done waiting, Damien.” He doesn’t hear me. He glances at the watch on his wrist, drags Cordelia back under the sheets, and tosses the words at me without looking up. “Night’s still young. We can go another round or two. Don’t worry, Aria. The first Sinclair heir is coming out of you. Nobody else gets that.” I lower my eyes. There’s nothing in them. I drop the bridesmaid dress on the floor and walk out. The next morning, neither of them comes down. The stylist is standing in the hallway, hugging her case, mortified. I walk over. “I’m the bride. Do me.” She knows me. Every consultation, every fitting, every piece of silk flown in from the Moretti atelier in Sicily came through me. She doesn’t ask. She just opens her case and gets to work. By the time my hair and veil are nearly done, the two of them finally come strolling down the stairs. The morning sun cuts across the hall and falls right over me. Damien stops dead. The stylist pins the last layer of the veil in place. I lift my skirt, stand, and turn my head slowly to look at him. He pinches the bridge of his nose like I’ve given him a migraine. “Aria. I told you. You’ll get your wedding. Later.” “Be a good girl. Take it off before Cordelia comes down. She’ll throw a tantrum if she sees you in it.” Right on cue, the heels start clattering on the stairs. Cordelia comes flying down, hooks onto his arm, and the second she lays eyes on me she comes unglued. Her finger jabs at my face. “Damien! Today is my wedding! Why is she in my dress?!” Her eyes well up on command. She tucks her chin and her voice goes soft, broken, deliberate. “You know about my mom. You know what she was. I told myself I’d die before I ended up like her. And I still let you have me. I let myself become that woman for you, Damien.” A tear slips down. Right on cue. “Three whole years. And you can’t even give me one wedding day she isn’t standing in the middle of?” Damien drops his head fast and starts murmuring against her hair. Hands fluttering. Panicking. Trying to soothe her. The same way he panicked fifteen years ago, kneeling beside a thirteen-year-old me in the bloodied ruins of the Moretti compound. Bodies still warm. He held me against his chest and swore on his Family’s blood that I would never be alone again. Memory is a cruel thing. I laugh, soft and short, and toss the small leather notebook on the floor between us. “Damien. I don’t need this anymore. Take it back.” If he bothered to look, he’d know exactly what it is. The Vow Ledger. Fifteen years ago we pressed our bloodied thumbs onto the inside cover and started writing down a hundred wishes. He told me, back then, that when we finished the last one, nothing in this world could pull us apart. There are still ten wishes left in that book. I don’t want to finish them with him anymore. “Aria. Good timing.” Damien picks up the leather notebook, smiles, and presses it into Cordelia’s hands like he’s giving her a present. “It’s our little couple’s journal, baby. We finish a hundred wishes together, and we’re locked in. Forever.” He kisses her hair. “The dress is yours. The wedding is yours. All of it.” Cordelia’s tears dry in a heartbeat. She melts back into his chest, looks me dead in the eye, and smiles slow. “Damien, baby. Make her take it off. She’s a bridesmaid. Who said she gets to wear a bride’s dress?” Damien lifts one finger. Three housemaids close in on me, hands already reaching. “Aria. Off.” The stylist looks around, panicked. She opens her mouth to speak. A guard takes her by the elbow before a single word comes out and steers her into the next room. The door clicks shut. The dress weighs a ton. Underneath it I’m wearing nothing but underwear. I look around the room. Guards. Staff. Damien. I tilt my head and smile. “Damien. You sure you want me to take it off right here?”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260625e4kZZGO1GA 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni973663”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

A vicious rival deliberately crushed my right hand, shattering every bone in my fingers. Yet my biological father, the most prestigious orthopedic hand surgeon in the entire country, falsified the medical evaluation. Sitting inside the police precinct, he looked the detective dead in the eye and casually dismissed the premeditated attack that permanently destroyed my career. “It was merely a soft tissue contusion caused by an accidental slip and fall,” he declared. He did this for one reason. The mother of the girl who attacked me was his “white peony”—the untouchable high school sweetheart he had secretly pined over for half his life. When I furiously confronted him in the hallway, my father puffed out his chest, wearing a mask of absolute moral superiority. “As a medical professional, I can only rely on objective facts. I cannot exaggerate your injuries just because you are my daughter to falsely frame someone else.” “Chloe is about to compete in the International Piano Concours. If she gets a criminal record, her entire life will be ruined. Can you not just be a decent, forgiving person?” Watching Chloe and her mother strut out of the precinct with smug, victorious smiles, I actually laughed. I reached into my bag, pulled out a legally notarized document severing our father-daughter relationship, and slapped it directly against his chest. “Since you possess such incredible medical ethics and love playing the saint so much,” “I pray your precious high school sweetheart is there to spoon-feed you when you are old and rotting in a nursing home.” 1 My father didn’t even read the document. In his mind, this was just a pathetic temper tantrum fueled by my jealousy of Chloe. “Wendy, have you had enough of this childish drama?” He picked the paper up off the floor and, without so much as glancing at it, tore it in half and dropped it into a nearby trash can. “Ms. Long is hosting a reconciliation dinner at the Sterling Country Club tonight. You are coming with me.” “Chloe will be there. We will all sit down, clear the air, and put this unfortunate misunderstanding behind us.” I stared at him in absolute disbelief. Put it behind us? My right hand was shattered. I couldn’t even lift a paper cup of water. My attacker had just walked free without a single consequence. And he wanted me to attend a celebration dinner hosted by the psychopath who did it? “I am not going.” I spat the words out like venom and pushed the precinct doors open with my uninjured left hand. My father’s suppressed rage hissed from behind me. “Wendy! Why do you have to be so incredibly vindictive?” “Ms. Long is a single mother doing her best. She practically begged me to arrange this dinner to make peace.” “If you do not show up, you are deliberately humiliating me and trying to force those two into a corner!” I didn’t look back. I practically sprinted down the concrete steps, desperate to escape the suffocating presence of this man. Outside, the night wind whipped against my broken hand, sending spikes of pure agony up my arm. My mother’s SUV was idling by the curb. When she saw me walk out, she rushed over. Her eyes were red and swollen, her posture submissive and terrified as always. “Wendy, what happened? Did the detective press charges?” Looking at this woman—who had spent her entire marriage swallowing abuse and acting like a doormat—a wave of total exhaustion washed over me. “No charges. He ruled it an accidental injury.” My mother froze. Tears instantly spilled over her eyelashes. “How… how is that possible? Your father promised me he would make sure Chloe faced the consequences. How could he say it was an accident?” I let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Mom, your husband is the chief of surgery.” “If he says someone had an accident, it was an accident.” “Even if that person just took a hammer to his own daughter’s hand.” My mother wrung her hands nervously, looking around like a trapped animal. “Well… well… your father must have had a very good reason.” “After all, Ms. Long did save his career years ago…” “Stop.” I cut her off sharply. “Drive me to the hospital. I need immediate nerve reconstruction.” My mother hesitated, glancing nervously at her phone screen. “Well… your father just texted me. He said we have to meet them at the Sterling Country Club.” “He said if we do not show up tonight, he is cutting off my bank cards.” I stared at the woman standing in front of me. She was forty-five years old, living like a hollow, soulless accessory. My father controlled every single dollar in her life. She didn’t even have the spine to raise her voice at him. “Then you can go.” I pulled out my phone and requested an Uber. “I will get to the hospital myself.” “Wendy! Please do not do this…” My mother tried to grab my arm, but I stepped back. “Mom, if you still want to be my mother, you will not go to that dinner.” “If you walk into that country club tonight, you can pretend you never had a daughter.” My Uber pulled up. Through the tinted window, I watched my mother standing on the sidewalk, entirely paralyzed by indecision. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh, turned around, and got back into her SUV. She pulled out into traffic, heading straight toward the country club. I closed my eyes. The tears finally fell. This was my family. A father overflowing with toxic sentimentality for another woman, and a mother too weak to function. And me? I was just the disposable collateral damage. When I arrived at my hospital room and finally lay down, my phone started vibrating relentlessly. On Instagram, Chloe had just posted a massive photo dump. In the pictures, she was wearing a custom haute couture gown, sitting elegantly at a Steinway grand piano. My father was standing right behind her, smiling with the warm, glowing pride of a real parent. The caption read: “So thankful for Dr. Ewing’s objective professionalism, and for my mother’s endless support. Vicious rumors can never break a true prodigy! Cheers!” Objective? A true prodigy? Fuck your objectivity. I clicked open the comment section. It was flooded with sickening praise from her wealthy private school friends. “You are amazing, Chloe!” “Dr. Ewing is such a legend! He stood up for the truth instead of protecting his own kid!” “Where is that crippled girl who plays like she is punching cotton? Did she not show up to toast you?” Chloe replied to that comment: “She is probably at home throwing a tantrum and breaking things. Lmao.” I stared at the screen, my left hand gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Suddenly, a new bank transfer notification popped up. It was from my father. Amount: Two thousand dollars. Attached message: “Stop throwing a tantrum and go buy yourself some nice vitamins. I told Ms. Long she does not need to pay for your physical therapy. Chloe needs the money to travel for her international competition. We need to be understanding.” I stared at those words. My stomach violently churned. I wanted to vomit. I threw my phone against the hospital wall, shattering the screen into a spiderweb of glass. 2 I stayed in the hospital for three days. During those three days, my father did not visit me a single time. Instead, his precious Ms. Long—Audrey—showed up holding a tin of discounted, near-expired butter cookies. She was dressed in a simple but flawlessly tailored vintage dress, wearing an expression of pitiful, tragic innocence as she stood in my doorway. “Wendy, sweetie, I came to see how you were doing.” She placed the cheap cookies on my bedside table and elegantly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Chloe has been under so much pressure for this competition. She accidentally bumped into you and hurt your hand.” “I already gave her a very stern talking-to.” “And look, your father stepped up and proved Chloe’s innocence. So let us just call the whole thing even, alright?” Even? I looked at the tacky tin of bargain bin cookies, letting out a laugh of pure disbelief. “My hands play Chopin. And you think they are worth a tin of stale cookies?” Audrey’s face stiffened for a fraction of a second before the sickeningly sweet smile returned. “Oh, Wendy, you really should not speak like that.” “Years ago, when your father made that terrible medical error, I was the one who took the fall and buried the scandal for him.” “You have to have a conscience in this world. Look how mature and sensible your father is.” “Besides, your family is loaded. You do not need the money for physical therapy, do you?” “My Chloe is going to play a solo recital at Carnegie Hall. We absolutely cannot have an assault charge ruining her pristine record.” At that exact moment, I finally understood what people meant when they said absolute shamelessness makes you invincible. This mother and daughter were leeches. And my father was the idiot willingly baring his neck, complaining that they weren’t drinking his blood fast enough. “Get out.” I pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Take your garbage cookies and get out of my room.” The fake smile finally slid off Audrey’s face. “You are such a deeply ill-mannered child.” “No wonder Chloe despises you. You really need to be taught a lesson.” She muttered a string of curses, grabbed her tin, and stormed out. Right before she stepped into the hall, she rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might pop out of her skull. Disgusting. Absolutely sickening. That afternoon, the head nurse walked in holding a clipboard. She looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Wendy, your patient account is currently overdrawn.” “If you do not replenish the funds by tonight, we have to cancel your secondary nerve reconstruction surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning.” I froze. “Overdrawn? Didn’t my father… didn’t Dr. Ewing pay the deposit?” The nurse shook her head sympathetically. “Dr. Ewing called yesterday and withdrew the entire two hundred thousand dollar deposit.” “He said… he said the other family had a massive emergency and desperately needed the money to buy a rare, antique violin for an upcoming performance. He loaned the money to them as a bridge loan.” “He instructed us to have you cover your own medical expenses.” Crash. The very last thread holding my sanity together snapped. He withdrew my emergency surgical funds—the money meant to save my hand—to buy a fucking instrument for the psycho who crippled me? What kind of biological father does something so deeply evil? With violently trembling fingers, I borrowed the nurse’s phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. In the background, I could hear a beautiful, soaring violin melody, accompanied by my father’s booming, cheerful laughter. “Hello? Who is this?” “It is me.” Dead silence fell over the line. Then came my father’s incredibly annoyed voice. “Wendy? Where is your phone? Why are you calling from an unknown number?” “Richard, did you withdraw my surgical deposit?” I refused to call him dad. “How dare you speak to me in that tone?” His voice spiked with immediate anger. “Audrey and Chloe are flying to Europe for a massive recital. They need proper instruments to look respectable.” “I figured you are just resting in a hospital bed anyway. Doing the surgery today or next month makes absolutely no difference. So I let them use the funds for an emergency.” “Don’t you have your own money from those little piano gigs you played? Pay it yourself.” “You cannot be this selfish, Wendy. You have to learn to support other people’s dreams.” Support other people’s dreams? He was personally snapping my fingers one by one to roll out a red carpet for someone else! “That surgery was my only window to save my right hand!” I screamed into the phone. “The surgeons said if I miss this golden window, I will never step onto a stage again!” “You gave my medical money to Chloe so she could buy a violin? Are you out of your fucking mind?!” From the background, I heard Audrey’s sickeningly dramatic, fragile voice. “Oh no, Richard… if Wendy truly needs the money, we can hold off on buying the violin…” My father’s voice immediately turned firm and protective. “Audrey, do not listen to her dramatic nonsense.” “These domestic surgeons just love to scare patients to pad their bills. It is not that serious.” “This recital is critical. Chloe is about to be scouted by the Royal Academy. She absolutely needs a world-class instrument.” “Wendy, figure it out yourself. Stop bothering me.” Click. The line went dead. 3 I stood frozen, gripping the phone. The head nurse looked at me with deep pity. “Wendy… do you want to try calling your mother?” My mother? The woman who had to submit receipts to my father just to buy groceries? I shook my head slowly. “No.” “Please process my discharge paperwork.” “But your hand…” “I am not doing the surgery.” If this world was going to be this rotten. Then I was done playing the obedient, perfect daughter. I took a cab back to the house. While the place was empty, I packed up everything I owned that had any real value. I left absolutely nothing behind, except for the notarized document severing my ties to the family. My rare vinyl collection, my custom concert gowns, my gold medals from childhood. I listed every single item on luxury resale platforms. Priced to sell immediately. Cash only. With that money, I rented a small, elevator-access apartment in the neighboring city. Then, I checked myself into a private physical therapy clinic. Because I had missed the surgical window, I would never play high-level classical pieces again. But the doctors told me that if I endured extreme pain, I might regain enough function to feed and dress myself. I used to be the National Youth Piano Champion. Now, I was a cripple who couldn’t even hold a pair of chopsticks without dropping them. But I didn’t shed a single tear. My tears had permanently dried up that afternoon in the hospital. Two weeks later. I was in the middle of a brutal physical therapy session, sweating through my shirt as I tried to squeeze a silicone stress ball. The clinic door was violently shoved open. My father marched in, dragging Chloe and Audrey behind him. His face was completely livid. He was clutching a legal document. “Wendy! Why the hell are you hiding in this dump?” “Do you have any idea how long we have been looking for you?” I completely ignored him. I gritted my teeth and squeezed the silicone ball again. Every flex felt like someone was taking a razor blade to my tendons. Chloe loudly popped her chewing gum, looking incredibly bored. “See, Richard? I told you she was just hiding to cause drama.” “She is so pathetic. She just hurt her hand a little bit. It is not like she is dying.” My father slammed the document onto my bedside table. “Sign this immediately.” I glanced at the header. Waiver of Liability and Non-Prosecution Agreement. It was addressed to the International Concours Committee. “Rumors about Chloe injuring you reached the competition committee. They are threatening to revoke her entry status.” My father spoke with absolute, arrogant entitlement. “If you sign this document admitting that you accidentally crushed your own hand, the committee will reinstate her.” “Chloe is about to win the gold medal. We cannot let a petty little incident like this ruin her entire future.” I accidentally crushed my own hand? I stopped my exercise, turned around, and stared dead into his eyes. “She waited until I was not looking and slammed a fifty-pound solid oak piano lid directly onto my fingers.” “And you want me to say I did it to myself?” “Richard, how can a chief of surgery stand there and spew such absolute garbage?” My father’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second, but his aggressive posture returned instantly. “If you say it happened that way, then that is the truth.” “I am the chief medical examiner for the board. I know how to make the paperwork align.” “Just sign the damn paper and stop wasting everyone’s time.” Audrey chimed in, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Wendy, sweetie, we are all family here. Why make things so ugly?” “If Chloe gets banned from this competition, how is she supposed to survive in the industry?” “Why do you have such a wicked, jealous heart?” I looked at the three of them. The absolute absurdity of the situation made me sick. “And what if I refuse to sign?” Chloe spat her gum onto the pristine clinic floor, marched over, and violently shoved my shoulder. My balance was already unsteady. I crashed hard onto the floor. My right hand slammed against the hardwood, sending a blinding shockwave of agony straight to my brain. “Ahhh!” I screamed out in pure pain. My father jumped back, instinctively reaching out to help me. But Chloe blocked his arm. “Richard, do not coddle her.” “She is faking it.” “Wendy, listen to me very carefully. You are going to sign that paper today whether you want to or not.” “Otherwise, every time I see you, I am going to break something else.” She raised her designer stiletto, aiming the sharp heel directly at my heavily bandaged right hand. “Stop!” 4 My father finally yelled. Not to protect me. But to protect himself. “Chloe, do not touch her! There are security cameras in here!” He pulled Chloe back and looked down at me with supreme arrogance. “Wendy, I am going to ask you one last time. Are you signing the paper?” “If you refuse, do not ever expect another dime of financial support from me.” “And do not even think about coming back to the house.” I lay on the floor, cold sweat pouring down my face from the pain. But I actually started laughing. “The house?” “The house that drained my surgical funds to buy a violin for my attacker?” “The house that falsified medical records to protect a psycho?” “Richard, I think your memory is failing.” “I legally severed my relationship with you weeks ago.” I used my left hand to pull a backup phone out of my pocket. The screen was glowing red. It was actively recording. “Chloe pushing me to the floor. You explicitly demanding that I sign a fraudulent waiver. You admitting to falsifying medical records.” “I recorded every single second of it.” “This time, I am not letting any of you escape the consequences.” All the color instantly drained from my father’s face. “You… you set me up?” I pushed myself up off the floor, inch by painful inch. Like a bird with a broken wing, but with the dead, hollow eyes of a predator. “You taught me this, Richard.” “As a medical professional, you must only rely on objective facts.” Panic finally set in. As a top-tier surgeon, reputation was the only currency that mattered to him. Chloe’s unprovoked assault in a medical facility. A chief of surgery conspiring to extort a victim into signing fraudulent documents and openly admitting to falsifying medical evidence. If this leaked to the press, his entire career would be instantly vaporized. “Wendy, give dad the phone.” His tone softened dramatically, desperately trying to manipulate me with family ties. “We are family. Let’s just sit down and talk this through.” “Chloe just has a bit of a temper, she didn’t mean to hurt you.” I stared coldly at his outstretched hand. “Chloe, grab the phone!” Audrey shrieked from the corner. Chloe snapped out of her shock and lunged at me like a rabid dog, trying to snatch the device. But I was already prepared. My thumb hit the send button. The video file uploaded straight to my secure cloud server, while simultaneously emailing itself to three high-profile investigative journalists in the classical music circuit I had contacted days ago. “Too late.” I tossed the phone onto the floor. “It is already sent.” Chloe stomped her heel down, shattering the phone screen, and grabbed me by the collar. “You psychotic bitch! You actually set me up?!” Right at that moment, the clinic door was violently thrown open. Three security guards rushed in, followed by my lead physical therapist. “Get your hands off her! What is going on here?!” The doctor saw me bleeding on the floor and exploded in anger. “This patient is in active recovery! This is aggravated assault!” “Call the police! Lock the doors and call 911 right now!” The cops arrived in minutes. Because the assault happened inside a private medical facility, the charges were immediately escalated. Chloe was slapped in handcuffs and dragged out screaming. Audrey threw herself onto the floor, wailing and thrashing, screaming that I was extorting them. My father stood frozen in the corner of the room, looking like a hollow stone statue. He stared at me. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt in his eyes. Only the furious indignation of an authority figure who had been deeply disrespected. “Wendy, you are an absolute disappointment.” His voice was hoarse, but he still tried to maintain his arrogant, authoritative posture. “Are you intentionally trying to destroy Chloe’s life, and destroy your father’s career in the process?” I sat back down on the physical therapy bed as the nurse carefully unwrapped my bleeding bandages. Fresh blood soaked through the gauze, blooming like an ugly, dark flower. I looked up at him. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Richard, I am not the one destroying your life.” “Your greed, your extreme bias, and your pathetic obsession with your own authority did this.” I paused, offering him a piece of casual advice. “Oh, by the way. Before the hospital board officially suspends you, you should probably hire a very good defense attorney.” “Because I am taking this all the way to federal court.” That exact night, the hidden camera footage exploded across the internet.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “466694”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was twenty-eight and single. My parents were desperate, so they called in my married brother, Lucas, to share his secret to finding a wife. “It was pure luck,” he laughed. “No one would believe Victoria and I were pen pals in the 21st century.” Useless advice. I went back to my minimum-wage grind until I cleaned the attic that weekend. Deep in a dusty closet, I found a heavy box of letters Lucas and Victoria wrote as teens. He used the pen name Atlas; she was Aurora. The handwriting was bold and free-spirited. I froze. Atlas was my pen name. Trembling, I dumped the box. Every letter signed Atlas was in my exact handwriting, mixed with Aurora’s sweet replies. Papers fluttered to the floor as my knees buckled. Victoria was my old pen pal? But she didn’t just disappear? When I turned eighteen, right after my birthday, her letters abruptly stopped. I kept writing to her, week after week, but my words vanished into the void. She never disappeared. She just started writing to my older brother instead. I stared closely at the letters signed by Atlas. The tone, the phrasing, the cadence… it was exactly how I wrote. But the handwriting… Lucas had always possessed a terrifying talent for mimicking my script perfectly. Did Lucas… No. It was impossible. I shook my head violently, trying to clear the paranoid thoughts. Outside, the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway snapped me back to reality. I frantically gathered the scattered letters, shoving them back into the bottom of the wooden chest. But because they had spilled everywhere, they were completely out of order. It took me longer than I wanted. Just as I slammed the lid shut, the front door downstairs clicked open. “Guess what I got my amazing husband to celebrate ten years of knowing each other?” It was Victoria’s voice. I stayed frozen in the shadows of the upstairs hallway, listening. Lucas paused, pretending to think. “A new ring?” “Nope.” I heard the soft click of a velvet box opening. Victoria laughed softly. A vintage Rolex was resting inside, customized with a brilliant aquamarine stone set into the dial. It was a rare piece I had recently read about from a Sotheby’s auction. Lucas gasped, taking the box with wide eyes. “Oh my god, babe! It is gorgeous! But what is the occasion for something this crazy?” Victoria’s smile faltered. “Did you forget our promise?” Lucas blinked at her, completely confused. “In our very first year of writing to each other,” Victoria said softly, “you told me that if we stayed in each other’s lives for a decade, I had to gift you a watch with an aquamarine stone. Do you… do you really not remember?” “Of course I do!” Lucas recovered instantly, pulling her into a tight embrace with a loud laugh. “I was just messing with you, babe!” Victoria gently pushed the watch box onto the console table, her tone slightly deflated. “I think someone actually forgot. It feels like I am the only one who remembers the little things from back then.” “I did not forget! Stop making things up! I am sorry, babe. Come here.” Lucas wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. Victoria’s feigned annoyance melted away instantly. A genuine, loving smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Then she looked up, saw me standing at the top of the stairs, and quickly pushed Lucas away. “Simon is here.” Lucas looked up, clearly startled. I stood there, my fists clenched so tightly behind my back that my nails dug into my palms. “Hey, Simon,” Lucas smiled smoothly. Victoria waved me down. “Come look at the gift I picked out for your brother. What do you think?” Looking at that beautifully crafted watch, the words died in my throat. Every single detail was perfect. It was exactly how I had pictured it when I wrote that sentence in my bedroom ten years ago. It was just the wrong man wearing it. “Simon, what is wrong?” Victoria asked, her brow furrowing. “Are you feeling sick?” I shook my head silently. “Well, we did not forget about you. Here, your brother picked out a custom engraved gold pendant for you. For good luck.” A heavy velvet pouch was pushed into my hands. No matter what I wanted to scream in that moment, it was not the time or the place. I took the pouch. I muttered a quiet thank you, turned around, and practically ran back up the stairs. In my panic, I didn’t notice the sharp, suspicious glare Lucas shot at my back. I locked myself in my room for the rest of the day. I pulled out a small, hidden shoebox from under my bed. It was filled with old, yellowed stationery. Letters from Aurora. The letters I had sent after these never received a reply. [You have not written to me in weeks. Did something happen?] [I put twenty bucks in this envelope. I saved up for a while. If your stepmom locks you out of the kitchen again, go buy yourself some pizza.] [It has been three months. If you do not reply soon, I am actually going to be mad. Did you finally get a smartphone? My WhatsApp is…] [I am moving to New York for college! If you still want to write to me, my new address is…] [There is a hundred bucks in here. I actually have a real job now! Please make sure you are eating enough.] I couldn’t read any more. I gathered every single letter, crumpled them up, and threw them straight into my trash can. That evening at dinner, the clinking of silverware stopped when Lucas suddenly spoke up. “Simon. Have you been writing letters to my wife?” My head snapped up. My parents and Victoria looked at Lucas in total confusion. With a loud slap, Lucas threw a stack of crumpled, yellowed letters onto the dining table. They were the ones I had thrown away, mixed with a few unsent drafts I had written to Aurora years ago. Victoria froze the second she saw them. “These… these are my old letters. But I sent these to you, Lucas. Why does Simon have them?” “Simon!” Lucas slammed his hands on the table, glaring at me. “Do you have any idea how sick this is? She is your brother’s wife! Just because you cannot find a woman of your own, you steal my old pen name, forge my handwriting, and try to creep on my wife?!” Victoria picked up the letters with trembling hands. She looked at me with a mixture of shock and profound disgust. “No wonder I felt like your tone was a bit weird for a few months back then. It was you.” “I didn’t!” I tried to speak, but my father violently threw his chopsticks against the porcelain bowls. “Simon! We told you to go out and find a girl! We did not tell you to become a shameless degenerate! Hitting on Victoria? Have you lost your mind?!” “I am not! I just…” Lucas’s furious shouting completely drowned out my defense. Victoria quickly wrapped her arms around Lucas, pulling him close and whispering soft words to calm him down. Then she turned her cold gaze to me. “Simon. I am married to your brother. There is absolutely zero possibility of anything ever happening between us. Do not ever try a stunt like this again.” Without another word, she helped Lucas out of the dining room. Her eyes were filled with nothing but pure concern for her husband. My parents were so disgusted they abandoned their dinner entirely. Within seconds, I was the only one left in the room. The yellowed letters lay scattered across the mahogany table. They felt like they were mocking my absolute helplessness across the span of a decade. “That is not what happened!” I suddenly grabbed the letters and sprinted up the stairs. “Victoria, the truth is I…” I stopped dead right outside their bedroom door. Lucas had his face buried in Victoria’s shoulder. Her beautiful, usually composed eyes were filled with undeniable heartbreak for him. “Shh, it is okay. Do not be upset.” As she comforted him, her own eyes grew red. She reached up and gently wiped a tear from my brother’s cheek. Seeing that absolute, raw devotion… every single word I wanted to say died in my throat. What would telling her the truth accomplish now? I was looking at a wife who loved her husband with every fiber of her being. Even if she found out the origin of their relationship was a stolen identity… would a decade of real, lived-in love just vanish into thin air? I turned around and walked away. As I passed the hallway trash can, I dropped the letters back in. The atmosphere at the breakfast table the next morning was suffocating. I broke the silence. “Dad, Mom. Set me up on a blind date.” My mother choked on her coffee. They knew exactly how much I despised arranged setups. Victoria looked up from her plate, her eyes locking onto mine. “I want to get married,” I said flatly. My mother wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Well, it is about time you came to your senses.” “Yeah.” I looked down at my food. Lucas reached over and patted my shoulder with a forgiving smile. “Simon, I am sorry about yesterday. I lost my temper and did not consider your feelings. I apologize.” “But I am so glad you finally figured things out. Do not worry, I will personally vet the candidates. No more weirdos.” I gave a stiff nod. When I casually glanced up, I caught Victoria staring at me. There was an emotion in her eyes I couldn’t quite decipher. I looked away and kept eating in silence. They found a match for me incredibly fast. Her name was Sloane. We were the exact same age. She was a self-made entrepreneur with a net worth pushing nine figures. I was genuinely shocked my parents managed to pull a candidate like her. And I was even more shocked that someone making minimum wage like me was even allowed in the same room as her. But I didn’t care. As long as I was actively dating, the toxic tension in the house would slowly evaporate. But the night before I was supposed to meet Sloane, Victoria sought me out. I was sitting in the living room with the lights off. Victoria quietly sat down on the sofa next to me. “Have you really thought this through? Are you sure you want to rush into marriage?” I blinked, then nodded. “Look, do not hold a grudge over what happened the other day. I did not mean to be so harsh.” “I am over it, Victoria.” Her gaze lingered on my face for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, she nodded. “If she treats you poorly, you come tell me. I am family. I will always have your back.” I paused, looking at her in surprise. She stared right back, her eyes swirling with that same complicated emotion I couldn’t read. Having no other response, I just nodded. “Thank you.” We went back to our respective rooms. But a few minutes later, when I stepped out to grab a glass of water, I heard Victoria’s voice echoing softly from the balcony. She was on the phone. “Yes, he kept his distance tonight. You can go ahead and marry him.” “Of course I am watching out for you. You are my best friend. I would never hand you over to a man with impure intentions.” “Look, I do not care if he still harbors those disgusting fantasies in his head. As long as he keeps them buried and behaves, it is fine.” “Just marry him quickly. I am sick of looking at his face in this house.” “Victoria!” I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved the balcony door open. “I am not a creep! I never did anything to you!” Victoria whipped around, her eyes widening in pure shock. Through the phone speaker, I heard Sloane’s confused voice. “What is going on over there?” “Nothing.” Victoria instantly hung up. She stepped forward and tried to shove me back inside. “What is wrong with you? I thought you went to sleep.” “I am not the disgusting creep you keep telling everyone I am! Lucas was never your pen pal! It was me! I never hit on you! I never lied to you!” Victoria’s brow furrowed deeply. “What are you talking about?” “I am telling you,” I breathed heavily, “I am Atlas…” Her expression darkened into a scowl. “Victoria, I…” Smack. A sharp, stinging slap landed squarely across my cheek. The door to my parents’ master bedroom swung open instantly. Lucas’s bedroom door down the hall clicked open right after. “What is all that shouting?” “Victoria? Simon? Why are you two out here in the dark?” I held my burning cheek, staring at her in absolute disbelief. “You are completely hopeless,” Victoria sneered, looking at me like I was trash. Lucas rushed over. Seeing the bright red handprint on my face, his expression twisted into pure disgust. “Simon, do not tell me you tried to…” I gritted my teeth. “How can you treat me like this?!” Lucas shoved me hard against the wall. “I literally begged Victoria to set you up with her wealthy best friend, and you still cannot keep your hands off my wife?! Are you that pathetic? You only want women who belong to someone else?!” “I didn’t do anything!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “I never lied! Who is the real Atlas, Lucas?! You know exactly what you did! You have absolutely no right to judge me!” “You…” Lucas froze, his face draining of color. A second later, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. My father’s thick, calloused palm cracked across my jaw so hard I saw stars. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor. “Have you no shame?!” my father roared, his face purple with rage. “That is your brother’s wife!” Victoria stood over me, looking down from her pedestal. She pulled Lucas protectively behind her. “Lock him in the basement for a few days,” she said coldly. “Let him think about what he has done.” The family’s private security guards stepped forward immediately. They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me toward the cellar doors. I thrashed wildly. “I am not lying! I am Atlas! Let me go!” Lucas let out a theatrical, choking sob, burying his face in his hands. But right before they shoved me down the dark concrete stairs, I saw Lucas peek through his fingers. He locked eyes with me. There were no tears. Only a cold, lethal threat. I do not remember much of those two days in the dark. At first, I was consumed by a burning rage. Then, total physical exhaustion. By the end, my heart was just dead. On the third afternoon, Victoria unlocked the heavy cellar door. “My husband and I have discussed this.” She emphasized the word husband heavily. “We are willing to keep this little incident a secret from your fiancée. But you are going to sign a non-disclosure agreement.” She dropped a legal document onto the dusty floor in front of me. She looked down at me with eyes made of ice. “From this day forward, you and I have absolutely no connection whatsoever.” I slowly lifted my head. “If you ever cross the line again,” she warned, “I will not care that we are family. I will destroy you.” I stared into her cold, merciless eyes. I picked up the pen with trembling fingers. I signed my name on the dotted line and pressed my thumbprint in red ink. Victoria carefully folded the contract and tucked it into her designer blazer. I was finally allowed out of that suffocating basement. The afternoon sun was blinding. I didn’t care about the pen pal mystery anymore. I didn’t care who Victoria thought she was writing to. Victoria kept her word. During my dates with Sloane, she never said another bad word about me to her best friend. And against all odds, Sloane actually fell for me. I didn’t fully understand why, but my parents were absolutely thrilled and pushed for an immediate engagement. They had two sons. One married the formidable CEO Victoria. The other was marrying the self-made tycoon Sloane. Love didn’t matter. The prestige was enough for them. I had only one condition: after the wedding, I was moving out of the family estate permanently. They agreed without a second thought. The wedding was fast-tracked. That weekend, I was getting married. When the fleet of wedding cars pulled up to Sloane’s private estate, she was sitting in the back of a Rolls-Royce, wearing a breathtaking white gown. She smiled brightly and reached her hand out to me. I didn’t hesitate. I took her hand. Just as I leaned in to lift her out of the car, a frantic voice shattered the romantic atmosphere. “Stop! This is a mistake!” Victoria violently shoved her way through the crowd of groomsmen and photographers. She stood in front of Sloane, completely out of breath. “He cannot marry you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “466693”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Once I made up my mind to divorce Holly, I started keeping my distance. I made sure to stay completely out of her orbit. When she walked over to grab my hand in front of my coworkers, I instinctively pulled away. After work, her sleek black car was parked right outside my office building. I pretended it was invisible, practically throwing myself into the back of a passing cab just to escape. At the airport, a buddy of mine noticed my solo arrival and gave me a weird look. “Why didn’t you ask your wife to pick you up?” he asked, chuckling. “Afraid she’ll get too tired? Or just too whipped to let her deal with the traffic?” I shook my head, my expression flat. “Neither.” He raised an eyebrow. “Things between us aren’t exactly a fairytale right now,” I explained, keeping my voice low. “We are more like strangers who just happen to know each other’s daily routines. honestly, I feel more relaxed making small talk with a random guy on the street than I do sitting in a room with her.” Before the words fully left my mouth, a sharp clatter echoed behind me. I turned around. Holly was standing right there. She wore a perfectly tailored black suit, her face completely drained of color. Her hands, hanging rigidly by her sides, curled into tight fists. A stiff, awkward smile forced its way onto my lips. That familiar, suffocating sense of inadequacy I always felt around her rushed back into my chest like a tidal wave. Holly stared at me, her dark eyes heavy, swirling with a storm of emotions I could not even begin to decipher. Before I could figure out what to say, she closed the distance between us. Her pale hand clamped down on the handle of my suitcase. When I hesitated to let go, her gaze darkened completely. Her voice dropped to a freezing whisper. “Let go of the handle, Chad. Or I swear to God, I will pick you up along with the luggage right here in front of everyone.” I immediately released my grip, taking a massive step back to put air between us. She stared at the empty space between our bodies. The corner of her mouth twitched, and the dark storm in her eyes grew even colder. A few minutes later, I found myself practically shoved into the passenger seat of her car. I told her I needed to head back to the office, arguing that getting out of her luxury car in front of my firm would cause too much gossip. “Thanks for helping with the bags,” I muttered, staring out the window. “But I think it is best if I just catch a cab from here.” The politeness in my voice was strictly business. It was a cold, formal boundary I had not even realized I was building. The drive from the airport to the city center was not terribly long, but the thought of being trapped in a sealed metal box with Holly made my skin crawl. She scoffed softly. “What are you so afraid of? We are legally married. If they see us, we will just take it public.” I kept my head down, my fingers digging into my own palms. There was a time when all I wanted was to go public. But now, with divorce papers looming in my near future, throwing our marriage into the spotlight would only create a chaotic mess. The invisible wall between Holly and me had been built a long time ago. As the CEO of Pinnacle Holdings, she drew a brutal line between her professional empire and her private life. I knew exactly how ruthless she could be, which was why, even at my lowest point, I never begged her for a favor. Not even when I spent months pulling all-nighters for a massive pitch, only to have a senior colleague named Brenda snatch it away with a single smug comment. “My husband’s uncle is an executive at Pinnacle,” Brenda had mocked me in the breakroom. “Even the head of our firm has to kiss his feet. What makes a nobody like you think you can compete with my connections?” The project I had bled for was handed over to someone else the next morning. I admit, I wavered back then. When it came to connections, the entirety of Pinnacle belonged to Holly. She would not even need to show her face. A single text message from her would have been enough to hand me back the project that was rightfully mine. That night, after agonizing over it for hours, I finally swallowed my pride. “I heard your company is planning to invest in our firm?” I asked her, my voice trembling slightly. Holly maintained her usual icy composure. She did not even look up from her laptop, simply offering a dismissive hum of acknowledgment. “If someone at the firm was bullying me, would you have my back?” I asked, trying to sound casual and upbeat, though my palms were slick with nervous sweat. Holly finally looked up. Her heavy gaze locked onto me, her brow furrowing as if to say, Are you actually being serious right now? The silence stretched, making me feel utterly pathetic. I forced a laugh, ready to brush it off as a joke to escape the humiliation. But then she spoke. Her throat bobbed, and her voice was strictly corporate. “Investment choices are made by the board of directors. It has not even been finalized if your firm will make the cut.” She paused, her tone perfectly measured. “And while Pinnacle acts as the financial backer, our absolute core principle is to never interfere with internal personnel decisions.” She made it crystal clear. I did not humiliate myself by asking twice. Holly’s principles were absolute. They bent for no one. I was not her exception. But I never expected that Oliver would be. The day Holly showed up at our office as the lead investor, everyone was buzzing. Oliver was the new guy, entirely parachuted in to take over as the lead director of our department. The whispers spread like wildfire around the cubicles. “What do you think is going on between the new guy and the Ice Queen?” “Our boss has been begging for Pinnacle’s money for a year. Oliver walks in, and suddenly the funds are cleared? You do the math.” “Well, Oliver is gorgeous. It makes sense a billionaire CEO would want him. Did you expect her to fall for one of us corporate drones?” “If she didn’t fall for him, I would seriously question her taste. Right, Chad?” The gossip suddenly targeted me. I pressed my lips together, my voice dropping out of pure insecurity. “I don’t think so,” I mumbled. “I heard CEO Sinclair is married.” A coworker rolled her eyes. “How can you be so sure? Nobody has ever seen this supposed husband. For all we know, Oliver is the secret husband.” “Makes total sense. She came down here personally just to make sure her man wasn’t getting bullied. Why else would she care so much about a mid-level director? If they aren’t sleeping together, I will eat my keyboard.” I froze. I had no response. Nobody knew who I was to her, and I could not exactly explain to my coworkers why my own wife was bending over backward for another man. I wanted to ask her myself. Were your principles not set in stone? Why did they magically disappear for Oliver? “You guys have it wrong,” Oliver said gently one afternoon, stepping into the breakroom with a polite smile. “I am Holly’s ex-boyfriend. We broke up three years ago.” He meant it to sound like an innocent clarification, but to everyone else, it carried a completely different, scandalous weight. Two months prior to that office reveal, Holly had received a midnight phone call. That night, Holly, who had quit smoking years ago, stood on our balcony. The cherry of her cigarette burned a hole in the darkness until the sun came up. When the morning light finally broke, she grabbed her coat and walked out the door. I woke up a few hours later, wrapped in a cold blanket. I called her over and over, but it went straight to voicemail. Even her assistant had no idea where she was. There was a critical shareholder meeting that morning, the kind with millions on the line. Holly, a woman who worshipped her career, skipped it without a word. For weeks after that, she would get calls from an unsaved number. Every time her phone lit up, she would leave the room. One evening, a sickening knot of paranoia got the best of me. I followed her quietly down the hall and stood outside her study. Through the crack in the door, I heard the broken, weeping voice of a man on speakerphone. Holly stood with her back to me, her tall frame rigid. I could not see her face, but I heard the absolute tenderness in her voice as she tried to soothe him. The ghost from her past, the man who dragged my wife out of bed in the dead of night, was Oliver. All the doubt and insecurity I had buried for years finally tore through the surface. I cornered Holly in the underground parking garage the next morning. “He is your ex, isn’t he?” I demanded, my voice echoing off the concrete. “Do you regret it? Do you want him back? Or have you two already been sleeping together behind my back for months?” Holly stared at me. Her eyes were like shards of ice. I pressed my lips together, refusing to back down, matching her freezing glare. The silent standoff sucked all the oxygen out of the damp garage. Assistant Rachel nervously glanced between the two of us, finally stepping forward to break the suffocating tension. “Sir, you are completely misunderstanding the situation,” Rachel pleaded softly. “Aside from that one morning you called me, I have been present for every single meeting between CEO Sinclair and Mr. Oliver.” She swallowed hard. “He has been going through absolute hell lately. A family tragedy, and his own health is failing…” Rachel was the only person in Holly’s professional circle who knew I was her husband. Before she could finish her sentence, Holly snapped her head to the side. She tapped sharply on the car window, cutting her assistant off. “Get in the car, Rachel.” Then she turned her dead eyes back to me. “Did you even use your brain before letting that garbage out of your mouth, Chad?” she asked, her voice dangerously low. “Did you ever stop to think how much it would ruin his life if someone overheard you spreading those vicious rumors?” She got into her car, leaving those words hanging in the exhaust fumes. Her glare had been like a physical blade, twisting straight into my ribs. I had been holding those questions in for weeks. But saying them out loud did not bring me any relief. Rachel’s desperate defense made me wonder if I really had become a paranoid, jealous monster. After that fight, Holly and I entered a brutal cold war. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to fix it. But she was suddenly always on a business trip. When she was in town, she left before I woke up and returned long after I had gone to sleep. We were ghosts living in the same house. I sent her dozens of text messages. She replied to exactly one. Chad: Are you still angry with me? I didn’t think before I spoke that day, and I was out of line. But we really need to sit down and talk. Are you free tomorrow? Holly: I am not angry. I have to fly to Chicago tomorrow for a summit. We can talk when I get back. Go to sleep early, and stop overthinking things. She claimed she was flying to Chicago. But the very next evening, I received a call from an unknown number. The voice on the other end told me to go to a luxury hotel owned by Pinnacle Enterprises at exactly three o’clock the following day. I arrived ten minutes early. My blood turned to ice when I saw Oliver and Holly walking out of the grand lobby doors, side by side. My hands balled into fists. I marched right up to her, pushing down the absolute rage threatening to choke me. “So this is Chicago?” I spat out. “Is this your business trip? Working hard on a king-sized mattress with your ex?” It was only after the words left my mouth that I realized there were about a dozen Pinnacle executives standing a few feet behind her. Assistant Rachel looked mortified, stepping forward to explain, but Holly shot her a lethal glare, forcing the assistant to step back. Holly waved her hand, dismissing her team. Once we were alone, her brow creased in deep annoyance. The look she gave me was genuinely frightening. “Instead of going through the exhausting effort of stalking me like a lunatic,” she said, her voice dripping with aristocratic disdain, “why don’t you just file for divorce?” She stepped closer, towering over my shattered ego. “Do you even have the guts to leave?” It felt like she had dumped a bucket of freezing water over my head. My entire body went numb. I stood frozen on the pavement, completely unable to move. Holly rubbed her temples, looking incredibly tired. Her tone softened just a fraction, but the impatience was still glaringly obvious. “When you are done throwing your tantrum, find your own way home.” She did not spare me a second glance. She walked right past me, never looking back. I wandered the city streets in a daze for hours that afternoon. Without realizing it, my feet had taken me to the old Sinclair family estate. The old patriarch had never approved of our marriage to begin with. When I told him I was filing for divorce, he did not bat an eye. “Has Holly agreed to it?” the old man asked, sipping his tea. I nodded slowly. “She wants it more than I do.” Now, sitting in the passenger seat of her car, the silence was unbearable. Just as the engine purred to life, Holly’s phone rang. It was Oliver. “Holly, my flight just landed,” Oliver’s soft, warm voice filled the cabin. “Are you here yet? I am waiting by the arrivals gate.” He paused, his voice turning incredibly sweet. “I brought you a gift.” The tenderness in his tone made the air inside the car feel suffocatingly thick. Holly almost violently slapped the dashboard, killing the Bluetooth audio instantly. Whatever Oliver said next was completely cut off. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Holly glance in my direction. She picked up her phone and quickly typed out a voice note. “Something urgent came up. Rachel is at the terminal. Find her.” It all clicked. Holly had driven to the airport today specifically to pick up Oliver. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window, pretending to be utterly exhausted. I did not ask questions. I did not badger her with Oliver this and Oliver that like I used to. During the month I had been away on my business trip, the office group chats had been entirely dominated by their names. Whenever we were drowning in deadlines and the whole team had to stay late, Oliver was the only one allowed to clock out at five. “Sorry guys, I have to run,” he would say with an apologetic smile. “CEO Sinclair is waiting outside.” People were furious. We were all grinding our bones to dust, but he got a free pass. Someone from HR, who clearly knew too much, had dropped a massive bomb in the secret group chat. HR Rep: He is the Ice Queen’s favorite toy. On his first day, she personally called our department. Said his immune system is compromised and forbade us from giving him heavy workloads. Coworker 1: Makes sense. If he burns out here, he won’t have the energy to serve her in the bedroom tonight. (Smirking emoji) Coworker 2: Do you think her secret husband knows she is keeping a boy toy on the payroll? HR Rep: Who cares if he knows? He has been hiding in the shadows for years. Clearly the guy has no spine. Holly and Oliver don’t even try to hide it anymore. It’s like they are the real married couple… Holly’s voice suddenly snapped me back to reality. “Oliver has been seeing specialists lately.” “His health is failing. You know this.” My emotions remained entirely flat. I simply nodded my head. The car descended back into a deathly, oppressive silence. Holly opened her mouth a few times, swallowing whatever words she was trying to force out. Finally, she managed to speak. “Was the business trip exhausting?” After I had visited her grandfather that day, I had immediately volunteered to take a colleague’s out-of-state assignment. I stayed away for a full month. Perhaps noticing the house was completely empty, Holly had actually called me three times during that month. I let every single one ring out. According to the old patriarch’s strict conditions, I had to wait two more months before the divorce papers could be legally processed. As a gesture of goodwill, on top of the standard marital assets, the old man promised to wire five million dollars in cash from his personal accounts directly to me. “It was fine,” I answered absentmindedly, mentally counting down the days on the calendar. I did not notice that Holly’s knuckles were turning stark white from how tightly she was gripping the steering wheel. I was just thinking about how I only had four weeks left until I was finally free. “That hotel project last month… it was a last-minute crisis,” she blurted out. “The moment the meeting ended, I flew straight to Chicago. Rachel has my entire flight itinerary and meeting logs. If you want to see them…” Maybe I was losing my mind, but ever since she picked me up, Holly was talking way too much. She was famously a woman of zero unnecessary words. Right now, she sounded desperate to fill the silence. “There is no need,” I interrupted smoothly. “And I apologize. I am sorry for causing such a scene and embarrassing you that day.” It finally made sense. She had been acting so strange because she was worried I was still hung up on the hotel incident. If it was making her this uncomfortable, my public outburst must have really bruised her ego in front of her executives. “From now on, I will…” I began, ready to swear I would never cross her boundaries again. Before I could finish the sentence, Holly slammed her foot on the brakes, jerking the car to a violent halt.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “466692”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone in Manhattan society knows Grant Tyler adores me. The icy aristocrat makes a grueling annual pilgrimage to a frozen Himalayan peak just to pray for my health. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. Then I saw Ruby’s video. My best friend stood on a snowy trail, giggling about a five-year-old hike where she and her lover got carried away. A man’s hand reached in, adjusting her scarf with practiced tenderness. On his wrist was the crimson prayer cord I had braided for Grant with my own hands. Blood turned to ice in my heated living room. Moments later, my doctor walked in. She told me I was two months pregnant. Tears already streaming, I looked up dazed. Please, I choked out, help me schedule an abortion immediately. 1 The doctor froze, her eyes widening in shock. “Hazel, are you absolutely sure?” she asked gently. “Mr. Tyler loves you so much. And given your medical history, this pregnancy is an absolute miracle.” She was trying to talk me out of it. After all, the entire city knew the lore of our romance. Grant once took nineteen stab wounds to protect me from an attacker. When I was critically ill, he abandoned a billion-dollar merger and flew to the Himalayas, kneeling on the jagged rocks with every step he took, begging for my life. His love was a grand, theatrical spectacle that made everyone envious. But sitting there in the clinic, I could not even string a complete sentence together. My throat felt like it was packed with broken glass. My heart hurt so badly I could barely keep myself upright. Seeing my completely devastated state, the doctor finally stopped pushing. She let out a heavy sigh. “I will go make the arrangements.” Once the door clicked shut, I tapped the screen to replay that video. My fingers were shaking so violently I could hardly hold the phone. I opened the comment section. Someone had asked, “How old is your little boy? He is adorable!” Ruby had replied almost immediately. “He just turned five!” I stared at that number. A deafening ringing filled my ears. Five years ago, I was in a horrific car accident. The doctors issued multiple critical condition notices. I was not supposed to make it. Grant, a man of absolute pride and logic, lost his mind. He rushed to the mountains, his palms cracking from the frostbite, his forehead bleeding from kneeling on the ice, praying for me to survive. Eventually, I woke up. Everyone said Grant’s absolute devotion had moved the heavens. I believed them. But the truth was, while he was kneeling in the freezing snow supposedly praying for my life, he was tumbling into the sheets with my best friend. They even made a child out of it. The agonizing pain in my chest threatened to swallow me whole. As my phone screen dimmed, a message notification from Ruby popped up. The last text she sent me was from last night. “Hazel, I am so jealous of you. Grant is such a gentleman. He always looks so restrained and gentle.” “Unlike my husband. I don’t know what has gotten into him lately.” “He goes completely wild every night. He leaves my legs shaking and my back aching, and he absolutely refuses to stop when I beg him.” “I feel like he is going to break me in half.” She followed it up with a few blushing, giggling emojis. Reading those words now made my stomach churn violently. The mysterious husband she had been bragging about was Grant. I gripped the phone tightly, black spots dancing in my vision. In all our years of marriage, Grant was always overly cautious in bed. He was restrained to the point of being entirely vanilla. Once, I bought a very sheer, daring lingerie set. I clumsily practiced some poses I saw online. That night, blushing furiously, I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered that he could be a little rougher with me. Grant simply frowned and gently pulled my hands away. “Hazel, your health is too fragile,” he murmured. “I am terrified of hurting you.” I used to think that was ultimate cherishing. I thought he loved me too much to lose control. But I was completely wrong. He took all of his loss of control, all his rough passion, and all his heavy breathing. He gave every bit of it to Ruby. A hollow laugh escaped my lips. I laughed until thick tears splattered against my phone screen. A few minutes later, the doctor returned. “Hazel, the surgery is scheduled. Three days from now, at nine in the morning.” 2 After leaving the clinic, my assistant texted to remind me about a charity gala being hosted in my name that evening. I rushed to the venue. As I walked past the VIP lounges, a familiar voice drifted into the hallway. A group of men were laughing and teasing someone. “Grant, how did you finally bear to bring Ruby back to the city?” one of them joked. “Aren’t you worried Hazel will find out?” My feet glued themselves to the plush carpet. I peered through the slight crack in the door. Grant had his arm wrapped casually around Ruby’s shoulders. He chuckled. “Hazel would never in her wildest dreams imagine me stepping out on her.” Another friend leaned forward. “So what exactly is the deal with you and Ruby? The kid is already five. You can’t just keep her hidden in the shadows forever.” Ruby lowered her head, her eyes rimmed with red. Grant glanced at her, his voice softening entirely. “That is why I am planning a private wedding for Ruby.” Ruby’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, looking like a woman who had suffered in silence for years. Grant reached out and gently held her hand. “I already gave Hazel the public title. Everyone in high society knows she is Mrs. Tyler.” “But the actual wedding ceremony, and the real marriage certificate, I am giving to Ruby.” Ruby leaned into his chest, her voice sweet and fragile. “Grant, I don’t want to break Hazel’s heart. Maybe we should just forget the wedding.” Grant pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You waited in the shadows for five years. I owe you this.” Someone in the room laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “You really have it all figured out, Grant. One is the official wife for the cameras, and the other is your true love hidden in the mountains.” Grant simply smiled. “I will still be there for Hazel. Her health is poor, and she relies on me emotionally.” “Out of twelve months in a year, I will take one month to be with Ruby and our son. The other eleven months, I will be right by Hazel’s side.” “She will never, ever find out Ruby had my child.” The moment those words hung in the air, a broken smile crossed my face. I had never once questioned his devotion. Only in this exact second did I realize how utterly worthless a man’s heart could be. The same Grant who willingly took a knife for me had just driven a blade straight through my chest with his own hands. 3 I could not listen to another word. My chest felt blocked by concrete, the acid in my throat making every breath burn. I did not push the door open. I simply used the wall to support my weight and walked out of the gala without looking back. When I got back to our penthouse, I started packing up every single thing Grant had ever given me. With every item I tossed into the box, a tiny, invisible cut sliced into my heart. All the grand gestures I once viewed as undeniable proof of his love were nothing but a massive, humiliating joke. I taped the cardboard box shut and prepared to drag it out to the trash chute. Suddenly, the front door clicked unlocked. Grant was home. He walked in carrying a small velvet box, his eyes crinkling with that signature gentle warmth. “Hazel.” “I was walking past the boutique and saw this necklace. I immediately knew you would love it.” He stepped closer, reaching out to pull me into an embrace just like he always did. But as he leaned in, a wave of sweet gardenia perfume hit my nose. It was Ruby’s signature scent. A split second later, I noticed the faint, reddish bruise tucked just beneath his collar. My stomach violently rebelled. I shoved him away with all my strength. Grant stumbled back, looking genuinely confused. “Hazel, what is wrong?” I refused to speak. I spun around and walked into the kitchen, desperate for a glass of ice water to suppress my nausea. But when I pulled the refrigerator door open, I froze completely. My favorite jasmine tea was gone. In its place sat rows of coconut water, low-sugar yogurt, and green grapes. Everything Ruby loved. I gripped the handle of the fridge, a suffocating wave of sorrow crashing over me. It wasn’t just Grant’s heart that Ruby had invaded. She had slowly, methodically colonized every corner of my home. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down. Ruby had just posted a new photo on her social media. The picture showed a massive table covered in glowing velvet jewelry boxes, the diamonds sparkling aggressively under the lights. The caption read: “Hubby spoiled me rotten tonight. He bought every single piece of jewelry at the auction just for me. The organizers saw how much he spent and threw in a bunch of little freebies too!” I stared at the screen, my fingers turning to ice. I zoomed in on the photo. There, sitting neglected in the corner of the table, was a delicate necklace. It was the exact same necklace Grant had just handed me. His thoughtful little gift, the one he claimed he bought just for me, was literally a piece of trash Ruby did not want. Before I could even lock my phone, the comment section refreshed with a new reply from Ruby. She posted a blushing emoji. “I just bought a very special little outfit. Hubby has been begging me to wear it for weeks. Getting ready to reward him properly tonight.” I stared at the words, the overwhelming urge to vomit returning in full force. Grant walked up behind me. He must have noticed my rigid posture, his voice dropping into that soothing, gentle register. “Hazel, are you just exhausted from the gala?” “Let me carry you to bed, alright?” He reached out to support my waist, his touch as gentle as it had been a thousand times before. If I had not seen the hickey, the coconut water, and the pathetic discarded necklace, I probably would have melted into his arms, believing I was the most cherished woman on earth. Before I could say a word, Grant’s phone lit up on the counter. He instinctively glanced down. From my peripheral vision, I saw the photo flash on his screen. It was Ruby, wearing practically nothing but a few scraps of red lace, a teasing slope of her pale shoulder in full view. It was an invitation that required zero explanation. Grant’s hand twitched. He quickly pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Hazel, something urgent just came up at the company.” “I have to head out for a bit.” I suddenly reached out, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. My voice was incredibly frail, completely stripped of its usual warmth. “Grant. Please don’t go.” “Just stay here with me tonight. Please.” He looked down at me, a flicker of genuine hesitation crossing his eyes. For one pathetic, agonizing second, I actually thought he might choose me. But then his phone buzzed again. Ruby’s text popped up. “Hubby, I am fresh out of the shower and waiting for you. We can do your favorite position tonight.” Grant closed his eyes briefly, sealing his decision. He gently, meticulously pried my fingers off his wrist. “Be good, Hazel. It is a genuine emergency. I will come right back to you as soon as I handle it.” I watched my hand slip from his grip, my chest throbbing with a dull, sickening ache. Seeing my desolate expression, Grant tried to sweeten the blow, lowering his voice to coax me. “I will make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.” “Haven’t you always wanted to go to the amusement park? I will rent out the entire park tomorrow. Just the two of us all day.” I stared at him blankly. Three years ago, I had mentioned wanting to go to Disneyland. Ruby had gone for a three-day weekend and posted endless grids of photos. In one picture, a man’s muscular forearm was visible, holding a bunch of Mickey balloons for her. Her caption read: “Someone treats me like an absolute princess.” Back then, feeling a little jealous, I had turned to Grant and asked, “When work slows down, can we go to the park too?” He had stroked my hair, his tone endlessly patient. “Of course.” “Once you are fully recovered, I will rent the place out just for you.” I waited. I waited through the spring, and I waited through the summer. I waited so long that the theme park went through three different renovations. Grant never took me. Whenever I brought it up, he would kiss my forehead. “Next time, darling. When I am not so swamped. There are too many crowds, I don’t want you getting exhausted.” It turned out he wasn’t worried about the crowds. He wasn’t worried about my stamina. He simply had no desire to look at castles and fireworks when he had already experienced it all with another woman. My dream was just a convenient “next time” he could push back infinitely. And now, he finally remembered. He used it as a bargaining chip on the very night he was rushing off to sleep with Ruby. Realizing that, a bizarre sense of absolute calm washed over me. All the suffocating bitterness, the nausea, and the sharp pain sank to the bottom of a dark ocean. I looked up at Grant. I looked at the man I honestly believed I would spend the rest of my life with. And I slowly lowered my hand. “Go on.” 4 Once Grant left the penthouse, I dragged the heavy cardboard box out into the hallway. I threw everything down the garbage chute, piece by piece. When I reached the wooden prayer beads, my hands paused. It was the first gift Grant brought back from the Himalayas after I woke up from my coma. His hands had been raw and bleeding from the cold. He had knelt by my hospital bed, his voice completely wrecked. “Hazel, I fought the heavens and won you back.” “I swear to God, I will never let you suffer another day in your life.” I had hugged him and sobbed, genuinely believing this man had wrestled my soul back from the afterlife. I wore those beads against my skin for five solid years. Looking back now, it was utterly laughable. If the heavens were truly watching, they would have known that when he was kneeling in the snow, his heart was already split in two. Grant returned the next morning as the sun was coming up. The cloying scent of Ruby’s perfume was practically baked into his clothes. He walked into the bedroom, stopping dead when he noticed the closet was half empty. “Hazel, where are your things?” I looked at him, parting my lips to answer. His phone started ringing. Ruby’s name flashed brightly across the screen. Grant instinctively hit ignore. Noticing my pale complexion, he reached out to check my temperature. “Are you feeling sick again?” Before his fingers could even brush my forehead, the phone rang again. This time, it was a FaceTime call. Grant hesitated for two agonizing seconds, then turned away from me to answer it. He didn’t close the bathroom door all the way. Through the gap, I saw Ruby standing in front of a mirror, wearing a breathtaking white wedding gown. Her eyes were puffy. “Grant, do I look okay?” she asked nervously. “It feels a little tight around the waist.” Grant’s entire demeanor instantly melted into a puddle of devotion. “You look absolutely perfect. Don’t let them alter it.” “You look stunning in everything you wear. Tonight, I want you waiting in bed wearing nothing but that dress…” When the call finally ended, I slid a manila folder across the nightstand. It contained the signed divorce papers. “Grant, I need to tell you—” Grant snapped out of his daze, realizing I was still sitting right there. He reached out and stroked my cheek. “Hazel, once I wrap up this massive project, I promise we will go to the theme park.” I looked at him and let out a soft, airy laugh. “There is no need.” Grant didn’t understand what I meant. And he didn’t have the time to figure it out. Because Ruby sent him a voice memo. This time, a sweet, childish voice echoed from the speaker. “Daddy, when are you coming? Mommy said we are taking family photos today!” Grant’s body went entirely rigid. He looked up at me in absolute panic, terror flashing in his eyes. But he quickly forced it down, masking it with a frantic business tone. “Hazel, I really need to run out again.” I sat in silence as he practically sprinted to grab his jacket. I watched him rush out the door without ever glancing down at the divorce papers resting on the table. The moment the front door slammed shut, I grabbed the papers and shoved them into my purse. There was no point leaving them here anymore. On the third morning, exactly at nine o’clock, I walked into the operating room. Just as the anesthesia began to make my vision swim, my phone buzzed on the tray beside me. It was a text from Ruby. “Hazel, my hubby was completely feral last night.” “When things got really intense, he used that little braided charm you made him to spice things up. It completely pushed him over the edge. He lost his mind.” She attached a photo. It was a messy hotel suite, expensive lingerie scattered across the carpet. The crimson prayer cord was tossed carelessly onto the edge of the mattress. The intricate knots were completely stretched and ruined, the silk threads stained with cloudy, dried fluids. It was the cord I had spent weeks braiding for him, my fingers cramping as I recovered in my hospital bed. I stared at the photo, a single tear slipping from the corner of my eye. Right before the drugs dragged me into darkness, a final thought drifted through my mind. My devotion, my prayers, my desperate hopes for his safety. To them, it was just a cheap, dirty prop to get them off. As the cold liquid pushed through my IV, I rested my hand flat against my lower stomach. Soon, it would be entirely empty. Just like the space in my heart that Grant used to occupy. At three in the afternoon, I boarded a flight out of the country. Because I left in such a rush, my medical files and post-op paperwork were left sitting on the clinic counter. When the nurse realized I was gone, she dialed the emergency contact listed on my intake form. The line connected. The background noise on the other end was incredibly loud. The nurse hesitated, but spoke up anyway. “Hello, is this Mr. Grant Tyler?” “Miss Hazel just finished her abortion surgery. She left some important medical files behind. Could you please come pick them up?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “466691”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel