1 The day after I secured the company’s most lucrative account of the year, I stood at the finance desk, a stack of business expense receipts clenched in my hand. The finance clerk didn’t even bother to look up. Her fingertips tapped lazily against her keyboard. “Wow, that client director must really have a thing for female sales reps. You girls always get the royal treatment, huh?” “He’s the one who asked you out, and he couldn’t even foot the bill for a meal?” “They’ve got money to burn anyway. Why make our company pay for it?” So, let me get this straight. I work myself to the bone to secure a massive deal for the company, and suddenly, claiming legitimate business expenses turns into me trying to rip the company off? Brittany didn’t even bat an eyelash. She just jabbed at her keyboard with her obnoxiously long acrylic nails. “Claim denied.” I froze in my tracks. “The digital approval went through days ago. We still have nearly half the project budget left for this month. On what grounds are you denying it?” She finally looked up, rolling her oversized, color-contact-lensed eyes. Her gaudy nails clicked against the laminate desk as she let out a sharp scoff. “Do you think you birthed this project yourself? You think you can just write off whatever you want? Did your family write the company policy?” She pinched a single piece of paper from the stack, pulling out the theme park admission ticket. “You’ve got some nerve trying to pass off a personal joyride as a corporate expense. You went to a theme park to goof off, and you want us to foot the bill?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Director Carter said he was hitting a creative wall at the office. He asked me to accompany him to the theme park to study the interior layouts.” “Our target demographic for this project is mothers and their young children. He brought his seven-year-old son along to get a genuine user perspective. It was absolutely essential field research.” “Stop, stop, stop…” Brittany cut me off, her voice dripping with impatience and mockery. “You spin a good yarn, but let’s call a spade a spade. You used company funds to play house with the director and hook a sugar daddy. You’re treating a corporate expense account like your personal dating fund to entertain a wealthy bachelor.” “You’re quite the full-service account manager, aren’t you? Even managing his private life.” My ears started ringing. My chest tightened, feeling like it was being twisted into a knot. All the blood, sweat, and tears I had poured into this company boiled down to me being labeled a slut in the office. I stared dead at her nails, which looked like a messy painter’s palette, and kept my voice dangerously calm. “Fine. Let’s take this ‘personal joyride’ over to the Head of Sales and let him be the judge.” Brittany blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but my icy tone quickly infuriated her. “Fine! Go ahead. Play dirty outside the office and run crying to your boss to cover for you. You really are something else.” I walked straight to the office of Richard, our Head of Sales. Approving sales budgets was the joint responsibility of his department and the finance head. To my surprise, Richard was completely kicked back in his ergonomic chair. He listened to my report with a glazed look in his eyes. “Marylin, listen. Brittany is the big boss’s new piece of arm candy. She’s just sitting in the finance department to collect a paycheck and kill time. We can’t exactly afford to ruffle her feathers, can we?” “She’ll be here for three months, tops. Once the boss gets bored, she’ll be gone.” “Why are you, a grown professional, picking fights with a pampered princess?” He took a slow sip of his herbal detox tea and added as an afterthought. “Look, you did good bringing in this account. Tell you what, I’ll approve a little afternoon tea budget for you later. Let’s call it compensation.” The massive annual contract I had bled from my eyes to secure meant absolutely nothing to them. It wasn’t even worth upsetting the boss’s girlfriend over while she was “experiencing the working class.” And my so-called compensation? A budget for cheap, instant office coffee. I clenched my fists. A chilling wave of isolation washed over me. When I first graduated, I was awkward. I didn’t know how to play the corporate game. It was Richard who slammed his hand on the interview table and said, “We’re taking this girl in the sales department.” Back then, I genuinely thought he was my career mentor. I swore I would repay that debt of gratitude for the rest of my life. A sharp ping from my phone shattered my thoughts. It was a text from Sophie. [Marylin! I just saw Oliver sitting at the same table as Brittany for lunch in the cafeteria.] [That girl’s acrylic nails were practically dipped in Oliver’s soup!] I stared at the screen for two full seconds. Who he ate lunch with had absolutely nothing to do with me. 2 [Isn’t Oliver the guy you’ve been dating for three years?] A vein throbbed violently in my forehead. It felt like someone was dragging a needle across my brain. Oliver was the golden boy of the HR department, the resident eye candy, and the subject of every female coworker’s breakroom gossip. But I didn’t even have his phone number saved. I had no earthly idea where this ridiculous rumor had started. Walking back to my cubicle, I quickly texted Sophie back. [That’s completely false. He is not my boyfriend.] [Right, exactly! A two-faced jerk like him doesn’t deserve you anyway!] I rubbed my temples, completely exhausted. I wasn’t sure if she actually understood what I meant. Just as my headache was peaking, Brittany strutted over, carrying her designer lunchbox. She looked at me, a smirk plastered across her face. “Marylin, you are absolutely ruthless. You actually dumped the HR golden boy you’ve been with for three years just to kiss up to a client.” “You skip work to go on dates with Director Carter, and you think we’re all blind? If you’re going to use the honey trap, at least own it. The sleaze is practically dripping off of you.” She pinched her voice, adopting a sickly sweet, victimized tone. “Ugh, I’m just too straightforward, you know? I could never learn your little under-the-table tricks. I guess I’m just not charming enough. Guys just treat me like one of the bros. I could never compete with a woman who knows how to work her angles.” A well-meaning coworker chimed in to defend me. “Marylin was just maintaining a relationship with the client. Entertaining them is totally normal.” “Besides, Brittany, you might not know this, but Director Carter is a massive influencer with hundreds of thousands of followers. Partnering with him is free advertising for us. Marylin is bringing real value to the company by staying on his good side.” “Yeah, exactly! Who goes on a date driving the company’s beat-up sedan anyway? Marylin is practically running on fumes with her company tabs. If that was a date, it was a pretty pathetic one, haha!” Brittany’s face turned a violent shade of green. She slammed her hand down on my desk, the smack echoing through the room. “Who runs this company? Marylin, or the boss? As an employee, I have every right to monitor where the company’s money goes. We are here to run a business, not to act as background extras for her little workplace soap opera!” Her screech was loud enough to bring Richard scrambling out of his office. He didn’t even frown. He just instantly slipped into his peacekeeper persona. “Come on, ladies, we’re all colleagues here. Is this really necessary? We’re all working toward the same goal. Let’s just take a step back.” With a wave of his hand, he shooed the crowd away. As everyone scurried back to their desks with their fresh office gossip, Richard patted Brittany on the shoulder. “You’ve got fire, Brittany. The company needs people with your sense of ownership. Keep up the good work, and you’ll definitely see a cut of the project bonuses.” Brittany flushed with pride, lifting her chin. “Don’t worry, Richard. As long as I’m here, I won’t let the parasites drain this company.” 3 I took a deep breath, sat down at my desk, and woke up my computer. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before I clicked open my chat with Director Carter. [Carter, I am incredibly sorry, but our company is experiencing some internal management issues that might affect the project’s timeline.] [To ensure your progress isn’t delayed, I highly recommend you directly liaise with Engineer Davis from our tech department. I will compile and transfer all the necessary files to him.] His reply was instantaneous. [What’s going on? We just signed the contract and you’re already swapping reps?] I weighed my words carefully. [The company’s new finance clerk has raised objections regarding my business expenses. She believes our collaborative methods are ‘inappropriate.’ To avoid any negative impact on your reputation, it is best we switch your point of contact.] The chat showed ‘typing…’ for a long, heavy silence. [I have a meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll be at your office at 3:00 PM.] I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened LinkedIn. The network I had painstakingly built over three years stretched out like a vast web. A few elite headhunters’ names practically glowed on the screen. I clicked on Emma, the highest-rated recruiter in my contacts. [Hi Emma. I’m currently looking at new opportunities. Do you have time to chat?] My phone rang in less than a minute. “Marylin!” Emma’s voice was pitching up with pure excitement. “You finally saw the light? I have been waiting for this call for two years!” I let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get too excited just yet. I just want to test the waters and see what the market looks like.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emma fired back, speaking a mile a minute. “Last month, the HR Director at Apex Corp asked me if there was any chance of poaching you. They’re offering triple your current base.” “Then there’s Nova Media. Their new retail division is desperate for a VP of Sales. They asked for you by name, someone who bridges the gap between traditional networking and modern digital presence.” I leaned back in my chair, watching Brittany and Richard laughing together across the office. “Set up the meetings. I’m free all weekend.” After hanging up, I opened the project group folder and started organizing every single file. User demographics, market analyses, competitor research, promotional strategies… Everything was meticulously labeled, complete with hyperlinks to the raw data sources. Then, I created a new master folder: [Project Handover]. Sophie rolled her chair over, whispering. “Marylin, are you…” I looked up at her. “Sophie, do you want to learn how to handle the massive accounts?” Her eyes lit up. “Yes!” “Then starting today, you shadow me. I’m going to teach you how to build your own untouchable client roster.” Just then, Engineer Davis walked over. “Hey Marylin, Director Carter just called me. He said he’s coming to the office tomorrow and told me to make absolutely sure you’re in the room.” I offered a faint smile. “Got it.” Davis scratched his head. “He said something kind of weird, too. Something about how some companies don’t know what they have, but the rest of the industry does.” A sudden hush fell over the office. I looked down and kept organizing my files, the ghost of a smirk playing on my lips. It was true. Some companies genuinely believed the wheels would keep turning no matter who they tossed out. Let them test that theory. Let’s see if the biggest project of the year could survive without Marylin. 4 The next afternoon at 2:30 PM, I was sitting in the conference room adjusting the projector. Sophie sprinted in, out of breath. “Marylin, Richard told Brittany to join the meeting with Director Carter. He said finance needs to understand the project budget.” I didn’t even look up from my laptop. “Let her come.” “But earlier she was saying…” “It’s fine.” I opened the master spreadsheet, the screen instantly filling with a dense, color-coded Gantt chart. At ten minutes to three, Richard swaggered in, Brittany right on his heels. Brittany twirled a strand of her curled hair. “Finance needs to know exactly where the money is bleeding. We can’t have certain people treating the company vault like a personal piggy bank.” I ignored her completely, flipping open a two-hundred-page client relationship dossier. This was the web I had woven over three years of relentless legwork. Carter’s secretary, Jenny? She collected limited-edition figurines. I had helped her score rare drops three separate times. Brenda in their procurement department? Her daughter was prepping for high school entrance exams. I hooked her up with the best math tutor in the city. Even their receptionist knew I’d bring her ginger tea when her cramps were acting up. At three o’clock on the dot, the heavy glass doors swung open. Carter walked in. Behind him were his Director of Procurement, his Marketing Director, and a guy from Legal. Richard froze. “Carter! I thought this was just a casual touch-base. What’s with the cavalry?” Carter swept his gaze across the room, letting his eyes rest on Brittany’s absurd acrylics for two heavy seconds. “I was informed that Marylin’s operational expenses are being denied. I was concerned about the execution of the project, so I brought the team to assess the situation firsthand.” Richard immediately broke into a sweaty, sycophantic smile. “It’s just a tiny misunderstanding. Just a little mix-up!” “Is it?” Carter took his seat. “Then let’s begin.” I pulled up the slide deck. “Everyone, let’s start with the current status.” “The rollout covers twenty-three store renovations across seven districts. I’ve mapped out hyper-specific user demographics for every single location.” “The Upper East Side branch has four elementary schools within a two-mile radius. The core demographic is highly educated mothers in their thirties. Their purchasing decisions are logic-driven and research-heavy.” “The Downtown location sits right near the financial district. The crowd is younger working parents wanting efficiency and premium aesthetics.” “For the suburban branches, we have to factor in multi-child households. Traffic flow design must prioritize double-stroller accessibility…” Brittany let out an exaggerated sigh, cutting me off. “Why are you getting into the weeds? It’s just a renovation project, isn’t it?” The Marketing Director furrowed his brow. “And you are?” “Brittany. Finance. I oversee the project funds.” She flashed a sickly sweet smile. “I just think Marylin is overcomplicating things. Literally anyone could handle this—” “Literally anyone?” Carter interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. “Then tell me, Brittany. Why is foot traffic at the Upper East Side location dead on Tuesday afternoons?” Brittany froze, her mouth slightly open. I smoothly picked up the slack. “Because the two premium daycares in that zip code hold their parent-toddler integration events on Tuesday afternoons. The mothers are all off-site.” “Which is exactly why I scheduled our deep-cleaning and staff retraining modules for Tuesday afternoons. Zero impact on revenue.” Carter nodded, turning his crosshairs back to Brittany. “And what price tier should we push for our core products in the suburban branches?” Brittany stammered. “Uh… well, I mean…” I clicked to the data slide. “The $159 to $199 range. Multi-child households make up forty-seven percent of the suburban base. They’re buying two of everything. Higher than that breaks the bank; lower than that makes them question the safety standards.” “That specific tier hits their psychological sweet spot for value-to-quality ratio.” I clicked to the next slide. “Now, onto the exclusive community network.” “I have an active, verified base of thirty-two thousand moms. Among them are a hundred and twenty-seven key opinion consumers. On average, each of them influences the purchasing habits of over two hundred other parents.” The Procurement Director raised a hand. “Hold on. Is this private network a corporate asset?” I looked him dead in the eye. “It is my personal asset. I added every single one of those women on my personal phone. I maintain those relationships on my own time.” “That includes your wife, by the way. She’s currently active in my VIP group, sharing sleep-training tips.” The Procurement Director blinked, stunned. “No wonder my wife keeps talking about this ‘Marylin’ girl who’s an absolute lifesaver.” The conference room fell deathly silent. I wasn’t done. “Then there’s the vendor network.” “The children’s play equipment? I locked in a rate fifteen percent below market value because I did pro-bono layout consulting for the vendor owner’s daughter’s preschool.” “Our soft furnishings supplier gave us a net-90 payment term. Everyone else gets net-30. Why? Because I’ve sent personal holiday gifts to his entire warehouse crew for three years straight.” “The construction foremen don’t even ask for a deposit when they hear it’s my project. They break ground instantly because they know I have never let an invoice slip past a deadline.” Carter slowly turned his head toward Richard. “Richard. If Marylin is removed from this project, are any of these resources still available to us?” Sweat was literally beading on Richard’s forehead. “Of course they are! These are company assets…” “Are they?” I asked softly. “Then why don’t you call Mr. Miller, the play equipment vendor, right now. Put him on speaker. Ask him if he’ll honor that fifteen percent discount without my name on the PO.” All the color drained from Richard’s face. Carter stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “Crystal clear.” “Richard. If your company makes a habit of stonewalling core employees over standard operational expenses, if you treat the people driving your revenue like thieves, then I need to severely reevaluate the risk of this partnership.” “If Marylin leaves, per our contract stipulations, any project delays caused by a change in vendor personnel will trigger the penalty clause.” The guy from Legal leaned forward. “The penalty is twenty percent of the total contract value. That comes out to 4.8 million dollars.” Brittany looked like she was going to throw up. I calmly began stacking my papers. “Gentlemen, I have fifteen days of accrued PTO. As it happens, I have a few final-round interviews lined up this week.” “Marylin!” Richard panicked, his voice cracking. “Are you threatening the company?!” I stopped packing and looked at him with absolute serenity. “Richard, I’m just a sales rep who slept her way to the top, right? Doesn’t this company have plenty of real talent?” “For instance—” I gestured toward Brittany. “Miss Brittany here, with her flawless manicure, just said anyone could do my job.” “Perfect timing. Let her take the reins. Let’s see if Miss Brittany can handle a project that brings in sixty percent of the company’s annual revenue, or if it rots into a pile of shit with no one to clean it up.” 5 Richard’s face shifted from pale white to a sickly green. He took a deep breath and suddenly plastered on a mask of authoritative outrage. “Marylin, do not forget you signed a non-compete! If you try to jump ship to a rival firm, you are barred from this industry for two years!” “Furthermore, the client list you built was acquired using company platforms! Taking them is intellectual property theft!” I slowly zipped my laptop bag closed. “Richard, the severance for enforcing a non-compete requires you to pay thirty percent of my base salary for the duration. Is the company prepared to cut that check?” “As for the client list—” I pulled out my phone. “How about I post a farewell message to my community right now? Let’s see how many of those moms decide to follow me out the door.” Carter twisted the knife. “I’ll go on record. Marylin’s network is entirely self-built and personally maintained. Our firm signed this contract specifically for her professional expertise, not your company’s logo.” Richard’s face went from green to red, finally settling on the color of bruised plum. In a split second, his demeanor completely shattered. He forced out a smile that looked more like a grimace of pain. “Marylin! This is all a huge misunderstanding. I’ll have finance process your expenses immediately!” He snapped his head toward Brittany, his eyes bulging. “What the hell are you sitting there for?! Go process the damn wire!” Brittany bit her lip, her eyes shining with humiliated tears as she practically bolted from the room. Ten minutes later, she returned, sliding a receipt across the table. “The transfer is processing. Five thousand, three hundred dollars. It’ll hit your account tomorrow.” I didn’t even glance at the slip of paper. “Is that it?” Richard chuckled nervously. “Come on, Marylin. Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. We’re all on the same team here.” “Brittany is just green. She doesn’t know the ropes yet. Be the bigger person.” I let out a harsh laugh. “Green? Her little learning curve almost cost the company 4.8 million dollars in breach-of-contract penalties.” “Apologize.” I locked eyes with Brittany. “Right here, in front of everyone. Apologize for the malicious slander and the workplace bullying.” Brittany’s face flushed a violent crimson. “I… I…” She gritted her teeth and suddenly reached out, grabbing my sleeve. “Marylin, can we step outside for a second?” Out in the hallway, Brittany dropped her voice to a desperate whisper. “Marylin, I’ll say I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said those things.” “But please, don’t make me do it in front of the clients. Just leave me a shred of dignity…” Her eyes were bloodshot. “I worked so hard to get this job. If you humiliate me in front of everyone, how am I supposed to show my face around here?” “Can’t a private apology be enough? Please…” I looked at her, my expression made of stone. “When you were spreading rumors about me sleeping around, did you care about my dignity?” Just as the standoff hit a boiling point, the elevator doors chimed open. A middle-aged man in a bespoke suit stepped out. It was the big boss, Arthur Harrison. “Well, well, quite the gathering.” He glanced into the glass-walled conference room, immediately spotting Carter, and switched on his megawatt CEO smile. “Carter! An absolute pleasure. I didn’t know you were dropping by!” Richard scrambled out of the room like a beaten dog. “Mr. Harrison! What brings you down here?” Harrison waved him off. “I heard we had a little friction on the floor. Thought I’d see it for myself.” He turned to me, laughing heartily. “Marylin! I just got the full brief. The company absolutely owes you an apology on this one!” “I genuinely had no idea my people were acting so out of line. If I had known, I would have shut it down immediately!” He thumped his chest. “Don’t you worry. I’m going to make this right.” “From now on, any expense reports you have, you bring them straight to me for a signature. And as for your quarterly bonus? We’re doubling it!” He then turned a severe glare onto Brittany. “Brittany, you’ve completely overstepped. You’re new, but that’s no excuse. I want a formal write-up on my desk, and I’m docking half your bonus next month.” He pivoted back to me, his face practically glowing with manufactured sincerity. “Marylin, how does that sound? We’re a family here. We need to keep the peace.” “You are the backbone of this company, and I value top-tier talent above all else. Tell you what. Come year-end reviews, I’m bumping you up. The VP of Sales position has your name on it!” Gasps echoed from the cubicles nearby. VP of Sales. It was the holy grail for everyone on the floor. Sophie pinched my arm from behind, whispering frantically. “Marylin! VP!” But I saw through the matrix with absolute clarity. Harrison was putting on a masterclass in theater. Dock his girlfriend’s bonus? She was sleeping with a millionaire; what did she care about a clerical bonus? Promote me to VP? It wasn’t even the end of Q3. The corporate org chart for next year hadn’t even been drafted. How could he guarantee a board-level promotion right now? The old fox was trying to buy me off with a bounced check. Fixing million-dollar problems with zero-dollar promises—that was Harrison’s entire playbook. Three years ago, he promised me a Department Manager title. I was still waiting. I gave him a half-smile, my eyes dead. “Mr. Harrison, that sounds lovely. Can we get those terms drafted into a binding contract today?” I let my eyes drift over to Brittany’s tear-streaked face. “And really? Docking Brittany’s bonus? Considering she’s your girlfriend, I’m surprised you’re so cheap you’re making the company pay for her iced coffees.” The jovial smile instantly froze on Harrison’s face. The meeting adjourned in suffocating silence.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440999”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 To celebrate Stephen’s city-shaking merger, I booked out his favorite Michelin restaurant. Waiting, I scrolled and found a trending post—a thank-you from a foster-care alum. “Thank you, my anonymous sponsor. You called me a resilient wildflower, told me to grow toward the sun. You said you missed college, so you wanted me to live that life for you. You said you only knew how to make money, and your gift was that I’d never fear a price tag again.” Each line felt raw, tender. Comments called her lucky, blessed by a guardian angel. I almost scrolled on. Saints don’t exist. Then I froze. The letter was signed: S. A faint laugh escaped me. It couldn’t be Stephen. He was a high-school dropout who built a fortune from nothing—ruthless, money-obsessed, famously cold. He’d mocked my empathy, called charity a hypocrite’s tax trick. The one thing he ever did without calculating returns was marry me. That made me believe in his love. Compelled, I opened her profile. Her pinned photo drained the color from my face. She stood on tiptoe, smiling, placing a graduation cap on a man’s head. His back was to the camera—tall, posture stiff, unmistakably familiar. One look told me everything. I knew the watch on his wrist. I’d given it to Stephen for our anniversary. It felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and crushed my heart. I couldn’t breathe. I zoomed in on the photo until the pixels blurred. The details on his wrist were unmistakable. I knew that watch intimately. On the back of the dial, hidden against the skin, I had requested an engraving of our initials: S&S. I had designed the monogram myself. My brain flatlined. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears. I forced myself to inhale. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But the upload date on the photo was from last month. It was the exact day of our wedding anniversary. Stephen had told me there was an emergency board meeting. He hadn’t come home that night. So his “emergency board meeting” was actually taking place hundreds of miles away in a college town, celebrating another woman’s graduation. The harsh blue light of the phone screen reflected off my pale face. The soft, elegant jazz playing in the restaurant suddenly sounded like a mocking funeral dirge. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Stephen’s cold, baritone voice echoed from above me. I jerked my head up. He was already standing by the table, dressed in a flawless charcoal suit. A faint trace of exhaustion lingered in his eyes. He loosened his silk tie out of habit, his gaze dropping to my untouched plate. His brow furrowed slightly. “Food isn’t to your liking?” I instinctively flipped my phone face down on the tablecloth, forcing a smile that felt like shattered glass. “No. I was just waiting for you.” He pulled out his chair and sat down. As his arm moved, his bare wrist caught the ambient light. Empty. My stomach plummeted into an abyss. “Where is your watch?” I heard my own voice ask, sounding hollow and dry. Stephen didn’t even pause as he reached for his water glass. He didn’t look at me. “Took it off during the meeting. Left it at the office.” The office. Again. I stared unblinkingly at him, desperately searching his perpetually calm, statuesque face for a single crack, a single micro-expression of guilt. Nothing. He was a perfectly calibrated machine. Flawless. “The acquisition went through. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” He finally lifted his eyes to meet mine. They were dark and unreadable. I took a deep, shuddering breath and slid my phone across the table toward him. “Stephen. This ‘Mr. S.’ Is it you?” 2 Stephen picked up the phone. He gave the screen a cursory, half-second glance before tossing it back onto the table, completely unbothered. “Yeah.” He admitted it so easily. So casually. As if he were confirming that it might rain tomorrow. My heart felt like it had been struck by a sledgehammer. A dull, suffocating pain radiated through my ribs. “Why?” I asked. “Why what?” He picked up his knife and fork, slicing into his steak with slow, deliberate precision. He didn’t look up. “Didn’t you say charity was a game for hypocrites?” I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling. His knife stopped scraping against the porcelain. He finally deemed me worthy of his attention. His eyes held a flicker of impatience and mockery. It was a look I was painfully familiar with. “I threw some pocket change at a problem to buy some peace and quiet. Is that a crime?” “Serena, since when did you become an interrogator?” “Snooping through my phone, questioning my whereabouts. Is this your grand idea of celebrating my corporate victory?” His words were laced with ice, stabbing directly into my chest. I looked at him and suddenly felt like I was sitting across from a total stranger. “And the photo?” I enunciated every word slowly. “The graduation ceremony. The cap. And my watch. Did you leave all of those at the office, too?” Stephen dropped his cutlery with a clatter. He leaned back against his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at me with eyes as cold as a frozen lake. “Serena, my patience has a limit.” “Sponsoring a student is like buying a bespoke suit or throwing capital at a startup. I don’t need a profound reason to do it.” “As for your watch,” he paused, his tone dripping with disdain, “it’s just a watch. I can give it to a homeless guy on the street if I feel like it. Do I need to submit an expense report to my wife?” “Or did you already calculate the exact return on investment when you bought it for me?” He choked the life out of my argument. I was left shivering, utterly voiceless. Of course. This was Stephen. The man who squeezed every last drop of profit out of every transaction. In his eyes, maybe our marriage was just another merger. And my anniversary gift was just a depreciating asset he could write off. “Who is she?” I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging half-moons into my palms. “Just a student,” he replied smoothly. “A student important enough to make you ditch your own wedding anniversary and fly across the country?” I practically screamed the words. The few other patrons in the VIP dining room turned their heads to stare at us. Stephen’s face darkened instantly. A storm brewed in his eyes. He abruptly stood up and snatched his suit jacket from the back of the chair. “You are being completely irrational.” He spat those words out and turned on his heel. He walked out without a single glance backward. I watched his broad shoulders disappear through the mahogany doors, feeling like the oxygen had been vacuumed out of the room. The gourmet food on the table still looked immaculate, but to me, it smelled like rot. I picked up my phone and clicked back to the girl’s profile. Her banner image was a sprawling, vibrant field of sunflowers. Stephen used to tell me he despised sunflowers. He called them stupid, desperate weeds that blindly chased the light. He said they were fake. But in the girl’s most recent post, a man was standing right in the middle of that very field. It was just a shot of his back, but I knew the slope of his shoulders better than I knew myself. The caption read: “Mr. S says he loves sunflowers. He says they always look toward the light, just like me.” A comment underneath asked: “Is that your boyfriend?” The girl replied with a blushing emoji. “He’s someone way more important than a boyfriend.” Way more important than a boyfriend. Then what was I? I was his legally wedded wife. Where did I fit on that hierarchy? A memory pierced my skull. Right after we got married, I dragged him to a botanical garden. We stood in front of a sunflower patch. He had stood on the gravel path, looking at his phone, a scowl etched onto his face. He refused to even take a selfie with me. He had said, “Serena, stop wasting my time on this pointless garbage.” It wasn’t that the sunflowers were pointless. It was just that the woman standing next to him wasn’t her. I locked my phone screen. The dam broke, and the tears finally fell. All these years of fiercely defending our love. It was nothing but a pathetic, one-sided joke. 3 Stephen didn’t come home that night. I sat alone in the cavernous, empty mansion until the sun bled through the sheer curtains. I couldn’t just roll over and take this. I refused to be the bitter, passive housewife crying into her silk pillows. I called Stephen’s executive assistant. I lied, saying I needed to cross-reference his allergy medication with a new prescription, and manipulated him into sending me the full background file on the sponsored girl. Her name was Willow. A senior at a state university. Stellar GPA. Legitimate foster care background. Attached to the file was her student ID photo. The girl in the picture had eyes that curved into crescents when she smiled, framing two deep, faint dimples. She looked pure. Untouched. Like a blank canvas. But the detail that felt like a knife twisting in my gut was her bone structure. Her eyes and the shape of her jaw were an exact replica of how I looked in my early twenties. I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. I looked at the sharp, tired angles of my face, worn down by years of managing a high-society marriage. Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces snapped together. He didn’t fall in love with someone else. He fell in love with the ghost of my youth. And the current version of me? I was just an outdated model. A liability waiting to be liquidated. My chest felt like it had been ripped open. I was bleeding out on the hardwood floor. Swallowing the nausea, I scrolled further down the file. The dossier meticulously tracked every dollar of Stephen’s “sponsorship.” It wasn’t just tuition and meal plans. There were receipts for limited-edition Chanel bags, haute couture dresses, and the deed to a luxury penthouse in the arts district. The total expenditure was ten times the amount he had given me for our household budget over our entire five-year marriage. He made me account for every single dollar I spent on groceries. He audited my life. But he was bleeding millions for another girl without batting an eye. A laugh bubbled up in my throat. I laughed until I was gasping for air, the tears hot and heavy on my cheeks. I closed the file, grabbed my car keys, and drove straight to Stephen’s corporate headquarters. Inside his private executive suite, there was a locked drawer in his mahogany desk. I had known about it for years, but I never once tried to open it. I thought it was his boundary. The last shred of privacy a ruthless businessman needed to stay sane. Looking back, my respect for his boundaries was just pure delusion. I called a discreet locksmith and had the drawer popped open in minutes. There were no classified merger documents inside. No corporate espionage files. There was just a smartphone. The exact same model I had bought for his birthday. My heart hammered against my ribs. I typed in his birthdate. The phone unlocked. The wallpaper hit me like a physical blow. It was Willow, smiling brightly in that damn sunflower field. There was only one contact saved in the messaging app. The name was just “My Willow.” The chat history dated back four years. It was a daily, unbroken stream of consciousness. “Mr. S, I got the Dean’s List! Let me buy you dinner?” “Keep your money. If you want something, just put it on the black card.” “Mr. S, I miss you.” “I know.” “Mr. S, all my roommates went home with their boyfriends for the holidays. I feel so alone.” “Send me your live location.” I scrolled down. My eyes locked onto a screenshot of a digital boarding pass. Departure: Our city. Destination: The college town. Date: Our wedding anniversary. Every single one of his curt, stingy text replies was backed up by immediate, overwhelming financial and physical devotion. But when it came to me? His vocabulary was limited to “No time,” “In a meeting,” and “Stop nagging.” I tapped into the photo gallery. It was a shrine to Willow. Candid shots, coffee shop dates, late-night study sessions. Every image was saturated with the glow of youth. The most recent photo was taken yesterday. Willow was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, draped in a breathtaking, custom white wedding gown. She looked deliriously happy. The caption read: “Mr. S says the second I get my diploma, he’s putting a ring on it.” Yesterday. While I was agonizing over the floral arrangements for his victory dinner, he was playing groom at a bridal boutique. The blood in my veins turned to ice. This wasn’t just an affair. He was plotting a complete hostile takeover of my life. He was going to replace me. My fingers violently trembling, I backed out of the gallery and clicked on a hidden, password-protected folder. I bypassed it using the anniversary date he supposedly forgot. Inside was a perfectly drafted, legally binding divorce agreement. The asset division was crystal clear. I would be walking away with absolutely nothing. An ironclad, scorched-earth expulsion. Every single one of his assets, including the very mansion I was currently living in, was scheduled to be transferred into a trust under the name “Willow.” At the bottom of the last page, Stephen’s signature was slashed across the screen in bold, arrogant ink. The sight of it burned my retinas. The execution date on the contract was exactly one month from today. Our upcoming sixth anniversary. 4 I sat frozen in his leather chair like a marble statue for hours. I didn’t move until the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows faded from gold to pitch black. Finally, feeling returned to my stiff fingers. I took out my own phone, snapped high-resolution photos of the drafted divorce agreement, and then meticulously locked the drawer back exactly as I found it. I didn’t cry. I didn’t smash his monitors. My chest was a hollowed-out cavern. A dead sea. There is a specific kind of numbness that comes when your heart completely stops fighting. That was where I was. Since he had already paved the road to my ruin, throwing a hysterical fit would only make me look pathetic. But I wasn’t going to let him execute his little exit strategy without a fight. Stephen Croft, you owe me a debt, and I am going to collect it in blood. I didn’t drive back to the empty mansion. Instead, I merged onto the interstate and drove three hours straight to the college town. I needed to see this Willow in the flesh. I needed to see what kind of dark magic she possessed. According to the file, she lived in the luxury penthouse Stephen had bought her. I parked my car across the street from her high-rise and waited in the dark. I sat there from sunset until midnight. Finally, the sleek silhouette of a familiar Bentley pulled up to the curb. Stephen stepped out of the driver’s side. He walked around the hood and opened the passenger door with a gentlemanly grace I hadn’t seen in years. Willow stepped out. She was wearing a stunning white sundress and carrying the latest season Chanel flap bag. She looked radiant. She naturally looped her arm through Stephen’s, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for today, Mr. S.” Stephen hated being touched in public. He despised PDA. Yet, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he lifted his hand and gently, almost reverently, tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Get some sleep,” he murmured. His voice carried a warmth I hadn’t heard since our honeymoon. In that split second, a primal urge told me to slam my foot on the gas, T-bone the Bentley, and watch the world burn. But my rational brain slammed the emergency brakes. I watched Stephen get back into his car and drive away. Willow turned and skipped into the lobby of the luxury building. I didn’t follow her. I picked up my phone and dialed a private investigator I kept on retainer for my own business ventures. “Run a deep background check on a man named Victor Blackwood. Real estate magnate operating out of this county.” I hung up, slunk lower into my leather seat, and kept my eyes glued to the lobby entrance. My intuition was screaming at me. Something was profoundly wrong. If Willow was just some poor college student he was keeping on the side, Stephen wouldn’t go to these extremes. Drafting a scorched-earth divorce? Liquidating and transferring his entire portfolio? The risk exposure was astronomical. It defied every fundamental rule of his ruthless business logic. Unless Willow was holding the keys to something much, much bigger. Half an hour later, the headlights of a black Mercedes G-Wagon swept across my windshield. It parked exactly where Stephen’s Bentley had been. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit stepped out and walked directly into the penthouse lobby, swiping his own keycard. My phone buzzed. A secure file dropped into my inbox. It was the dossier on Victor Blackwood. Fifty years old. Real estate titan. Attached was a surveillance photo. It was the exact same man who had just walked into the building. I scrolled down to the family registry section at the bottom of the file. Only child: Daughter. Uses mother’s maiden name. Name: Willow. The inside of my car suddenly felt like a sensory deprivation tank. A bomb detonated in my skull. Willow wasn’t a foster kid! She was the heiress of Stephen’s biggest corporate rival in his latest mega-merger! The viral thank-you letter. The graduation photo. The watch intentionally flashed for the camera… It wasn’t a fairytale romance. It was a meticulously engineered psychological trap! A trap designed exclusively for me. They had studied my marriage. They knew how deeply I craved Stephen’s affection, and how starved I was for his validation. They dropped breadcrumbs, knowing I would follow them, knowing I would completely unravel and initiate a catastrophic fallout with my husband. If we entered a vicious, highly publicized divorce, Stephen’s assets would be frozen in litigation. His cash flow would hemorrhage. Victor Blackwood would swoop in and steal the multi-billion-dollar merger right out from under him. It was a textbook corporate assassination. Cold sweat drenched my spine. My hands were shaking against the steering wheel. I had spent the last twenty-four hours drowning in the agony of a betrayed wife, only to realize I was nothing but a pawn on a billionaire’s chessboard. It was pathetic. It was brilliantly, horrifically pathetic. I slammed the car into drive and ripped the steering wheel hard to the left.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440998”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In my past life, my cousin was brutally bullying an old woman. I stepped in and saved her. As a token of her gratitude, the old woman gave me a seemingly ordinary trinket known as the Siren’s Tear. Riding on the breathtaking, supernatural beauty that pearl granted me, I blew up on social media, became an A-list influencer, and eventually married into one of the country’s wealthiest legacy families. But in this life, my cousin beat me to it. She snatched the Siren’s Tear right out from under me. She smirked, triumphantly declaring that everything that was supposed to be mine would now belong to her. What she didn’t know was that the so-called Siren’s Tear was actually a magnet for pure nightmare. Becoming the flawless, adored darling of the world wasn’t her ticket to paradise. It was the beginning of a very short, very tragic life. 1 When my consciousness slammed back into my eighteen-year-old body, my cousin Jessie was just driving her designer boot into a janitor’s frail ribs. “Are you completely blind? You splashed dirty mop water all over my new skirt! Do you have any idea how much this costs? You couldn’t pay for it if you worked for a hundred years!” It was the exact same scene from my past life. The janitor was a silver-haired older woman. The sharp tip of Jessie’s shoe had caught her shin, and dark blood was welling up from the cut. Terrified of losing her minimum-wage job, the old woman didn’t dare fight back. She just kept her head bowed, muttering apologies in a thick, raspy accent. Jessie let out a disgusted scoff and spun on her heel to leave. In my previous life, I couldn’t stand watching it. I ran to a nearby drugstore, bought antiseptic wipes and bandages, and even grabbed a hot coffee for the old woman. After I handed those over, she wiped her teary eyes, called me a sweet girl, and dug into her faded uniform pocket to pull out a single bead. It was a mesmerizing, iridescent thing, but the material felt cheap. It looked like glass or resin, something you could buy a handful of for a few bucks at a flea market. “This is the Siren’s Tear,” the old woman had whispered. “Once it claims you as its master, you will become the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth.” Back then, I thought she was just an eccentric lady telling fairy tales. But after that day, I began to bloom. It wasn’t a sudden, drastic plastic-surgery change. My bone structure stayed the same, but my features grew impossibly refined. My skin turned to flawless porcelain, my hair thickened into a cascade of midnight silk. Everyone who looked at me said I possessed an ethereal, intoxicating aura. Soon after, a few casual selfies went viral, and I skyrocketed to the top of the influencer food chain. Luxury brands begged me to be their ambassador, big-shot directors offered me leading roles, and trust-fund billionaires threw mansions and sports cars at my feet just to win a single smile from me. I never expected to open my eyes and find myself back at the exact moment the janitor was bleeding on the mall floor. Only this time, after kicking the old woman, Jessie froze. She whipped her head around, her eyes wide with a mix of utter shock and manic ecstasy. My stomach dropped. She had been reborn, too. Suddenly, Jessie swallowed her arrogant sneer. She practically scrambled to help the old woman up, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh my god, ma’am, I am so, so sorry! It was a total accident,” she cooed. “Are you thirsty? Are you hungry? I have a fresh artisanal pastry right here in my bag, please take it!” The old woman kept her head down, completely ignoring Jessie’s frantic brown-nosing, and tried to limp away. Seeing that the nice act wasn’t working, Jessie immediately dropped the facade. She snapped her fingers. The two high school boys who had been carrying her shopping bags instantly stepped up, grabbing the old woman by both arms and pinning her in place. I watched as Jessie aggressively dug her manicured hands into the janitor’s pockets until she found that iridescent bead. I took a step forward to stop her, but the two boys immediately blocked my path, puffing out their chests. With a wicked grin, Jessie slipped the pearl onto her wrist using a piece of string. The glass bead emitted a brief, blinding pulse of light before dimming back to normal. It had bonded with its new master. Jessie strutted over to me, her face flushed with the ultimate victory. “Well, Sydney, looks like the golden ticket is mine this time. Let’s see how you compete with me now.” 2 Jessie and I were technically cousins, but we grew up under the same roof. After my parents passed away in a car crash, my Uncle Robert and Aunt Martha only took me in because they didn’t want the rest of the family gossiping about them. Growing up, Jessie hated my guts. I always got higher grades, I was better at piano and art, and during parent-teacher conferences, the teachers praised my intelligence while subtly hinting at Jessie’s lack of focus. Jessie’s only weapon was her looks. I was aggressively average. I hid my face behind thick, heavy black frames and wore baggy hoodies. Jessie, on the other hand, was the undisputed queen bee of our grade. She obsessed over makeup and fashion, shining like a diamond among the drab, exhausted student body. Whenever the extended family got together for Thanksgiving, the nosy aunts would always point at us and laugh. “Our Sydney is going to be a hard worker, but our Jessie? Jessie is going to marry rich.” Every time she heard that, a smug little smile would tug at the corners of Jessie’s lips. To her, busting your ass for a paycheck was for losers. Marrying into billions was the real flex. So when I, the ugly duckling, stumbled upon the Siren’s Tear and transformed into a world-class beauty who could print money just by looking at a camera, Jessie absolutely lost her mind. I had become an untouchable goddess, existing in a realm a regular pretty girl like her could never even dream of reaching. I don’t know if she made a deal with the devil or found some dark glitch in the universe, but she managed to drag us both back to our senior year of high school. This time, with the pearl on her wrist, Jessie’s transformation began almost immediately. When we returned to school after the winter break, every eye in the hallway tracked her every move. Her skin was luminous. Her dark hair flowed like spun silk, and her eyes held a misty, seductive depth. When the sunlight hit her just right, she looked like a masterpiece painted by a Renaissance master. You could practically hear the hearts of every boy in school flatlining. They swarmed her like bees to honey. Some offered to carry her books, others ran to buy her iced lattes, begging to save her a seat in the cafeteria. Jessie soaked up the attention with soft, teasing laughs. Then, she parted the sea of boys and walked right up to my locker. She slung an arm over my shoulder, leaning in close so only I could hear. “I remember every single one of these guys begging for your number in our past life. How does it feel, Syd? Break’s over, you don’t have your little magic pearl, and you’re right back to being the pathetic, unloved ugly duckling.” I adjusted my thick, black-rimmed glasses and looked at her with a deadpan expression. “Having a horde of desperate stalkers isn’t exactly the flex you think it is, Jessie.” Jessie had been waiting to see me cry, to see me crushed. When my words hit her, her smile vanished. She took a step back, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. A second later, a malicious spark ignited in her gaze. Without warning, she threw herself backward. She tumbled down the short flight of stairs behind her, hitting the linoleum floor with a loud thud. Before anyone could process what happened, Jessie grabbed her ankle, tears streaming down her flawless cheeks. “Sydney, I’m so sorry! I know you’re mad that the choir teacher gave me the solo instead of you, but I swear I didn’t ask for it! You didn’t have to push me!” It took me a second to realize what she was talking about. I had been the lead soloist for the winter concert, but when the principal found out local politicians were attending, the choir director quietly replaced me with Jessie. He had pulled me aside, looking genuinely guilty. “Sydney, your voice is miles better, but we need stage presence. Jessie just… looks the part for the front row.” I hadn’t cared. Honestly, less rehearsal time for me. But Jessie had logged it into her mental ledger as a massive victory over me. Right now, she was sitting in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, looking fragile, delicate, and devastatingly beautiful. A crowd was already forming. With her slender hands clutching her ankle, her brows knitted in pain, and a single tear clinging perfectly to her long lashes, she looked like a fallen angel. The murmurs in the crowd quickly turned into daggers aimed at me. “What the hell, Sydney? If you’re bitter about the solo, go cry to the teacher. Why assault Jessie?” “Did you think breaking her ankle would magically put you back on stage?” “She’s always been an arrogant know-it-all. God forbid someone gets something instead of her.” The venomous whispers echoed in the stairwell. Jessie looked up at me with those big, tear-filled eyes. If beautiful people were the main characters of the universe, then these bystanders were just mindless NPCs programmed to defend her. Suddenly, the crowd parted. Danny, the star quarterback, stepped through. Danny was the boy Jessie had been obsessively crushing on since freshman year. But he was notorious for being cold and unattainable. Jessie had slipped love letters into his locker three times, and he had thrown every single one in the trash. Yet, in my past life, after the Siren’s Tear changed me, this exact same icy untouchable boy had shown up at my door with a birthday cake, nervously asking if I would wear his jersey to the Friday night game. It was the ultimate humiliation that had driven Jessie insane with jealousy. But right now, the boy who once swore he’d love me forever shot me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. He knelt down, scooped Jessie up into his arms in a bridal carry, and held her tight against his chest. “I’m taking you to the nurse,” he said softly. The entire hallway erupted in dramatic swoons and cheers, eating up the high-school movie moment. Jessie’s face flushed a deep, pretty pink. The blush made her look even more radiant. She buried her face into Danny’s chest, throwing a triumphant, mocking glance at me over his shoulder. As Danny carried her away and the crowd dispersed, I stood alone in the hallway. Honestly, I had considered warning her about the pearl. I wanted to tell her that the Siren’s Tear wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse wrapped in a pretty bow. Whatever worldly benefits it gave you through beauty, it demanded back a tenfold price in blood and terror. If Jessie hadn’t dragged us back in time, there was a very real chance my past life would have ended with me brutally murdered on a private island. But watching her giggle in Danny’s arms, I swallowed my warning. Karma had set the table. Let her eat what she served. 3 Truthfully, I loved my life without the magic pearl. In my past life, the intoxicating rush of sudden fame completely derailed me. I drowned in the glitz and glamour of being a mega-influencer, and my grades flatlined. Uncle Robert and Aunt Martha, smelling the cash, pressured me to monetize my face immediately. They signed me up for endless brand deals, forcing me to hustle from one exhausting photo shoot to another. Billionaires invited me to their exclusive private dinners, treating me like a shiny new hood ornament to show off to their business partners. Looking back, the nights I spent draped in couture, stepping out of limos into VIP lounges, must have made Jessie want to claw her own skin off. She used to stay up until 3 AM reading the millions of comments worshipping my “god-tier genetics,” wishing she had been the one to help that dirty old janitor. But she didn’t know the reality of that life. I bombed my SATs. Uncle Robert told me college was a waste of time when I was already making millions. The grueling schedules and the internet trolls spreading vicious, fabricated rumors about my sex life destroyed my mental health. I relied on heavier and heavier prescription pills just to sleep for four hours. At those exclusive dinners, middle-aged CEOs made a game out of getting me blackout drunk, waiting until I was too dizzy to push their sweaty hands off my thighs. An Oscar-winning director sent me a script for a blockbuster movie, but folded inside the pages was the keycard to his hotel room. My aunt and uncle knew exactly what it meant, yet they pushed me to go. They even considered slipping something into my drink to make me compliant. Jessie knew none of this. She was too busy swiping my credit card, living like a royal in the Beverly Hills mansion I bought, whining about how unfair it was that I was the famous one. This time, I refused to let history repeat itself. I realized the hard way that beauty without power is just bait in shark-infested waters. But real knowledge? A degree? Skills? That was armor no one could strip away. So, I buried myself in my textbooks. Without photo shoots and stalkers distracting me, my intellect sharpened into a weapon. A week later, at the winter concert, Jessie stood center stage in a stunning white tulle dress. Under the soft blue spotlights, she looked like a pristine white swan gliding over a lake. She couldn’t hit a high note to save her life, so the choir director had secretly pre-recorded my voice and let her lip-sync. She had even wrapped a thick, dramatic bandage around her perfectly fine ankle, making sure to limp tragically when she bowed. What’s more captivating than a beautiful swan? A beautiful, wounded swan. The school was completely under her spell, which meant the hostility toward me reached a fever pitch. Jessie struck while the iron was hot. She began leaking little sob stories to her orbiters. She claimed I was pathologically jealous of her looks, constantly lying to our aunt and uncle to get her grounded. She blamed her failing grades on me, telling people I deliberately gave her the wrong study guides. After her tearful confessions, she would always add, “But please don’t be mean to Sydney. She’s my cousin. I forgive her.” It was a masterclass in manipulation. The boys’ protective instincts went into overdrive. They became crusaders for their fragile, innocent goddess, determined to punish the wicked witch. Thumbtacks and dead insects started appearing in my locker. I came back from the bathroom to find my backpack thrown out a third-story window. Someone spray-painted “SYDNEY IS A DIRTY TRAMP” in neon red letters on the brick wall by the gym. Whoever bullied me the most got the ultimate reward: a soft, teary-eyed smile from Jessie and a whispered, “Thank you for protecting me. You’re so brave.” When no one was looking, she’d turn to me with a wicked smirk. “Look at that, Syd. I don’t even have to lift a finger to ruin your life.” Of all my tormentors, Danny was the most vicious. In my past life, I had asked him what he liked about me. He had looked me dead in the eye and said, “I love everything about you, Sydney. Your brain, your humor, your kindness. Everything.” He never mentioned my looks. Now, my brain, humor, and kindness were exactly the same. Yet Danny ordered his football buddies to shove me onto the wet tiles of the locker room. He stepped on my hand with his heavy cleats, grinding down hard. “If I hear you even look at Jessie the wrong way,” he growled, “I’ll snap your fingers.” Through the blinding pain, a dark, cynical laugh forced its way out of my throat. “Do you really love her, Danny?” He blinked, thrown off by the question, before sneering. “Obviously.” “What do you love about her?” He paused, then echoed his words from another lifetime. “I love everything about her.” I laughed so hard tears pricked my eyes. Oh, Jessie. Beauty is the ultimate blindfold. Whoever wears it can never see the world for what it truly is. When I got home that day, Jessie noticed my bruised, swollen hand. She sipped her green juice and smiled. “How does it feel? You were so in love with Danny in the last life. Getting stabbed in the back by your soulmate… hurts, doesn’t it? Tell me all about it.” She was starving for my misery to validate her choices. I didn’t say a word. I just dropped my gaze to the pearl resting on her wrist. She noticed my stare and yanked her arm back. “Don’t even think about stealing it. You know damn well it won’t work.” I knew. Once the Siren’s Tear bonded, it was locked to the host’s soul. I knew this because Jessie had tried to steal it from me in the past life. She had drugged me, cut the string, and taken it, but the moment she walked out the door, the pearl materialized right back on my wrist. But I didn’t want it back. I was looking at the mesmerizing, swirling colors inside the glass. A faint, jagged black vein had appeared in the center of the bead. It was the mark of the curse, the physical manifestation of impending doom. And it was getting darker by the day. Jessie followed me up the stairs, still taunting me, right up until I pulled an envelope out of my battered backpack. It bore the crest of Columbia University. In my past life, I never made it to college. This time, my early acceptance letter was in my hands. “Oh, look at that,” Jessie scoffed, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her eyes. “Going to an Ivy League. I guess without your magic cheat code, you have to grind yourself to the bone just to end up as some corporate drone making a flat salary. I’ll make your yearly income in one sponsored post.” Jessie was desperate to be famous. Her big break came sooner than expected. The school was filming a promotional video, and the principal, still mesmerized by her concert performance, personally selected her as the lead. In the video, Jessie wore a simple varsity jacket, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. But her devastating, unearthly beauty pierced right through the screen. She looked like the purest, most unattainable fantasy of youth. The video hit TikTok and YouTube. It exploded. Overnight, she was crowned the internet’s newest “It Girl,” gaining millions of followers in a matter of days. Agents, talent scouts, Hollywood producers, and luxury brands flooded her DMs. Jessie eagerly dove headfirst into the life I had lived. But she quickly hit a brick wall: the reality of the work. To shoot a high-end commercial, she had to stand in six-inch stilettos for fourteen hours straight under blistering studio lights, holding a frozen smile while a director yelled at her. Movie sets were worse. Being forced into freezing water tanks while on her period was the baseline. Creepy producers cornered her in trailers, heavily implying that her career would disappear if she didn’t sleep with them. For someone determined to build an empire, this was just the price of admission. But Jessie refused to suffer. In her mind, a true beauty was meant to be pampered, kept in a velvet box, and fed peeled grapes. She broke down crying to Aunt Martha and Uncle Robert. “Working hard is for losers. I don’t want to do this anymore! Why should I kill myself working when I can use this fame to catch a billionaire?” Since Jessie was their biological daughter, they didn’t treat her like the cash cow they had turned me into. They stroked her hair and fully supported her plan. Jessie began meticulously filtering through her wealthy suitors. A high school star like Danny was practically a peasant to her now. She was fending off advances from platinum-selling artists, tech CEOs, and old-money aristocrats. I already knew exactly who she was going to pick. Sure enough, weeks later, the tabloids exploded with leaked paparazzi footage of Jessie dining with Preston Kensington, the second son of the notoriously powerful Kensington empire. In the video, Preston—usually known for his icy, ruthless corporate persona—was practically a golden retriever around her. He opened her car door, draped his bespoke suit jacket over her shoulders, and held her hand as they walked into a Michelin-starred restaurant, gazing at her like she was the only woman on earth. At that exact moment, I was sitting in a quiet, sunlit library at Columbia University, scrolling through the article on my laptop. A group of girls at the next table were whispering excitedly. “Oh my god, Preston Kensington. He’s literally American royalty. Yale grad, trust fund baby. Jessie is living the dream.” One girl rolled her eyes. “She’s just an Instagram model with a pretty face. No way a Kensington actually puts a ring on that.” Another quickly shot back, “Are you blind? Look at her! Men would start wars for a face like that.” I closed my laptop. People were so delightfully naive. In my past life, I was the one holding Preston Kensington’s hand. The day our relationship went public, Jessie locked herself in her room and smashed every mirror, perfume bottle, and piece of electronics she owned. She felt she had definitively lost. No matter what she did, she could never marry a man more powerful than Preston. The old family prophecy—that she would marry rich while I worked hard—felt like a cruel joke. It was during my romantic “getaway” with Preston that Jessie somehow found the loophole to rewind time. … Even though Jessie had been nothing but a nightmare to me, I genuinely owed her a massive thank you. Because if she hadn’t reset the timeline, I would have died a horrific, bloody death at Preston’s hands on a private island in the Caribbean. … Because of that unintentional rescue, I decided to give her one final warning. During the summer break, as Jessie was excitedly packing her Louis Vuitton trunks to move into Preston’s cliffside mansion, I leaned against her doorframe. “Rich people don’t get rich by being stupid, Jessie,” I said quietly. “At their level of power, beauty isn’t a scarce resource. They can buy any model on earth. Think about it for a second—why would Preston Kensington actually marry you?” The words barely left my mouth before—smack! Jessie slapped me so hard my glasses flew off my face. “Who the hell do you think you are, Sydney?” she shrieked, her face twisted in ugly rage. “Are you implying I’m not good enough for him? You’re just sick to your stomach because I’m getting the billionaire and you’re getting a student loan!” I rubbed my stinging cheek. I wanted to tell her that Preston never planned on marrying me, either. In my past life, I always had a gut feeling something was off about him. But his family’s conglomerate owned the parent companies of half my brand deals. If I dumped him, my career was over. So, when he asked me to fly to his private island in the Caribbean for a “romantic vacation and exclusive photoshoot,” I went. By the time the alarm bells in my head got loud enough for me to try and run, it was too late. A needle plunged into my neck. I woke up strapped to an altar in a damp, stone cellar under the island estate. I was stripped bare, surrounded by chanting figures in robes. …

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440997”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A notification suddenly popped up in the class group chat. It was a photo. It was a shot of me bending over to tie my shoelaces in the girls’ locker room. My collar hung loose, exposing my chest. The camera angle was deliberate, predatory, and impossible to mistake. The sender was my cousin, Sophie. Her caption was a single word. “Guess.” Every phone in the classroom vibrated in unison. Forty-something heads snapped up, their eyes locking onto me. I looked down at my own screen just as Sophie sent a follow-up message beneath the photo. “Oops, my hand slipped~” That little tilde felt like a twisted blade sliding straight into my ribs. I would soon find out that my sweet little cousin had created five separate group chats. There were 187 people in them. She had distributed over five hundred invasive photos of me. She lived in the apartment building directly across from mine. Her balcony faced my bedroom window perfectly. It took me exactly three months to send all of those people straight to a jail cell or a courtroom. That included my childhood best friend, a boy I had known for fifteen years. I did it because my grandpa, a tough-as-nails combat veteran, taught me a golden rule when I was a kid. He told me that taking a hit in life was fine, but you never, ever swallow their garbage in silence. 1 The photo sat there on the screen. I took a bite of my breakfast sandwich, looking down at the display. It was me. Last week, in the gym locker room. The angle was perfectly calculated to show as much skin as possible without showing my face. The caption read. “Guess who this is :)” That little smiley face was dripping with venom. Every phone in the room buzzed. Forty-something teenagers looked at their screens, then slowly looked up at me. It was like a synchronized military drill. Everyone was staring. Before I could even react, the second message popped up. “Riley, I’m so sorry, my hand slipped~” She actually used the tilde. Sophie. I chewed the rest of my bacon and egg sandwich and swallowed. It was from Mrs. Gable’s bakery down on Main Street, perfectly toasted on the outside and soft on the inside, the savory grease melting beautifully on my tongue. My mom always said this was my fatal flaw. Even if the sky was falling, I had to finish my food first. I set down my napkin and picked up the unopened bottle of spring water from my desk. “Sophie.” She was sitting in the third row. She tilted her head, her eyes curving into sweet little crescents. She looked innocent enough to win an Oscar. “Riley, I swear I didn’t mean to…” The entire classroom went dead silent the second the water crashed down over her head. The silence was absolute. It was like an abandoned alleyway in Old Town at two in the morning. You couldn’t even hear a pin drop. The water washed away the makeup she had spent half an hour applying, turning her face into a muddy watercolor palette. Black eyeliner streamed down her cheeks, her foundation patched and peeled, and one of her fake eyelashes hung precariously off her eyelid, trembling. Her “sweet peach” persona completely dissolved into the puddle on the floor. “Ahhhhh!” she shrieked, her voice pitching high enough to shatter the classroom windows. “Riley, are you insane?!” “Not insane.” I slammed the empty plastic bottle onto the desk. “Just helping you wash your mouth out.” “You… you…” “I’m not great with words,” I said, wiping my hands on my jeans. “But I have great aim.” A few guys in the back row erupted into laughter. Someone yelled out to Sophie to calm down, another whistled, and a few kids were literally slapping their desks in hysterics. Sophie’s eyes went red. Her lips trembled. “I was just playing a joke! If you had a problem, you could have just talked to me! Did you really have to humiliate me in front of the whole class?!” I knew this routine by heart. Provoke, play the victim, and then flip the blame. The desperate influencers hawking cheap detox teas down by the historic botanical gardens had worse acting skills than her. “A joke?” I took a step forward. She instinctively flinched backward. “Sophie, we’ve known each other for exactly three days since you transferred here, and we’ve spoken maybe ten sentences. What part of my personality made you think I’m the kind of person who enjoys being the punchline of a joke?” She opened her mouth but nothing came out. I shifted my gaze to the window seat in the front row. Tyler. I had known him for fifteen years. We practically grew up in the dirt behind the Old Town apartments. We tested into Westside High together and ended up in the same homeroom. He was athletic, possessed a sharp jawline, and half the girls in our grade worshipped him as the untouchable varsity star. Whenever anyone picked on me, he was always the first to stand up. Back in freshman year, a guy threw my backpack into the girls’ bathroom. Tyler chased him down three blocks, pinned him against the brick wall outside the downtown promenade, and forced him to apologize to my face. But this time, he didn’t move. He just sat there, his back to me, his shoulders rigid like a stone statue. I stared at the back of his head for five long seconds. He didn’t turn around. Fine. What was that internet quote? Rely on a man, and you’ll be miserable for a lifetime. I pulled my gaze away and turned to head back to my desk. That was when Tyler finally stood up. He walked over to me. His lips parted, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Riley.” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “She just transferred here. She doesn’t know any better. Just… let it go. For my sake.” I blinked. And then I laughed. “For your sake?” I looked dead into his eyes. “Tyler, what exactly is your pride worth? Ground beef is five bucks a pound down at the local butcher. Can I trade your pride in for a couple of steaks?” The classroom roared with laughter. Tyler’s face cycled through shades of red and white, changing colors faster than a traffic light. I ignored him, bent down, and picked up a printed copy of the photo someone had dropped. I folded it neatly and shoved it into my pocket. Then I looked up and addressed the entire room. “If anyone took a picture or recorded a video of what just happened, do me a favor and send it to me. I want to keep it for my memoirs.” Harper, my desk mate since freshman year, was the first to start clapping and laughing. The laughter spread until even the guys in the back row couldn’t hold it in. I sat back down and pulled my textbook out of my bag. My palms were slightly damp. Not from the heat. It was the adrenaline. My hands were still shaking from gripping that plastic bottle. I remembered Grandpa’s words. He was the one who taught me how to throw a proper punch. His first lesson was simple. “Riley, taking a hit is fine, but you never swallow their garbage.” I wiped the sweat from my palms onto my jeans. After school, Sophie cornered me in the hallway. She had changed her clothes and redone her makeup, slipping right back into her sweet little “sunshine” routine. But her eyes were totally different. I had seen that look before. It was the look the feral cats in our neighborhood got right before they pounced on a sparrow. “Riley.” She stepped uncomfortably close, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Do you know what happened to the last girl who got a photo of herself sent to a group chat? She cried way harder than you did. She got on her knees and begged me. She begged for three straight days. And do you want to guess what I did? I recorded her begging on her knees and sent it to the entire school.” The corners of her mouth twitched upward as she spoke. It wasn’t a smile. She was actually getting off on the memory. I clenched my fists. My fingernails bit into my palms, sending sharp spikes of pain through my skin. But I didn’t move. She tilted her head, studying me like a fascinating insect pinned to a board. “Aren’t you curious who she was?” “No.” “She was from Seattle. We went to the same school,” Sophie hummed. “I heard she dropped out. They say she’s still in intensive therapy.” She let out a soft sigh, as if she were lamenting a rainy Tuesday. “Honestly, I didn’t want it to go that far. But she insisted on fighting me. When she realized she couldn’t win, she cried. When crying didn’t work, she snitched to the teachers. Tell me, doesn’t someone like that deserve exactly what she gets?” I stared at her. “Sophie, does your mother know you act like a psychopath at school?” She blinked, surprised, and then a genuine laugh bubbled from her throat. “My mom? My mom is the one who taught me. She said, whoever blocks your path, you destroy them.” A cold chill crawled up my spine. It wasn’t fear. It was the sudden, horrifying realization that she wasn’t just naturally cruel. She had been meticulously programmed to be a monster. And that was infinitely more terrifying. She patted my shoulder, playing the role of the loving cousin. “See you tomorrow, Riley.” She spun on her heel and pranced away, her twin ponytails bouncing. I stood rooted to the linoleum floor, watching her disappear around the corner. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Harper. “Riley, check the class chat now!” I opened the app. Sophie had sent another photo. It wasn’t of me. It was a screenshot of a handwritten diary page from some anonymous girl. A single line was circled in bright red digital ink. “I hate her, but I hate myself even more.” The caption read. “Guess whose diary this is :)” That same twisted smiley face. I stared at the glowing screen, my fingers turning ice cold. I closed the chat and immediately texted my cousin, Alex. He was a junior at MIT majoring in computer science. He and his frat brothers were the ones who actually coded our high school’s alumni forum years ago. “Alex, I need you to run a deep background check on someone for me.” “Who?” “Sophie. Aunt Brenda’s daughter.” He sent a string of question marks. “Aunt Brenda’s kid? Isn’t she your cousin?” “Yeah.” “What did she do?” “She set up a group chat specifically to distribute creepshots of me.” He went totally silent for a few seconds. When he replied, it was a voice memo. His usual playful tone was completely gone. “Send me everything you have. IP addresses, group IDs, screenshots. I’m on it.” I forwarded him every single screenshot I had saved from the morning. I stood in the empty hallway, looking out the window. The October sky over the city was burning a brilliant, bruised orange. A commuter train rattled by in the distance, the metallic clatter carrying on the wind. The night market down on Main Street would be setting up right about now. The smell of roasted garlic and grilled skewers was probably drifting down the block. I suddenly really wanted a hot, fresh slice of pizza. The kind right out of the oven, where the cheese burns the roof of your mouth. My phone buzzed again. It wasn’t Alex. It was Harper. “Riley, I did some digging. That group chat has 187 people in it. Tyler is one of them.” I stared at that sentence for ten solid seconds. Then I typed. “Send me the screenshot.” She sent the member list. Member number 34. Tyler. His profile picture was a shot of him playing basketball. I recognized it. I was the one who took it during the championship game last year, right after he hit a three-pointer and flashed a peace sign at my camera. I stared at that tiny circle for a very long time. Outside, the sky faded to black. Another commuter train rolled by, the metallic clatter fading into the dark. I shoved my phone into my pocket and walked out to the bike racks. As I rode down Elm Street, the autumn leaves crunched dryly beneath my tires, sounding like shattered glass. I thought of another thing Grandpa used to say. “Riley, the scariest thing in this world isn’t your enemy. It’s the person you thought would never, ever hurt you.” I didn’t understand it back then. I understood it now. When I got home, Mom was buzzing around the kitchen. The rich smell of beef stew filled the apartment. She took one look at me and paused. “Why are you so pale?” “It’s nothing.” “Nothing? You look like a ghost.” I didn’t answer. I kicked off my sneakers, walked into the kitchen, and stood right behind her. She was chopping onions, not even turning her head. “Hungry?” “Yeah.” “Give it a minute. It’s almost done.” “Mom.” “Yeah?” “If someone was bullying me, what would you do?” She put the chef’s knife down and turned to face me. The exhaust fan hummed overhead. The stew bubbled violently in the pot. “Your Grandpa always said, taking a hit is fine, but you never swallow their garbage.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Did you swallow their garbage?” I blinked, and then a slow smile crept onto my face. “No.” “Good.” She turned back to the cutting board and aggressively chopped an onion. “Now eat.” That night, I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t sleep. My phone screen lit up the dark room. A text from Alex. “Got the IP trace. The admin’s location is in the Old Town grid. Same neighborhood as you.” I sat up. “Sophie lives near me?” “More than near.” He paused before sending the next text. “She lives in the building directly across from yours. Her balcony has a direct line of sight to your bedroom window.” I slowly turned my head toward the glass. The building across the street. Sixth floor. The light was on. There was a silhouette standing completely still behind the sheer curtains. I stared at that shadow for a long time. She didn’t move. I didn’t move. Then, my phone vibrated in my palm. Class group chat. Sophie. “Good night, Riley~ See you tomorrow :)” The tilde. Always that damn tilde. I placed my phone face down on the mattress and closed my eyes. Grandpa, you taught me that when something is unforgivable, you fight back. Tomorrow, I’m going to show you a war. 2 When I parked my bike at the school gates the next morning, the atmosphere felt toxic. It wasn’t the usual quiet chatter. It was the suffocating silence of a bomb waiting to go off. Harper was waiting for me by the entrance. The second she saw me, she practically tackled me, shoving her phone into my face. “Riley! You need to look at the school forum right now!” The pinned post at the top of the feed read: Riley’s Secret Menu at the Family Diner. I scrolled down. The post was a meticulously crafted fiction, claiming my family’s diner offered “special favors” after hours, and that I was the “star attraction.” It even included a photo of me working the cash register, heavily edited with a sleazy, neon-pink filter to make it look like a cheap escort ad. The comment section was an absolute dumpster fire. “No wonder she always wears tight shirts.” “That side of Old Town is sketchy anyway, I’m not surprised.” “She looks exactly like the kind of trash who’d do that for money.” I scrolled through the comments one by one. My knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. Harper’s eyes were red with fury. “How can they say this?! It’s entirely fabricated!” I didn’t say a word. Because I noticed a very specific detail. The original photo of me at the cash register was from a post I made on Instagram last week. It was locked to close friends only. That meant whoever posted it was on my friends list. I clicked on the original poster’s profile. It was a burner account, zero history. But thanks to the trick Alex taught me last night, I pulled the IP metadata. It matched the Old Town broadband network. Sophie’s house. “It’s fine,” I said, handing the phone back to Harper. “Let’s go to class.” “Fine?! They’re calling you a literal prostitute, and you say it’s fine?!” “If anyone is going to be in trouble over this, it’s them.” I pushed my bike toward the racks. “I didn’t invent the lies, so why should I panic?” Harper froze, then jogged to catch up with me. “What are you going to do?” “Go to first period. What else?” I didn’t hear a single word the teacher said all morning. I wasn’t panicking. I was just trying to solve a puzzle in my head. Why was Sophie doing this? Why did she harbor this deep, psychotic hatred for me? Was it just because our grandfather left a slightly larger chunk of the inheritance to my dad? I dug through my childhood memories. Sophie used to come to our apartment when we were little. She wore her hair in cute little buns and chased me around calling me her big sister. My mom used to peel shrimp for her at dinner, and she would eat until her face was covered in grease, smiling so hard her eyes vanished. She didn’t look like a psychopath back then. When did the switch flip? Probably the year Grandpa died. At the funeral, Aunt Brenda shattered a glass on the floor in front of the entire family. She pointed a shaking finger at my dad and screamed, “Dad was a biased old fool! Why do you get the lion’s share? Is my daughter not his grandchild too?!” Sophie had stood behind her mother, her head bowed, totally silent. I had tried to hold her hand that day. She violently yanked it away. She never called me her big sister again. During lunch, Brooke walked over to my table. She was in the grade below me, the head of the student council’s disciplinary committee, and notorious for taking zero prisoners. Rumor had it a senior tried to cut the lunch line last semester, and she literally picked up his tray and walked away with it, telling him to learn how a queue worked. “Riley.” She dropped into the plastic chair across from me. “Did you see that trash on the forum?” “I saw it.” “Do you know who posted it?” “Sophie.” She blinked, surprised. “Are you absolutely sure?” “I’m sure.” Brooke pulled her phone from her pocket and pulled up a massive file of screenshots. “My cousin sent me these. She lives in Seattle. She was best friends with Sophie’s last victim.” I took the phone. The screenshots showed a locked cloud drive titled The Collection. Inside were dozens of folders filled with invasive photos of different girls, screenshots of desperate text messages, and photos of stolen diary pages. “Sophie ruined three girls in Seattle,” Brooke said, dropping her voice. “The first one transferred out of state. The second developed severe depression and dropped out entirely. The third is the one who wrote the diary. She’s still a complete wreck.” I scrolled through the terrifying digital trophy room, a cold numbness spreading through my chest. “She keeps this cloud drive to catalog her victims. She scrolls through it late at night, like someone looking at a family photo album,” Brooke said grimly. “My cousin said Sophie isn’t right in the head. She’s a sadist. She physically gets off on destroying people.” I handed the phone back. “Why are you helping me?” Brooke looked me dead in the eye. “Because my cousin told me the girl who dropped out is still in intensive therapy. She wakes up screaming from nightmares about Sophie’s face. I refuse to sit back and watch you become another casualty.” I let the silence hang for a moment. “I won’t be a casualty.” “I know,” she said, standing up. “But when you need an army, you call me.” She took three steps, then turned back around. “Oh, by the way. That forum post dragging your name? I already had my cousin forward the screenshots to the Seattle alumni groups. People over there are going to find out exactly what Sophie has been up to very shortly.” I stared at her in shock. “When did you do that?” “First period.” She walked away without looking back. “Stop trying to carry the world on your shoulders when people are trying to break your spine.” By first period after lunch, a new post had erupted on the school forum. Sophie, Do You Have the Guts to Tell Us What You Did in Seattle? Brooke didn’t post it. I did. I organized all the screenshots Brooke gave me and laid them out like a prosecutor presenting evidence to a jury. The Collection drive, her expulsion records from Seattle, the testimonies of the three victims. I kept the sensitive details redacted, but the message was devastatingly clear. The comment section immediately violently turned against her. “Holy shit, she’s a serial stalker?” “No wonder she transferred. She was chased out of town.” “What the hell is ‘The Collection’? That is actual serial killer behavior.” “I thought she was a sweet girl, turns out she’s a poisoned apple.” But there were still a few cowards defending her. “Riley is probably no angel either. Why would Sophie only target her?” “Do you have proof for any of this? Spreading rumors is a crime, you know.” “Takes two to tango. Riley definitely provoked her.” Harper was so furious she was ready to wage war in the comments, but I grabbed her wrist. “Ignore them.” “But they’re—” “They don’t matter.” I stared at the screen. “Only one person matters right now.” Sophie. Half an hour after the post went live, she texted me. “Riley, are you investigating me?” Followed by a smiley face. “I’m so scared~ But honestly, what you found is just the tip of the iceberg. I have so many more pieces in my Collection. Do you want to see them?” I took a screenshot of the threat. Then I typed my reply. “The master password to your cloud drive. It’s the anniversary of your dad’s fatal car crash, isn’t it?” She didn’t reply. I had bet everything on that guess, and I won. I didn’t actually know her password, but I knew her father had died in a horrific wreck when she was twelve. It was the deepest, most agonizing wound in her life. It was the one thing she refused to let anyone touch. I touched it. I pressed my thumb right into the wound. She panicked. That was all I needed. After the final bell, I marched straight to Mr. Brown’s office. He was the school counselor and head of discipline. A forty-something, balding man with a beer belly that looked like he was six months pregnant. His greatest talent in life was sweeping problems under the rug. If kids got into a fistfight, he blamed both of them. If a girl got harassed, he told her to “dress more modestly.” I blocked the doorway to his office. “Mr. Brown, I need to file a formal report.” He paused mid-sip of his coffee, looking annoyed. “About what?” I shoved my phone in his face, displaying the forum posts and the group chats. “Sophie is spreading malicious sexual rumors about me, distributing unauthorized intimate photos, and operating a cyber-harassment ring involving over a hundred and eighty students.” He set his mug down, frowning heavily. “Students have little disagreements all the time. I’ll pull Sophie in for a chat tomorrow.” “A chat?” “Riley, do not blow this out of proportion. It looks bad for the school’s reputation.” I stared at his shiny, balding forehead. It reminded me of a quote I read online: You can never wake a man who is only pretending to be asleep. “Mr. Brown,” I said, projecting my voice so every single teacher in the faculty lounge could hear me clearly. “I am going to the police station right now. And when the detectives come to this school to investigate a massive digital sex crime, I will tell them that you explicitly instructed me ‘not to blow it out of proportion’.” All the blood drained from his face. A young female teacher sitting at the next desk nervously whispered, “Mr. Brown, this actually sounds incredibly serious…” He shot her a lethal glare, then turned back to me, forcing a plastic, terrified smile. “Riley, you misunderstood me. What I meant was—” “I understood you perfectly.” I spun around and walked out the door. “And the cops will, too.” As I marched down the hallway, I could hear him stammering behind me, “Wait—get back here!” I didn’t stop walking. I left the campus, got on my bike, and rode straight to the local precinct. It was a ten-minute ride. I parked my bike outside and stared at the heavy glass doors for three seconds. The golden badge on the wall gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Grandpa always said, If you’re in real trouble, you find the uniform. The badge hits harder than any fist. Inside the lobby, a young female officer looked up from the front desk, blinking in surprise. “You’re here by yourself?” “Yes.” “What do you need to report?” I slid my phone across the counter. “A student took non-consensual intimate photos of me, built a distribution network of over a hundred and eighty people to share them, and has engaged in severe cyberstalking. She also tracked me to my home address and sent me photos of my mother through my window.” The officer picked up the phone, swiped through a few screenshots, and her entire demeanor shifted. “Wait right here.” She disappeared into the back offices. Five minutes later, a man walked out. He looked to be in his forties, with a square, hardened jawline. He was wearing plainclothes, but he carried himself with the heavy, exhausted authority of a veteran detective. “Riley?” “That’s me.” “Come with me.” I followed him into a cramped interrogation room. He offered me a chair and handed me a paper cup of water. “I’m Higgins. You can call me Officer Higgins.” “Nice to meet you.” He sat across the metal table, studying me. “You came down here alone?” “Yes.” “Do your parents know you’re doing this?” “Yes. My mom told me to come.” He nodded slowly. “Walk me through it. From the beginning.” I laid out the entire timeline. Sophie being my cousin, the bitter family inheritance drama, the three broken girls in Seattle, the twisted Collection drive, the locker room photos in the class chat, the escort rumors on the school forum, and finally, the creepy surveillance photos of my mom in our kitchen. I talked for nearly an hour. Officer Higgins didn’t interrupt once. He just sat there, occasionally scribbling notes on a legal pad. When I finally finished, the room was quiet. He looked up. “Do you have the digital proof for all of this?” “I do.” I unlocked my phone and walked him through the digital graveyard. The IP traces, the server logs, Sophie’s threatening texts, the forum archives, the Seattle chat logs. He looked at every single image meticulously. When he was done, he leaned back. “You’ve got a very smart brother,” he noted. I smiled faintly. “He’s an MIT computer science major.” Higgins nodded approvingly. “You mentioned she had three group chats?” “More than three.” I remembered the data Alex had pulled the night before. “She set up five different encrypted groups across different grade levels. The total member count…” I took a breath. “Is over five hundred people.” Higgins’ pen stopped moving. He slowly looked up at me. The air in the room suddenly felt incredibly heavy. “Over five hundred?” “Yes.” He put the pen down, leaned back in his squeaky chair, and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then he stood up. “I’m taking this case.” I was stunned. “Just… like that? You’re taking it?” He raised an eyebrow. “What, did you want me to give you the bureaucratic runaround?” “No, no.” I waved my hands quickly. “I just… I didn’t expect it to be this fast.” He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Kid, do you have any idea what you just dropped on my desk?” “What?” “Cyberstalking, criminal harassment, and the mass distribution of non-consensual intimate imagery involving minors.” He ticked the charges off on his fingers. “With a syndicate of over five hundred participants. This is a severe, high-level privacy violation and digital sex crime.” He looked me dead in the eye. “With a case like this, we should be thanking you for walking through those doors.” Stepping out of the precinct, the late afternoon sun practically blinded me. I stood on the concrete steps, taking a deep breath. The air smelled like exhaust fumes and freedom. My phone buzzed. A text from Harper. “How did it go?” “He took the case.” She replied instantly. “HOLY SHIT! Seriously?!” “Seriously.” She spammed my phone with a dozen firework emojis. Then she sent another text. “Oh, by the way! The video of you verbally destroying Mr. Brown in the faculty lounge got leaked to the forum! The whole school has seen it. The comments are treating you like a god!” I opened the school forum. The pinned post had changed. Riley Destroys Mr. Brown: ‘The Cops Will Hear You Tell Me to Keep Quiet!’ The shaky cell phone video showed me standing in the doorway, while Mr. Brown sat at his desk looking as pale as a ghost. The comment section had done a complete 180. “This girl is an absolute savage!” “Brown finally got checked! So satisfying to watch.” “I stand with Riley. What Sophie did is legitimately evil.” “Where are all the losers who were defending Sophie yesterday? Real quiet now, huh?” I watched the video loop once, then shoved the phone back into my pocket. I unlocked my bike and pedaled toward home. Riding down Elm Street, the autumn wind sent yellow leaves skittering across the pavement. A street vendor was selling hot pretzels on the corner, the smell of warm dough and melted butter filling the street. I pulled over and bought one. I sat on a wooden park bench, tearing off chunks of the steaming pretzel. It was warm. It was perfect. Grandpa was right. Life is like a hot pretzel. It might look twisted and salty on the outside, but if you bite down hard enough, it’s warm and soft on the inside. My phone buzzed. A text from Alex. “I found something else. Sophie didn’t just build five groups. She built a VIP group. Strictly for the most invasive, explicit material.” “How many people?” “Twenty. Handpicked by her. People she trusted to keep their mouths shut.” I chewed a piece of dough slowly. “Tyler is the admin of the VIP group,” Alex’s text read. I stopped chewing. “What did he post?” “Seven messages. The last three were private DMs sent directly to Sophie.” Alex’s digital tone felt heavy. “It was the raw, uncropped photos of you changing in the locker room.” I stared at the empty street in front of me. The commuter train rattled by in the distance. The sunlight reflected off the steel tracks, blindingly bright. A memory flashed in my mind. Tyler, seven years old, grabbing my hand to pull me across this exact street. He had looked back at me and said, Riley, don’t be scared. I’ve got you. His hand had felt so warm back then. Now, there was nothing left but cold, rotten betrayal. “Riley?” Alex called my phone directly, his voice tight. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” I tossed the rest of the pretzel into a nearby trash can. “Alex, I need you to do one more thing for me.” “Name it.” “Export every single chat log from that VIP group. Don’t miss a single keystroke.” “Done.” I hung up, got back on my bike, and rode the rest of the way home. The wind whipping past my ears was freezing. But inside my chest, there was a fire burning hot enough to melt steel.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440996”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My son had a ceramic piggy bank he had been meticulously filling for almost two years. Ever since he laid eyes on a five-thousand-dollar, limited-edition remote-controlled race car, he refused to spend a single penny of his allowance. To scrounge up extra cash, Darren would even scour the neighborhood after school, collecting discarded aluminum cans to return for the deposit. To support his dedication, I would slip a crisp fifty-dollar bill into the slot every time he brought home straight A’s. As the ceramic bank grew heavier, Darren’s anticipation reached a fever pitch. Finally, on his tenth birthday, the bank was full. Darren threw his arms around my waist, practically vibrating with excitement. “Mom, come on, let’s smash it open together!” But when he happily cracked the ceramic shell with a hammer, the joyful atmosphere instantly evaporated. Instead of five thousand dollars in folded bills, there was nothing but a pathetic pile of nickels and dimes. I immediately reached for my phone to call the police, but my chronically cheap husband stepped right in front of me, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t be embarrassing. You’re going to call the cops over something this stupid?” “It’s a good thing the money is gone anyway! It’ll teach him not to be so greedy and materialistic!” One second, I was completely baffled by his bizarre reaction. The next second, my eyes landed on his childhood friend, Sienna, who was standing by the kitchen island. Wrapped around her wrist was a thick, blindingly new solid gold Cartier bangle. The shattered pieces of the piggy bank were scattered across the hardwood floor. Darren stood frozen in the corner, silent tears streaming down his face. Hearing his own father call him greedy terrified him so much he didn’t even dare to cry out loud. It absolutely shattered my heart. That was his money. He saved it dollar by dollar. He skipped buying ice cream with his friends, dug through recycling bins for two years, and hoarded every cent. I stared at Sienna. She had gotten completely cleaned out in her recent divorce, walking away with zero assets. She was currently living rent-free in a downtown condo I bought before I even met my husband, constantly coming over to our house for free meals. There was no universe where she could afford a solid gold bracelet. “I’m calling the police,” I said, my voice turning to ice. “I don’t want filthy thieves thinking they can walk into my home.” “Five grand is not pocket change, Marcus. Darren bled for that money. I don’t care how much it costs to hire a private investigator, I am getting my son’s money back!” Marcus’s face instantly darkened into a stormy scowl. “Watch your mouth! Who do you think you’re talking to?” “Fine, you want the truth? I took the five grand. Are you happy now?” “Sienna just found out she’s pregnant. I had to get something nice to welcome the baby!” “Instead of blowing that cash on a stupid toy car, Darren can consider it a welcome gift for his new sibling. It builds character. It’ll keep him from growing up into a spoiled brat. I think it’s perfectly fine.” Listening to Marcus justify stealing from his own child made the blood roar in my ears. “You robbed your son’s piggy bank to buy your hometown friend a gold bracelet?” “Do you have any idea how hard he worked for that money? Do you know how many trash cans he dug through to save five thousand dollars?” “Even if you desperately needed to play sugar daddy for your little friend, how dare you steal from your own flesh and blood!” Marcus was a low-level clerk at a logistics firm. He barely cleared four grand a month, yet he had an absolute obsession with playing the big-shot billionaire. When Sienna had nowhere to go after her divorce, Marcus generously waved his hand, evicted my paying tenant without my permission, and moved Sienna into my pre-marital condo. He even paid her monthly utility bills out of his own shallow pockets. When Darren needed fifty bucks for a school field trip, Marcus suddenly had empty pockets. On our wedding anniversary, I was lucky to get a grocery store greeting card. But a luxury gold bangle for another woman? He swiped his card without blinking. If he wanted to play the high roller, fine. But he had absolutely no right to fund his fragile ego with my son’s money! “God, Rachel, why are you being such a tightwad?” Sienna leaned against the counter, inspecting her manicured nails. “Marcus told me you lacked class, but I didn’t want to believe it. Besides, this bracelet isn’t for me. It’s for the baby growing inside me.” “Think of it as Darren buying his future brother or sister a welcome gift. They’ll look out for each other when they grow up. Buying a human sibling for five grand is a way better investment than some cheap plastic race car!” Marcus had looked slightly guilty under my furious glare, but the second Sienna chimed in, his chest puffed out with misplaced pride. “Exactly! I’m doing this for Darren’s own good! You’ve completely spoiled him!” He marched over to the corner, grabbed Darren by the shoulders, and shook him. “Darren, aren’t you being a little too vain?! Wanting a five-thousand-dollar toy! We are a normal, working-class family! Stop acting like you’re some trust fund baby!” Sienna stared Darren down, her heavy black eyeliner making her gaze look venomous. “Darren, you wouldn’t be that selfish, right? This bracelet is for your future sibling. If you act like a selfish little brat, nobody is ever going to love you.” Terrified, my son frantically shook his head, shrinking into himself and staring at the floor. I violently shoved Marcus away and pulled Darren behind me, pointing a shaking finger at my husband. “I don’t care what sick twisted fantasy you have going on with her, but you do not touch my son’s money! I want that exact race car sitting on this dining table by tomorrow evening.” “If it isn’t, I am filing for divorce, and both you and Sienna are getting thrown out of my condo!” Marcus’s face turned purple with rage. He hated that I had humiliated him in front of his precious childhood sweetheart. I grabbed Darren’s hand and dragged him into his bedroom, slamming the door. A perfectly good birthday party, entirely ruined. The next morning, after dropping Darren off at school, I texted Marcus a final warning. If I didn’t see that race car by dinner, we were meeting at the courthouse. By mid-afternoon, I hadn’t received a single text back. Instead, I saw a viral post dominating my social media feed. 2 #DemonChild #HormoneShotSideEffects #SpoiledBratKarma I clicked on the anonymous post. “My hometown guy promised to buy me a solid gold Cartier bangle after my divorce. But his paranoid, lunatic wife threw an absolute fit. She’d rather blow thousands on a remote-controlled car for her brat than let me have the bracelet. She orchestrated a massive screaming match at her kid’s birthday party just to humiliate me.” “I heard that kid was a miracle baby saved by heavy hormone injections. He has zero manners, he’s incredibly stingy, and he cries if you even look at him wrong. He’s honestly acting like a psychopath.” “I woke up with severe stomach cramps at midnight last night. I know that vicious little monster cursed me and my baby. I told my guy I might as well miscarry. The mom pumped herself full of so many stabilization drugs during pregnancy, the kid was born a literal demon.” At the bottom of the screen, the algorithm recommended the author based on my phone contacts. It was Sienna. My entire body started to shake with a blinding, white-hot fury. Anyone in the world could criticize my son, but she was the absolute last person who had the right! When I was eight months pregnant, I woke up with agonizing abdominal pain. I shook Marcus awake, begging him to drive me to the emergency room. Halfway to the hospital, Sienna called him in hysterics. She claimed her husband was beating her and begged Marcus to come save her. “Marcus, please hurry! Rachel just has a little stomach ache, but if you don’t come right now, he’s going to kill me! I’m going to die!” At five in the morning, on a freezing, pitch-black road, Marcus pulled over, forced me out of the car, and told me to call an Uber. By the time the ambulance finally reached me, Darren’s fetal heartbeat had stopped. I fell to my knees in the hospital hallway, sobbing, begging, pressing my forehead against the cold linoleum floor as I pleaded with the doctors to save him. I endured nearly two hundred agonizing progesterone injections and an emergency premature C-section just to bring Darren into the world alive. Marcus didn’t show up until the day after Darren was born. He walked into the maternity ward with a perfectly unharmed Sienna trailing behind him. “Jeez, Rachel, you could have at least texted me that you were going into labor,” Marcus had complained. “Oh my god, why did you take all those hormone shots without asking Marcus first?” Sienna had chimed in. Marcus stared down at Darren in the neonatal incubator, his voice dripping with disgust. “Why did you pump yourself full of those drugs? Sienna said taking too many stabilization shots causes severe brain damage. If he’s defective, we should have just scrapped him and made a new one.” I had lost my mind that day, screaming like a banshee until security dragged them out of my hospital room. If it hadn’t been for Sienna, my Darren would never have been born premature. Thinking about that memory, I quickly swallowed my prescribed blood pressure medication to keep myself from blacking out. I was just about to call Marcus when a video file popped up in our chat. I tapped play. Darren was sitting across from Marcus, his eyes wide with absolute terror. “Darren, I heard you were mad about Auntie Sienna’s bracelet. Did you curse her and her baby to die?!” Tears welled up in Darren’s eyes, but he squeezed them shut, terrified to let them fall. “I didn’t! I didn’t!” “Stop lying! Auntie Sienna heard you whispering yesterday!” “She had to go to the hospital last night because of your evil little curse! What’s next? Are you going to curse me to die too?!” Marcus’s heavy hands clamped down on Darren’s fragile shoulders, digging in hard. Darren sobbed, frantically shaking his head. “Dad, I swear I didn’t.” “So you’re not mad about the bracelet? Do you still want that race car?!” “No, I don’t! I don’t want it! Please, Dad, I don’t want it!” Before the video even finished playing, a text from Marcus chimed through. “Sienna’s stomach was killing her last night. Look at the vicious little monster you raised.” “Consider the toy car his punishment. Besides, he said it out of his own mouth that he doesn’t want it anymore, so you can’t blame me.” He ended the text with a peace-sign emoji. Staring at the pure, unfiltered terror on my son’s face in the video, my grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. I was entirely done with this marriage. I immediately contacted a few divorce attorneys. My parents had paid the massive down payment on our primary residence, and I had paid every single mortgage installment. Before I handed him the divorce papers, I was going to liquidate and secure every single asset we owned. I was going to make absolutely sure Marcus walked away with nothing but the lint in his pockets! After finalizing my legal strategy, I drove home. The moment I pushed the front door open, I saw a mountain of fast-food trash piled high on the dining table. Sienna and Marcus were lounging on the sofa, watching a movie. Darren was acting like their personal servant, bringing them water and snacks, not even daring to sit down. He just stood frozen in the corner. “Oh, Rachel, you’re finally home. Hurry up and cook dinner!” Sienna commanded. “Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been craving sour food. It’s probably a boy. Make me a sour tomato soup, and make sure you peel the tomatoes first!” Marcus casually spat a sunflower seed shell onto the rug. “You take forever to get home from work. We’ve been starving for hours. Don’t think just because you’re some manager at a corporate office that you aren’t still my wife when you walk through that door!” “Hurry up and cook for Sienna. It’s her first pregnancy, she needs to be incredibly careful. She can’t do any heavy lifting!” I let out a dark, cynical laugh, remembering my own pregnancy. When I was six months pregnant, I was drowning in mortgage stress. I worked overtime every single day, and when I got home, I scrubbed the floors and cooked the meals entirely by myself. “When I was pregnant, I don’t remember you being this incredibly considerate.” Marcus rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed. He grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds and threw them at my chest. “Did I force you to do the chores? You chose to do them yourself! It just proves you were born with a maid’s mentality. You literally can’t sit still!” “I ask you to make one simple meal and you give me a lecture. You are so annoying.” So my eight years of grueling sacrifice and endless support were nothing but a “maid’s mentality” to him. There was absolutely zero reason to show this man any mercy. “Sienna,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You have until tomorrow morning to pack your bags and get out of my condo. I already signed a lease with a new tenant, and they are moving in tomorrow afternoon.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440995”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 In the two years since my son was born, the intimacy between my husband and me completely evaporated. He used to be insatiable, constantly finding excuses to pull me into his arms. Now, even when I initiated the softest touch, he would subtly brush me off. Every time I swallowed my pride to close the distance, he would use the exact same gentle, apologetic tone. “Work is just suffocating me right now, Val.” I actually believed him. I thought the corporate grind was breaking his back, draining him of any leftover energy. That was until I picked up our son early from daycare, pushed open our front door, and froze at the sight of foreign lingerie scattered across our hardwood floor. Seconds later, a woman’s voice drifted from the kitchen. “Honey, your wife spends hours boiling you that artisanal bone broth, and I’m the one who ends up drinking it.” She was holding the exact thermal flask I had packed for my husband that morning. In that split second, the air left my lungs. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my face. My mind went entirely blank. Instinct took over. I hurled my diaper bag straight at them. The woman’s shriek echoed off the high ceilings. But my husband, Dominic, was terrifyingly calm. He just stared dead into my eyes and delivered the final blow that shattered my reality. That was the moment I finally understood. A man’s desire never simply vanishes. It just gets redirected to someone else. … After the chaos settled, Dominic wrapped a plush towel around his waist and nonchalantly lit a cigarette. He watched my bloodless face through the drifting smoke, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Stella is just a bedmate, Val. Don’t make this bigger than it is.” Right on cue, the woman scooped up her clothes from the floor and shimmied into her dress. She twisted her waist, winking at me with sickening playfulness. “Mrs. Blackwood, I swear. Dom and I are purely…” She clapped her hands together, letting the sharp sound hang in the air. “…physical.” She puckered her cherry-red lips, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “My wife is standing right here. Leave.” Dominic shifted his weight, issuing the eviction notice with ice in his veins. “Ugh, men are all the same. Zip up your pants and suddenly you don’t know me.” Stella wasn’t even offended. She just giggled, strutting toward the door. “Mrs. Blackwood, I am so jealous you have such a considerate husband.” Every time she called me Mrs. Blackwood, it felt like she was twisting a serrated blade into my ribs. Dominic stepped closer. He reached out to stroke my cheek as if we were discussing the weather. “Why are you home early? Weren’t you supposed to be at the botanical gardens?” Our platinum wedding band was still gleaming on his ring finger. The same finger that had just been tangled in another woman’s sheets. Bile clawed at my throat. I slapped his hand away with brutal force and practically sprinted to the kitchen sink, gripping the marble edges. “Do not touch me.” Dominic’s expression hardened. The way he looked at me shifted from patronizing to downright cold. “Valerie, do you really have to be this dramatic?” I stopped splashing cold water on my face. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my chest. Since when did Dominic become someone who treated loyalty like a joke? I remembered the early days of his startup. A gorgeous young intern had slipped a hotel key card into his jacket pocket. When he came home and told me, his face had been twisted in disgust. “Cheap,” he had spat, tossing the plastic card straight into the trash grinder in front of me. “People change.” I flinched. It was as if he had read my mind. Dominic offered the words like a bored professor giving a lecture. “You changed too, didn’t you?” His eyes dragged over my body, a flash of undeniable repulsion flickering in his pupils. “You became nagging. Explosive. Exhausted and out of shape. Do you even remember the girl you used to be?” He adjusted his watch. “So if I strayed, you share half the blame.” Dropping that sickening piece of gaslighting like it was gospel, Dominic grabbed his coat and walked out the front door. Water dripped from my chin into the stainless steel basin. I honestly couldn’t tell if it was from the faucet or my own tears. Three years ago, Dominic had been the one to beg me to drop my childfree stance. “Val, a kid is the ultimate bond. Your career is already stellar, we have everything we need. Wouldn’t it be beautiful to create a life together? We’ll show him the world. We’ll be the perfect family.” He broke down my walls, but in the end, I was the only one paying the price. Pregnancy wrecked my immune system. I broke out in full-body hives. My skin stretched until angry purple scars marked my stomach. My edge in the boardroom dulled because I was running on zero sleep. Meanwhile, Dominic remained polished, handsome, effortlessly gliding between his booming business and a quiet home. In the beginning, he tried. He would bring me flowers, rub my swollen ankles, coax a smile out of me. But slowly, the effort became an inconvenience. Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered my thoughts. My heart stalled. I bolted up the stairs. Our nanny was frantic, tearing through the medicine cabinet. “Finn is having a reaction! Someone put peach juice in his sippy cup!” There was no time to think. I snatched my crying baby, whose face was already swelling into a terrifying shade of red, and sprinted to the car. By the time the ER nurses administered the epinephrine, Finn’s color finally started returning to normal. My spine hit the hospital chair, the adrenaline crash leaving me hollow. Then, a pair of blood-red stilettos stepped into my line of sight. Stella slid into the plastic chair beside me. Her smile was the stuff of nightmares. She leaned in, her voice a sickly sweet whisper. “Next time, don’t come home so early. I really hate being interrupted when I’m riding him. If it happens again, I can’t guarantee your little heartbeat over there will be so lucky.” “It was you.” My voice was dead calm, but a feral, violent rage was boiling just beneath my skin. Stella arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, completely ignoring the accusation. “Finally getting my prescription. Dom was a little too rough with me today, left me super sore. Honestly, I’m kind of jealous you’ve had it so easy these past couple of years.” She stood up, rolling her hips as she turned to leave. I gently handed my sleeping baby to the nanny. Then I walked up behind Stella, grabbed her by the shoulder, and drove my fist straight into the bridge of her nose. “My face!” Stella hit the linoleum floor in a heap. Blood exploded down her chin as she shrieked in absolute terror. The image of my son’s purple, swollen face flashed in my mind. I raised my fist, fully prepared to break her jaw next. But a heavy body slammed into mine, shoving me back. Dominic. “Valerie, are you insane!” “She almost killed Finn!” I screamed, my vocal cords tearing. Stella’s smug, threatening face was burned into my retinas. But Dominic stepped in front of her, shielding the mistress with his own body. His voice was laced with pure acid. “You are paranoid! Nobody touched Finn! Just because your psychotic stepmom abused you when you were a kid doesn’t mean you get to project your trauma onto innocent people!” A loud ringing drowned out the emergency room. My head felt like it was splitting open. When I was sixteen, my mother took a handful of pills because of my father’s affairs. The mistress moved in before the dirt settled on the grave, and my life turned into a living hell. Slaps. Belts. Cigarette burns. I took it all in silence. Until one afternoon, my stepmom saw a teenage Dominic walking me home from school. She cracked me across the jaw. “Little tramp. Starting early, just like your dead mother.” That was the moment my soul fractured. Humiliation and blind rage took the wheel. I grabbed a kitchen knife, my knuckles turning white. But Dominic’s fists were faster. He beat my stepmom until she was a sobbing, bloody mess on the floor. “No wonder Valerie is always covered in bruises,” he had yelled. “I like her, but she hasn’t even agreed to date me! Keep your filthy mouth shut!” My stepmom went to the ICU. Dominic went to a juvenile holding cell. As the cops put him in the cruiser, he looked at me through the glass and smiled. “You never have to be afraid again, Val. If she touches you, I’ll put her in the ground next time.” Seventeen-year-old Dominic was willing to throw his life away for me. Twenty-seven-year-old Dominic just drove a knife into my chest to protect another woman. “Perfect.” The word slipped out of my mouth like a dying breath. A flash of genuine panic crossed Dominic’s eyes. “Val, wait, I didn’t mean…” He finally looked past me, realizing we were standing outside the pediatric ward. He took a step toward me. “Is Finn okay? I just saw the texts.” Before he could reach me, Stella whimpered from the floor, clutching her bleeding face. “Dom, I’m so dizzy…” Without a single second of hesitation, Dominic spun around. He scooped Stella into his arms and rushed toward the trauma doors. He didn’t even look back. The nurses and waiting patients stared at me with profound, suffocating pity. I was the punchline of a very sick joke. Midnight came and went. Dominic never came home. At some point, Stella had found my Instagram. Her stories were public. “Thank you for always putting me first.” “Words aren’t enough, so I’ll just have to show my gratitude.” The photo showed her in a sheer lingerie set, sitting on a hotel bed. You couldn’t see the man’s face behind her, but I knew the exact curve of his shoulders. It was Dominic. The last fragile string holding my heart together simply dissolved. His son had nearly died, and he didn’t care. He humiliated his wife in public, and felt no remorse. All he cared about was burying himself in a younger, tighter body. I stared at my lawyer’s contact in my phone until the screen blurred. Tears dripped onto the glass. I let out a guttural, agonizing scream and hurled the phone at the wall, shattering it into pieces. I couldn’t swallow this. The injustice of it was burning me alive. The very next afternoon, I agreed to meet Stella at a downtown café. She had a stark white bandage across her nose, but her eyes were dancing with victory. She sipped her iced latte and smirked. “Valerie, why haven’t you filed the papers yet? I really didn’t peg you as the pathetic, clingy type.” Sitting under the weight of her mocking gaze, I felt a flicker of shame. But I forced it down, pasting on a flawless, untouchable smile. “You don’t understand our history. You don’t know what we’ve survived together. That’s why I’m giving him a pass.” I played the role of the tolerant, old-money wife, dismissing the mistress like a minor pest. Stella went completely still. Then, she threw her head back and laughed. She looked at me with genuine, unadulterated pity. “Oh, honey. Let me guess. You’re talking about the time he saved you from the wicked stepmother?” My perfect smile froze. Stella pulled out her phone and hit play on an old, grainy video. It was seventeen-year-old Dominic. He looked wild, arrogant, completely alien to the man I married. Standing next to him was a teenage Stella, wearing a skin-tight red dress, looking like trouble. “Listen closely, Dom,” the younger Stella purred. “You get the little honors-student freak to fall in love with you, then you crush her. You pull that off, and I’ll let you take me upstairs.” Teenage Dominic smirked, his tone dripping with bored confidence. “Bet. Give me three months. It’ll be a walk in the park.” The rest of the audio faded into white noise. The room spun. The only thing I could hear was the frantic, deafening thud of my own heartbeat. Stella rested her chin on her hand, soaking in my devastation. “Your grand, beautiful rescue story, Val? It was just a game to get into my pants.” My vision blurred. My voice was barely a whisper. “Why? I never did anything to you.” Stella rolled her eyes. “Because you were the golden girl. Perfect grades, perfect face. I hated girls like you, walking around thinking you deserved the world.” Her expression suddenly twisted into pure venom. “And then he actually caught feelings for you! He broke the bet. You’re the real homewrecker here, Valerie! So don’t you ever sit there and judge me!” The pain in my chest was absolute. My replacement phone buzzed on the table. Dominic’s name flashed across the screen, illuminating my ghost-white reflection in the dark glass. I hit decline. I stood up, my legs feeling like lead. Behind me, Stella called out in a lazy drawl. “Don’t be a coward now, golden girl! Show a little spine! Ha!” That evening, Dominic came home early. He brought a massive bouquet of Casablanca lilies, my favorite. He looked nervous, shifting his weight before finally asking, “Why were you declining my calls?” My eyes were dead. I just stared at him, letting the silence stretch until it became suffocating. Dominic’s pulse visibly jumped in his throat. He looked panicked. “What’s wrong? Why are you so pale?” My fingers tightened around the divorce papers I had drafted that afternoon. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” Dominic froze, then forced a bright, artificial laugh. “Tomorrow is Finn’s birthday. We’re hosting it here. My parents are dying to see him, and all our friends are coming. Tell me what you want to eat, I’ll cook.” His voice grew softer, more hypnotic, as he stepped forward and pulled me into his chest. “Val, you’re the only woman I love. I swear to you, I will never agree to a divorce.” But I wanted out. I bit my tongue. For Finn’s second birthday, I would give him one last day of a whole family. Once the candles were blown out, we were done. Dominic spared no expense, turning the backyard into a carnival. He even posted a disgustingly sweet family photo of the three of us on his socials. But he underestimated how unhinged his little side piece truly was. The morning of the party, I walked out of the kitchen with a tray of drinks and froze. Standing dead center in our living room, surrounded by our guests, was Stella. She was wearing a skin-tight red dress, identical to the one from the video. She had Finn in her arms, smirking right at me. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I dropped the tray, glass shattering everywhere, and lunged at her. I ripped my son out of her grip. “What the hell are you doing here! Get out of my house!” My whole body was violently shaking as I clutched Finn to my chest. Because in that split second before I grabbed him, I saw the way her arms had swung back. She was getting ready to drop him. Dominic shoved through the crowd of confused relatives, his face ashen. He grabbed my elbow, hissing under his breath. “Val, stop overreacting.” I violently yanked my arm away. Tears burned my eyes. “Kick her out! It’s your son’s birthday! Why is your whore standing in my living room?” Dominic’s face darkened into a scowl. “Keep your voice down. She’s already here, I can’t just throw her out in front of everyone.” “Have you ever respected me for a single second of your life?” The stares of our family and friends were burning holes into my back. I felt completely exposed, like someone had peeled off my skin. Suddenly, the massive projector screen in the center of the room—which had been cycling through cute baby photos—went pitch black. When it flickered back to life, it wasn’t Finn. It was security footage of my stepmom beating me in our old kitchen. “Little tramp! Take it off! Let’s see the little slut you really are!” The abusive screams blasted through the surround sound speakers. The entire party went graveyard silent. I felt a phantom blade plunge straight through the top of my skull, nailing me to the floorboards. Dominic dropped his drink. He sprinted toward the media console, desperately yanking cords out of the wall. “Val, I swear it wasn’t me—” Of course it wasn’t him. I slowly turned my head toward Stella. She was smiling brightly, though she gave a mock-innocent shrug for the crowd. Every sound in the room faded into a dull ringing. I handed Finn to a paralyzed friend, and walked straight toward the red dress. While she was still grinning her victorious smile, I swung my arm with everything I had and cracked her across the face. “Ah!” She lost her footing and crashed backward into the glass wine cabinet. Bottles shattered, raining red wine and glass over her head. She tried to scramble up, but I planted my heel straight into her chest and kicked her back into the wreckage. “Enough!” Dominic roared, grabbing me from behind and throwing me backward. His grip was so brutal I thought my shoulder was going to pop out of its socket. He looked at Stella like she was a dying angel. I laughed, a broken, ugly sound, and slapped him square across the jaw. Dominic didn’t hit back. The veins in his neck just bulged as he absorbed the blow. Stella screeched, launching herself forward and shoving me hard in the chest. “Who the hell do you think you are! You want to play the victim in front of your little friends?” Stella screamed at the top of her lungs. “Look in the mirror! You’re the real homewrecker!” Dominic’s eyes widened in sheer panic. He lunged to cover her mouth.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440994”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Clutching the thin paper of my lab results, I took a deep breath. I forced a playful smile, telling Sebastian that I was pregnant. I joked that if he did not propose soon, my little secret was going to show. Instead of the joy I expected, a mocking smirk spread across Sebastian’s face. He casually leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Babe, stop joking around. You know I’m already married. How could I possibly propose to you?” My mind went completely blank. I stared at him, convinced my ears were ringing. Without missing a beat, Sebastian pulled a leather bound marriage certificate from his inner jacket pocket and tossed it onto the marble island. His name was printed right there as the groom. Beside it, the bride’s name was glaringly obvious. Raina Coburn. He crossed his arms, defending himself with absolute confidence. He told me he knew I loved him for who he was, not for some meaningless piece of paper. Then his tone shifted. He sighed, acting like the victim. He explained that Raina was different. If he did not give her the official title of wife, she would dump him and cut off his funding. Finally, he looked at me with this sickening, pleading expression. “Hazel, you love me so much. You wouldn’t want to see me heartbroken over a breakup, right?” Tears blurred my vision. My throat felt like it was closing up. “But I’m pregnant, Sebastian.” He just let out a indifferent hum. “Right. Go get that taken care of.” He walked over and patted my cheek as if I were a disobedient pet. “I already promised Raina. My firstborn has to be hers.” I looked at the man I had loved for years, sobbing uncontrollably. “Why are you doing this to me?” Sebastian rolled his eyes, looking completely bored. “Hazel, don’t you always say true love is about sacrifice? I have feelings for Raina now. What is the big deal about making a little sacrifice for me?” He leaned in closer. “If Raina and I break up, I’ll be miserable. Do you really want me to suffer? If you actually love me, you’ll tolerate my wandering eye.” The sheer audacity of his words made my stomach churn. I bit my lower lip hard enough to taste blood. “We are done. I want a breakup.” Sebastian froze for a second. Then he burst out laughing, a cruel, grating sound. “Break up? Sure. But you are still getting rid of that kid.” His utter lack of empathy paralyzed me. Seeing me go quiet, his arrogant smirk returned. “I knew you couldn’t actually leave me. Hazel, drop the fake outrage. If you pull a stunt like this again, I will actually dump you. And crying on your knees won’t save you.” My hands curled into tight fists. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms they broke the skin. I stared straight into his eyes, holding onto one last, desperate thread of hope. “This is a sick prank, isn’t it?” He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand reached out to gently stroke my jawline. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It had to be a prank. The Sebastian who loved me fiercely would never humiliate me like this. But a split second later, his hand slid down from my jaw and clamped around my throat. He squeezed, hard. I gasped in pain, my mouth opening on instinct. In that exact moment, Sebastian shoved a small pill to the back of my throat. It slid down my windpipe and dropped into my stomach before I could even process what was happening. I collapsed to my knees on the hardwood floor, clutching my neck, gagging and coughing violently. Tears streamed down my face, but nothing came up. “What did you just give me?” I choked out. Sebastian wiped his fingers on a napkin. “The abortion pill. Raina made it very clear. This problem needs to be flushed away.” My heart plummeted into an endless abyss. Within minutes, vicious cramps twisted my lower abdomen. Huge drops of cold sweat rolled down my forehead. I dragged myself into the bathroom, my body completely giving out. I collapsed onto the cold tiles. My head hit the porcelain toilet bowl with a sickening thud. Sebastian didn’t even check on me. From the living room, I could hear the loud, booming sound effects of his video game console. I was in so much physical and emotional agony that I couldn’t even cry anymore. Right then, my phone buzzed on the floor. It was a text. “Sweetheart, your father and I booked the main ballroom at The Belvedere Estate. Bring your boyfriend tonight.” I wiped a tear away with a trembling hand and typed back. “Mom, I’m coming alone. We broke up.” I had been abducted when I was five years old. It was only three days ago that I finally reunited with my biological parents. They had spent twenty years searching for me. When we finally met, they cried until they could barely breathe. That was also when I found out my real family possessed unimaginable wealth and power. My original plan was to let Sebastian propose today, and then bring him to meet my parents as my fiancé. Now, that dream was dead. The bathroom door was suddenly kicked open. Sebastian marched in, looking annoyed. “Is it out yet?” I refused to look at him. Without warning, he reached down and started ripping at my clothes. I fought back with everything I had left, but I was weak and bleeding. He overpowered me easily. I lay there in a pool of my own blood, trying uselessly to cover myself. Sebastian held his phone up, pointing the camera right at the gruesome scene. “Wifey, don’t worry. It’s gone. I saw it myself.” Raina’s shrill voice echoed from the speakerphone. “Send me the video, Seb. I need to show my friends so we know this little rat isn’t faking it.” She was going to leak the video. Blind panic surged through my veins. I forced myself up, lunging for his phone. But Sebastian just stepped back with a playful smirk. He treated me like a dancing monkey, snapping more photos of my pathetic, bloodstained state. Bitterness and despair choked me. “We loved each other for years, Sebastian. How can you be this evil?” His face went stone cold. “Do you have any idea what I went through for you? I begged Raina for months to let me keep you as a side piece. I didn’t throw you out on the street. I have been more than generous. Why are you so ungrateful?” A gut-wrenching sob tore from my throat. The room spun wildly, and I collapsed back into the blood. Raina giggled through the phone. “You know what, Seb? I finally get it. Hazel is just like that stray dog you took in a few years ago. I really shouldn’t be jealous of a dog, should I?” Sebastian immediately chimed in. “See how forgiving Raina is? Say thank you, Hazel.” I stayed dead silent. Sebastian actually stepped forward, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me hard. “Did you hear me?” I had just lost my baby. Every nerve in my body felt like it was being stabbed with needles. The shaking made me feel like my bones were snapping in half. Tortured by the pain, I squeezed two words through my teeth. “Thank you.” Sebastian finally looked satisfied. He dropped me back onto the bloody floor and walked out. Laying on those freezing tiles, the tears refused to stop. I had always known I was a foster kid. The family that took me in treated me like garbage. They beat me over the smallest things and starved me constantly. Sebastian was the one who noticed my bruises in high school. He started sneaking me portions of his own lunch every day. When the mean kids cornered me and called me a beggar, Sebastian threw punches to protect me. Once, I accidentally broke a plate while doing chores. My foster parents tied me up and beat me, screaming that I was worthless trash. When I didn’t show up to school for three days, Sebastian tracked down my address. He fought my foster parents to get to me. He was just a teenager. He got beaten black and blue, but he refused to back down until a neighbor finally called the cops. I thought about those memories constantly. My love for him was built on a foundation of profound gratitude. I gave him my soul. I gave him every penny I saved. I thought our bond was bulletproof. I never imagined he could become a monster. The bleeding was getting worse. A terrifying weakness washed over me. For a second, I thought it would be easier to just die right here on the floor. But then my biological parents flashed in my mind. They went through hell to find me. We had just found each other. I could not die. I had to survive for them. I dragged my fingers across the tile, desperately reaching for my phone to dial 911. But I was so weak I couldn’t even lift my arm. Just as my fingertips brushed the screen, heavy footsteps entered the room. Someone snatched the phone away. I tried to look up to see who it was, but the world went pitch black, and I passed out. When I opened my eyes again, the smell of cheap antiseptic burned my nose. I was lying in a rundown, back-alley clinic. Sebastian was sitting in a plastic chair next to the cot. He crossed his legs, a twisted smile on his lips. “Hazel, I saved your life again. Why are you always so ungrateful?” My voice was a raspy whisper. “How am I ungrateful?” He ignored my question. He turned to the shady doctor in the corner. “Are we done here? As long as she’s not bleeding out, she’s fine.” The doctor hesitated. “The bleeding has stopped for now, but she needs rest and…” Sebastian didn’t even let him finish. He grabbed my arm and violently yanked me off the cot. I stumbled, barely able to stand, as he dragged me outside and shoved me into the passenger seat of his car. “Where are we going?” I gasped. He didn’t say a word. The car ride was a dizzying, nauseating blur. When the engine finally cut off, I looked out the window. My breath hitched. The Belvedere Estate. This was the exact luxury venue where my parents were hosting their gala tonight. They were supposed to officially introduce me to high society. Why did Sebastian bring me here? Did he know about my parents? Before I could process anything, he dragged me out of the car by my wrist. He kicked open the heavy oak doors of a private VIP lounge. “Raina, I brought the trash.” My heart stopped. I was tossed onto the plush carpet. Sitting on the leather sofas were a dozen women dressed in couture gowns. Raina sat in the center, dripping in diamonds. When she saw me, she dramatically pulled her feet up onto the sofa, acting totally disgusted. “Seb, get this filthy woman away from me. I don’t want to look at her.” Sebastian grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Don’t be scared, babe. I’ve got her handled.” He glared down at me, his eyes full of venom. “Hazel, why did you go online and post rumors calling my wife a homewrecker?” I shook my head weakly. “I didn’t.” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who else would it be? Do you really think playing the victim works anymore?” He stood up tall, pulling out his marriage certificate for the entire room to see. “Raina and I are legally married. We are husband and wife. This clout-chaser here isn’t even a decent side piece. Don’t believe a word she says.” To prove his loyalty to his rich wife, Sebastian leaned down and slapped me hard across the face. My cheek burned, but I stayed glued to the floor. I didn’t even flinch. I decided that slap repaid the debt of him saving me back in high school. We were officially even. Raina walked over in her designer heels. She put on a fake crying voice for her friends. “Hazel, Seb and I are married. Why are you so obsessed with destroying my life?” “I didn’t post anything,” I muttered. Raina leaned down, whispering directly into my ear so the others couldn’t hear. “I know you didn’t, you idiot. I made those posts myself. I did it to make Seb hate you. I wanted him to drag you here and humiliate you.” She smirked. “Do you know why I chose this venue? There is a massive billionaire gala happening in the main ballroom tonight. All the elites are here. I am going to make sure everyone in this city knows you are a dirty mistress. You will never show your face in public again.” I stared at her, my eyes wide with shock at her pure malice. Suddenly, Raina shrieked. She threw herself backward and started sobbing. “Why did you bite me!” Sebastian lost his mind. He stepped forward and kicked me squarely in the stomach. I curled into a ball as he rained kicks down on me, treating my body like a punching bag to vent his rage. When he finally backed away to catch his breath, Raina’s wealthy friends swarmed me. They dumped cold iced lattes over my head. They tossed dirty napkins and trash on my clothes. They circled me like vultures, hurling insults. “You delusional gold-digger. You really thought you could marry into Sebastian’s level?” “He’s a VIP guest of Mr. Kensington tonight. You are nothing but street trash.” “Exactly. Look around you. This is The Belvedere. You don’t even belong in the parking lot.” In my hazy, pain-filled state, I felt like a teenager again, surrounded by the bullies at my old school. But the boy who used to stand in front of me was now the one leading the pack. Suddenly, one of Raina’s friends held up her phone. “Hey guys, look what I’ve got. It’s a video of this whore getting her abortion.” The entire group gasped and crowded around the screen. The video played my agonizing screams. But nobody in that room felt an ounce of pity. Their faces were twisted in pure disgust. One of them got so worked up she kicked me in the ribs. “You are disgusting. Trying to trap a man with a baby?” Another girl laughed. “Post it everywhere. Let’s make her famous so guys know to avoid her.” Pure terror gripped me. I scrambled up, desperately trying to snatch the phone, but someone shoved me from behind. Fingers grabbed at my clothes, tearing the fabric. Flashes went off everywhere as they recorded my humiliation. “Beat the homewrecker! Teach her a lesson!” they chanted. Running on pure adrenaline, I shoved through the circle of women and bolted for the lounge doors. But I barely made it into the grand hallway before they caught up to me. They pinned me against the marble wall, slapping me and shoving their cameras directly into my face. Through the gaps in the crowd, I locked eyes with Sebastian. He stood by the lounge door, watching me get torn apart without a single shred of emotion on his face. Just as my legs gave out, a booming voice echoed down the corridor, followed by heavy footsteps. A squad of men in dark suits forcefully shoved the screaming women aside. The girls immediately started cursing. “Mind your own business! Do you want to get sued?” “What, are you sleeping with this dirty mistress too?” “We’ll get you canceled along with her!” But Sebastian’s face instantly drained of all color. He practically sprinted down the hall, bowing his head in extreme submission. “Mr. Kensington! Good evening, sir. I’m Sebastian.” The powerful man didn’t even look at him. His eyes were locked on me. His chest heaved, and he looked like he was on the verge of breaking down in tears. I forced a weak, bloodstained smile. “Dad,” I whispered. “You’re here.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440993”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Memorial Day weekend. Brody, the frat bro who stole my wife years ago, posted a photo of an oceanfront villa in Cabo. The caption read: “Holiday getaway. Testing out the older woman flavor.” I took a screenshot and sent it to his current wife, who happened to be my ex-wife, Sissi. I added a sarcastic text. “Getting cheated on over the holidays. Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Minutes later, Sissi didn’t curse me out. Instead, she sent a live location in Cabo and a video. The video showed a luxury sedan with its windshield smashed to pieces. She sent one follow-up message. “Why don’t you check the plates and see who this belongs to.” My blood turned to ice. I took the red-eye flight. When I walked into the local precinct in Cabo, the first thing I saw was my fiancée, Jenny. The woman who was supposed to be working overtime at her corporate firm was currently wielding a plastic waiting room chair, screaming like a lunatic as she tried to swing it at Sissi. Hearing my footsteps, Jenny froze. This was the woman who had pulled me out of severe clinical depression. The woman who once put Sissi in the hospital just so I wouldn’t suffer. Yet right now, her first instinct was to pull a man behind her back, shielding him. I walked up to her, step by step. Looking at a face I knew down to the bone, I felt nothing but a terrifying strangeness. “You told me yesterday morning there was an emergency project,” I said. “You said you had to work through the weekend.” “Is this your new office, Jess?” “Of all the people you could protect, you chose Brody?” “You know exactly what he did to me five years ago. You swore you would make him pay!” Jenny slowly lowered the chair. She brushed the dust off her palms, refusing to meet my eyes. Instead, she stared at the blank precinct wall. “Paul, we’re all adults here. Things happen naturally,” she said. “There’s no need to make this so ugly.” I stood there, stung by her absolute indifference. “Ugly?” I echoed. “You booked a hotel room behind my back with the man who ruined the first half of my life, and you’re annoyed that I’m making things ugly?” Jenny tugged at her collar, dripping with impatience. “All you do is work and stare off into space. You’re completely lifeless,” she snapped. “You don’t have Brody’s spark. Any woman would feel suffocated around you.” Those words smashed into my face. Every illusion I ever held about her shattered into dust. Brody peeked out from behind her shoulder. “Artie, man, don’t blame Jess.” “It’s my fault. I got drunk and cried to her about how Sissi gives me the cold shoulder. You can hit me or yell at me, but please don’t fight with her over this.” Memories from five years ago crashed into my skull. The day I pushed open the master bedroom door, Brody had hidden behind Sissi the exact same way. Sissi had shoved me hard to protect him. I fell, cracking my head open on the nightstand, leaving a permanent scar. That was the day I sank into the swamp of severe depression. A suffocating weight crushed my chest. I gasped for air. Sissi leaned against the wall, wiping a trickle of blood from her forehead. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Jenny, you kept preaching about how much you loved Paul. In the end, you still climbed into my husband’s bed.” Jenny glared at Sissi, her face twisted with pure disdain. “Oh, save the victim act, Sissi,” Jenny spat. “You slept with Paul for years and tortured him until he was a ghost of a man. I just wanted a taste of your husband. I wanted you to know what it feels like to wear the horns. This is called karma.” I stared at Jenny, completely numb. The woman who pulled me back from the edge of the roof, who stayed up countless nights holding me through panic attacks, was utterly unrecognizable. Her closeness, her fierce protection, it was all tainted with a sick, twisted sense of possession and revenge. With a terrifying calm, I pulled the engagement ring off my finger and set it quietly on the officer’s metal desk. “The wedding is off, Jenny.” I turned and walked out the glass doors. Behind me, Brody’s voice echoed. “Jess, he left the ring! Go after him!” Jenny’s voice followed, dripping with arrogance. “Chase him? Why? Once he cools off, he’ll come crawling back.” “Besides, I need to comfort you right now.” I hailed a cab straight to the airport and bought the next ticket back to Seattle. Sitting in the departure lounge, my phone lit up. It was a photo from Brody. Jenny was fast asleep on crisp, white hotel sheets, looking completely at peace. A text followed. “Artie, your girl only plays the saint when you’re around. Deep down, she loves the thrill. I’ll give her back when I’m done with her.” My fingers flew across the keyboard. “Trash belongs in the dumpster. Only you would be thrilled to dig through my garbage.” I hit send and immediately blocked his number. Back at our shared downtown condo, I pulled out a box of heavy-duty trash bags. I ripped open the closet doors, yanked all of Jenny’s designer clothes off the hangers, and stuffed them in. I didn’t hesitate for a single second. I dragged every bag containing a trace of her existence out into the hallway. Just as I threw the last bag out, the elevator chimed. The doors slid open. My mother and my sister, Zoe, stepped out. Seeing the mountain of luggage, my mother’s face darkened instantly. “Paul, what kind of tantrum is this?” she scolded. “Jess is so good to you. You’re almost thirty, stop acting like a dramatic teenager! Are you trying to tear this family apart?” Zoe chimed in right on cue. “Seriously, Paul. Jess runs a massive company. Don’t be ungrateful. I graduate next month, and I’m counting on her to get me a management job!” Looking at the people who shared my blood, I felt a wave of profound sorrow. Years ago, when Sissi betrayed me, my depression was so severe I couldn’t sleep for days. My mother just watched me with cold eyes, calling me an ugly burden. She even tried to force me to give up my high-paying job so Zoe could have my salary for her college allowance. I survived those pitch-black days by waiting tables during the day and spending my meager tips on therapy at night. I crawled out of hell completely alone. From that moment on, I considered myself an orphan. I looked at my mother with eyes as cold as dead ash. “Jenny cheated on me,” I said flatly. “With Brody.” I thought hearing that name would trigger at least a fraction of shock. Instead, my mother blinked, then gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “People stray. It’s just a fling,” she said. “If you can’t keep your woman satisfied, who else is there to blame?” “Besides, Brody is highly connected now. He knows big investors. If he introduces your sister to the right people, her whole career is set.” “Just swallow your pride. Why do you have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?” The last fragile thread tying me to my family snapped entirely. I was about to shut the door when the elevator dinged again. Jenny practically tumbled out, gasping for air. She couldn’t get a flight, so she must have bought an overpriced train ticket and traveled all night. Seeing her belongings piled up like garbage, her face turned thunderous. I leaned against the doorframe, offering a merciless smirk. “Why the rush? Couldn’t bear to leave your boy toy in Cabo? Or did Sissi beat you so badly you had to run?” Seeing Jenny arrive, my mother and sister looked awkward. They muttered a quick excuse and scurried back into the elevator, fleeing the scene. The hallway was dead silent. Just the two of us. I stepped back inside, grabbed the divorce papers I had printed weeks ago for a prenup update, and crossed out a few lines. We had just signed our marriage certificate last month. The grand wedding was scheduled for next month. Now, there was no need. I slapped the papers against her chest. “Sign it.” Jenny didn’t even look at the document. She let it flutter to the floor. She refused to acknowledge the hotel room in Cabo, choosing instead to flip the script. “Can you stop being so irrational, Paul?” she demanded. “Throwing my stuff out in front of your mother and sister? Do you know how humiliating that is for me?” “Sissi kicked Brody out. He has nowhere to sleep. What’s wrong with me helping out a friend?” Listening to her righteous defense, I felt like I was losing my mind. Brody was the guy who stabbed me in the back our entire lives. He stole my homework in high school to win awards. He cut the brakes on my bike, breaking my leg. Because I had better grades, he secretly hacked the school portal to alter my college applications, costing me my university spot. I only found out about his sabotage when he showed up to sleep with Sissi. He ruined my life, and then he stole my wife. Jenny used to hold me in her arms, looking me in the eyes, swearing her loyalty. “I’m here now, Artie. Nobody will ever hurt you again. Whatever Brody took from you, I’ll make him pay back in blood.” Those promises were now nothing but a sick joke. Suppressing the fire in my chest, I pointed a finger squarely at her face. “Help him? You helped him into your bed!” “Brody is a pathetic little…” I never finished the sentence. A sharp, stinging slap echoed in the hallway. My head snapped to the side. My ears rang a high-pitched pitch. Jenny pulled her hand back, glaring at me with absolute fury. “Do not insult him like that!” The burning pain on my cheek was nothing compared to the bottomless, freezing abyss opening in my heart. Jenny stared at her own trembling hand. A flash of panic crossed her face. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching out to steady me. “Artie, I didn’t mean to. Just stop provoking me…” I slapped her hand away. With every ounce of strength I had, I swung my arm back and delivered a brutal, stinging backhand across her face. “You make me physically sick, Jenny!” I roared. “How good is Brody in bed that you women line up to pick up each other’s trash?” I lunged forward, completely unhinged. The sheer weight of years of repressed trauma erupted. Jenny didn’t fight back, taking the impact against her shoulders. The violent movement was too much. Black spots danced across my vision. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the hardwood floor, slipping into total darkness. When I opened my eyes again, the sharp scent of clinical bleach filled my lungs. I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV dripping fluids into my vein. Jenny stood at the foot of the bed. Her expression was darker than a thundercloud. Seeing me wake up, she offered zero comfort. Her voice was colder than liquid nitrogen. “You cheated on me.” My eyes went wide. “What kind of insane garbage are you talking about? When did I ever cheat on you?” Jenny let out a humorless scoff and tossed her phone onto my blanket. “Still denying it?” “Brody told me everything! You went to Seattle on a business trip last month. Sissi was in Seattle at the exact same time! Are you seriously going to tell me nothing happened?” My whole body shook with rage. “That was a corporate summit! Hundreds of tech companies were in that city! I didn’t even see her face!” Jenny wasn’t listening. Her mind was already made up. “How long were you going to play me?” she sneered. “You kept crying about how Brody framed you, but he showed me the medical records. He proved you were having psychotic episodes, hallucinating and attacking people like a rabid dog!” “I must have been blind to fall for your pathetic victim act for three years.” My breathing turned ragged. My chest ached with a suffocating pressure. Once trust collapses, every explanation sounds like a cover-up. She would rather believe the man who lied through his teeth than the husband who had slept beside her for three years. Looking down at me like I was a stranger, Jenny delivered her ultimatum. “I’m giving you one week to think about this.” “Clean up your mess. In six months, I’ll consider coming back to this marriage. Otherwise, I’ll see you in court.” She spun around, slammed the hospital door shut, and walked away. The room fell back into a dead, hollow silence. Two days later, I forced myself out of bed and dragged my aching body into the office. The second I stepped into the bullpen, I noticed my desk was entirely cleared out. My framed photos, my mugs, my notes, everything was shoved carelessly into a cardboard box on the floor. My coworkers shot me looks filled with pity and twisted amusement. I didn’t yell. I didn’t make a scene. I walked calmly toward HR to demand my termination paperwork. As I passed the executive suites, my department director walked out, laughing and fawning over a man in a tailored suit. It was Brody. The director caught sight of me and immediately put on a nasty sneer. “Paul, you actually have the nerve to show your face?” he mocked. “I reported your unexcused absences. Corporate decided to terminate you effectively immediately. Grab your trash and get out. You’re blocking our new Regional Manager.” Brody strolled up to me, adjusting his cuffs. “Sorry about this, Artie. Took your spot,” he said smoothly. “But what can I say? Jess is the majority shareholder of this firm.” “I casually mentioned I was bored and needed a gig, and she handed me your department.” I snapped my head up, staring at her empty office in pure shock. Jenny was the majority shareholder? For three years, I bled for this company. I worked overnight pulling together pitch decks. Every time a promotion came up, the director gave me some corporate excuse and handed the title to someone else. I used to come home exhausted, crying to Jenny about the unfairness of the corporate ladder. She would rub my back so gently, telling me to be patient, promising that hard work always pays off. She had the power all along. She held the leash. My heart turned into a block of ice. My eyes drifted down. I suddenly noticed a braided red string wrapped around Brody’s wrist. It was a handmade bracelet. I had woven it myself for our three-year anniversary, placing it on Jenny’s wrist. She swore on her life she would never take it off. Pure, unadulterated fury snapped the last wire in my brain. I lunged forward, grabbing the bracelet and ripping it downward. “Take that off! You don’t have the right to touch it!” Brody immediately let out an exaggerated, theatrical yelp. “Ah! Jesus, Artie! What is wrong with you!” He threw his weight backward, pretending to fall. Out of nowhere, a figure rushed past me. Jenny threw her arms around Brody to catch him, simultaneously shoving me hard in the chest. “Paul! Are you completely insane!” The brutal force of her push threw me off balance. I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the carpet. I went down hard. The sharp corner of a mahogany desk caught me right in the lower back. Blinding, agonizing pain shredded through my nervous system. I slid to the floor, feeling a warm, thick liquid dripping down the back of my head. Gasps erupted across the office. Jenny froze. She stared at the pooling blood on the carpet, all the color draining from her face. I lay in my cheap rental apartment for a full month. During that time, Brody practically lived on Instagram, flaunting his new luxury lifestyle. In the comment sections, Jenny and Sissi were tearing each other apart, fighting over him like wild dogs. Both of them ended up in the ER after a physical brawl at a country club. Watching their circus act, I felt nothing but a dark, cynical amusement. A month later, as the sun set, Jenny finally unlocked the door to our old condo. The place was completely hollow. Stripped of all life. She walked into the living room, annoyed, until her eyes landed on the glass coffee table. Sitting right in the center was the divorce agreement. My signature was already inked at the bottom.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440992”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 A sudden car crash left me lying on the operating table. The moment the anesthesia failed, I opened my eyes in agonizing pain. The lead surgeon standing over me was my husband, Dr. Roe Hayes. His face showed absolutely no surprise. His voice was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “The people who hit you were your parents,” he said. The words pierced my heart like an ice pick. I trembled, trying to demand an answer, but he didn’t even blink. The cold surgical instruments moved inside me. His voice carried a sick sense of vindictive pleasure. “A year ago, you caused my sister to miscarry. She almost died.” “Now, I am personally removing your three-month-old fetus. Consider us even.” When he held up that tiny, unformed embryo right before my eyes, the reality of what I had just lost finally hit me. A gut-wrenching, soul-tearing hatred surged up my throat, only to be swallowed by a deeper, physical agony. He ordered the nurse to dispose of the tiny life, then turned back to me, his tone conversational. “We either get a divorce so I can openly give her the happiness she deserves…” Seeing my face covered in tears, he added one final condition. “…Or we stay married, but you must accept me taking care of her. You are never allowed to cause her trouble again.” Those words were the final straw that crushed my already snapping nerves. My vision went black, and I passed out entirely. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital recovery room. Roe was sitting by the bed, holding a steaming bowl of chicken soup. His gentle tone made it seem like the nightmare in the operating room had never happened. “I made this for Chloe. She couldn’t finish it, so she told me to bring it to you to help you recover.” Hearing the tenderness when he said the name Chloe snapped me back to reality. A wave of nausea hit me. I violently slapped the hot soup away. “Tell me,” I rasped. “When did the two of you start sleeping together?” The bowl shattered on the floor, the scalding liquid burning the back of my hand. Roe slowly wiped the spilled broth from his scrubs. His expression shifted to one of cold amusement. “Hard to say. If you mean the first time we slept together, that was a year ago on our wedding anniversary. Right there in my office. For as long as you kept calling my phone, we kept going.” A loud ringing exploded in my ears. My mind went completely blank. So that night, they had been together the entire time. No wonder I called him dozens of times and he never picked up, only texting back hours later saying he had just gotten out of surgery. I thought he was saving lives. I didn’t blame him. I even brought him late-night takeout. Not long after that, my younger sister, Chloe, was beaten so badly she miscarried after being caught sleeping with a married man. She called me for help. Worried about her reputation, I quietly paid off the angry wife and stayed by Chloe’s side in the hospital until she was discharged. It was exactly after her surgery that Roe’s attitude toward me turned freezing cold. He constantly used being “on-call” as an excuse to not come home for days. Our intimacy dropped from three times a week to me begging just to get his attention once. I thought the distance was just because we were both so busy with our careers. So, I gave up my chance to be promoted to regional manager. I became a stay-at-home wife, dedicating my life to taking care of him. People laughed at me for throwing away my career, but I did it willingly because I loved him. I thought if I just tried harder, our marriage would go back to how it used to be. I never imagined his heart had already been given to someone else—and that someone was my own sister. He had even murdered my deeply longed-for child just for her. I stared dead at Roe, my throat so raw I could barely make a sound. “I’m so sorry, Val!” My sister, Chloe, suddenly burst into the hospital room. With red, teary eyes, she threw herself at the side of my bed, intentionally pressing her hands down hard onto my fresh surgical wound through the blankets. “It’s all my fault! I didn’t mean to hurt you…” Roe immediately reached out to support her, his eyes softening to absolute tenderness. But when he looked at me, his gaze turned to pure ice. “Don’t blame her. She begged me to keep this a secret forever. I just couldn’t stand seeing her suffer in silence anymore. I want to give her a real future.” My heart felt like it was being ripped apart by bare hands. The pain made it impossible to breathe. With bloodshot eyes, I screamed. “What suffering?! I didn’t cause her miscarriage!” “You want to give her a future, so you personally murder our baby?!” The moment the words left my mouth, Roe’s eyes turned lethal. His voice dripped with mockery. “Valerie, why are you playing the victim? Three years ago, when my career was on the line, you left a divorce agreement on the table and vanished without a trace. I never blamed you for that, did I?” 2 I froze in place. Roe continued, his face devoid of emotion. “Back then, it was Chloe who went through hell to get that audio recording to prove my innocence. She was almost pushed off a balcony and killed for it. And when it was all over, it was Chloe who flew to Europe with me to help me recover mentally. You didn’t even ask if I was okay. So what victim are you pretending to be now?” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Memories from three years ago rushed back. Roe had been maliciously sued by a patient’s family, who claimed he intentionally let the patient die because they didn’t pay him a bribe. His reputation was destroyed, and he was facing prison time. To clear his name, I secretly tracked down the family. While arguing with them, I managed to secretly record them admitting they had fabricated the entire story. But as I tried to leave, they realized what I had done and pushed me down a flight of concrete stairs. I broke my leg and lost the baby I had just found out I was carrying. The doctors told me I might walk with a limp forever and that it would be incredibly difficult for me to ever get pregnant again. I didn’t want to drag Roe down, and I didn’t want him to spend the rest of his life feeling guilty because of what happened to me. So, I gave the flash drive with the recording to Chloe, asking her to hand it over to him. I also signed a divorce agreement, telling her to give it to him if things got too hard. Then, I quietly left the city to hide in a rehab clinic. During those two months of painful physical therapy, Roe never tried to contact me. I assumed he was buried in legal battles. It wasn’t until I finally healed and went home that I found out his name had been cleared weeks ago. He was just vacationing in Europe. I didn’t want to ruin his trip, so I chose to keep my injuries a secret. When he returned, he never brought it up. I thought the lawsuit had traumatized him so much that we were just silently agreeing to leave the past behind. But the truth was, while I was doing agonizing physical therapy just so I could walk back into his arms, Chloe had stolen the credit for saving his life. She stayed by his side day and night. And he—without ever even asking me for the truth—had started hating me to his core. I remembered the day we got married. He held my hands and said, “I will stand by you unconditionally for the rest of my life. I will always believe in you. No matter what happens, nothing will ever tear us apart.” The metallic taste of blood rose in my throat. I lifted my red-rimmed eyes to look at Chloe. “How was your miscarriage my fault? You were the one who slept with a married…” “Ugh!” Chloe suddenly let out a dramatic gag, cutting me off. Roe immediately tensed, holding her by the shoulders. “Are you feeling sick again?” Suddenly, I realized what was happening. “You’re pregnant?” Chloe immediately chimed in. “I’m sorry, Val. I’m carrying Roe’s baby…” Roe nodded without an ounce of shame. “Two months. Twins. I’m having Chloe move into the house so I can take care of her and the babies properly. That nursery you set up will be put to good use.” I had designed that nursery myself. Every piece of furniture, every stuffed animal, I had picked out by hand. I had fantasized countless times about the baby Roe and I would share. And now, I was watching him have children with my own sister. I practically coughed up blood. My voice was a broken rasp. “What about our baby? Roe, that was your own flesh and blood too!” Roe didn’t even blink. “That worthless mistake is already in the biohazard bin.” 3 Those cold words stabbed through my heart like rusted knives. I remembered all the times Roe had whispered in my ear, “Val, I want a baby with you so badly.” Yet he had murdered my child, just so he couldn’t wait to let Chloe carry his. An immense wave of grief and rage swallowed me whole. I grabbed the heavy glass vase from the nightstand and hurled it at them with everything I had. “Get out! Both of you, get the hell out!” As the vase shattered, Roe instinctively pulled Chloe into his arms to shield her from the glass. He turned his head to glare at me, his eyes piercingly cold. “If you can’t handle it, sign the divorce papers. Your parents are already pushing me to marry Chloe as soon as possible. They’ve even picked out names for the twins.” I suddenly remembered what he had said in the operating room: The people who hit you were your parents. So, my parents had known about their affair this entire time. The people I loved most in the world had all betrayed me. It was a pain so absolute, I couldn’t even force out a single tear. I screamed until my voice gave out, chasing them out of the room. I curled into a ball under the thin hospital blanket, shivering violently. The next day, my parents came to the hospital. My father’s tone was harsh and commanding. “What kind of older sister are you? Chloe has always been weaker than you since she was in the womb! Because of you, she lost a baby and almost had to get her uterus removed! Now that she finally has a chance at happiness with Roe, you refuse to divorce him? Are you trying to kill her again?” My mother wiped away fake tears. “They say twins have a telepathic connection, that they’re the closest people in the world. How can your heart be so vicious?” There was no wind in the hospital room, but a freezing chill seeped straight into my bones. I laughed. I laughed until tears finally streamed down my face. “Oh, so you remember we’re twins? I was born exactly three minutes before her! When we were kids, you forced me to let her have everything. Now you expect me to give her my husband too?” “But she is the younger sister! You can’t change that fact!” my mother raised her voice, acting indignant. “If you don’t divorce him, who are Chloe’s babies supposed to call Dad? Do you want her and her children to live in the shadows forever?” “So, you ran me over with your car? Just to clear the way for her? Why didn’t you just kill me?” The moment the words left my mouth, dead silence filled the room. There wasn’t a single trace of guilt on their faces—only annoyance. I clenched my teeth. “I will never sign those papers. I want her to live in the shadows forever. I want her kids to be known as illegitimate bastards!” Smack! My father slapped me hard across the face. “Ungrateful bitch! If I knew you were this toxic, I would have strangled you the minute you were born!” My cheek burned, but the pain in my chest was worse. Five years ago, when my father was hospitalized with liver cancer, I starved myself for a month to lose twenty pounds so I could donate a piece of my liver to save his life. I thought if I sacrificed enough, I could finally earn my parents’ love. But it was never enough. They always wanted more. They wanted to drain my blood and eat my flesh. Seeing I wasn’t backing down, my mother pretended she was going to faint, and my father raised his hand to hit me again. I looked at them one last time. My heart finally died. “Fine. I’ll sign it. I’ll go pack my things today, and from now on, you are no longer my parents.” If I couldn’t have it, I didn’t want any of it. I returned to the house I shared with Roe. As soon as I walked through the front door, I heard sickeningly explicit groans coming from the nursery. “Roe… what if Val catches us in here…” Roe’s voice was thick with lust. “Hold on tighter, baby… Let her find out. Whether she signs the papers or not, you are the only woman I will ever love.” A tidal wave of memories crashed over me. When we first met at the hospital, it was love at first sight for Roe. Known as the untouchable, elite surgeon, he acted like he was addicted to me. To win me over, he cooked and delivered meals to my office every day. The first thing he did after a fourteen-hour surgery was drive to see me. He dropped to one knee at a crowded concert to propose, begging me to stay by his side for the rest of his life. He made me believe in love. He made me think I was his only exception. Suddenly, a weak whimper pulled me back to reality. I followed the sound. It was my six-year-old golden retriever, Buster. He was lying on the floor, a massive pool of blood around his mouth. He was taking shallow, ragged breaths. “Buster…” I dropped to my knees to pick him up and rush him to the vet. But he just looked at me one last time, let out a soft sigh, and stopped breathing in my arms. He had been waiting for me. He waited until he saw me, and then he let go. My mind went completely blank. A soul-shredding agony ripped away the last of my sanity. I kicked the nursery door open. The two of them scrambled apart in panic. Before I could even step forward, Chloe acted as if I had terrified her. She deliberately threw herself backward onto the hardwood floor, letting out a piercing scream and clutching her stomach. “Roe! My stomach hurts so much! The babies… my babies!” Roe’s face went pale. “Don’t panic, I’m taking you to the hospital right now!” He spun around wildly, grabbing clothes off the floor. While his back was turned, Chloe suddenly stopped screaming. She looked at me and flashed a sinister, triumphant smile. “So what if I kicked your stupid dog to death, Val?” she whispered. “All it takes is one word from me, and your baby is dead. You really think you can beat me?” 4 Looking at that face that was nearly identical to my own, the blood rushed to my head. “You psychotic bitch!” I lunged forward, reaching out to wrap my hands around her throat. But before I could even touch her, Roe delivered a brutal kick right into my stomach. “Are you insane?! She’s bleeding and you’re still trying to kill her?! It was just a damn dog!” The dog wasn’t important. The babies were. And I wasn’t. The force of his kick was massive. I was essentially launched backward, crashing hard against the floor. The fresh surgical stitches on my stomach ripped open. Blood poured out, soaking my shirt. Roe looked down at the blood spreading across my stomach. For a fraction of a second, a flash of hesitation crossed his eyes. But then Chloe started screaming again. “Roe… it hurts so much…” “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you!” He didn’t look at me again. He scooped Chloe into his arms and bolted out the door. By the time he reached the front yard, a crowd of nosy neighbors had already gathered, whispering and holding up their phones to record. Roe didn’t slow down. He shoved through the crowd and carried her away. Through the blurry haze of pain, I saw Chloe peek over his shoulder, giving me one last victorious smirk. I tried to push myself off the floor, but a blinding wave of pain ripped through my abdomen. I collapsed and lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I was tied to a bed in a beachfront vacation cabin. It was the property Roe had bought in my name, a place he used to bring me when he took time off work. But right now, I was hogtied on the mattress. Standing in front of me were three overweight men, covered in disgusting sores and pustules, staring at me like hungry wolves. In the corner of the room, a camera on a tripod was pointed directly at the bed. Realizing what was about to happen, my entire body began to violently shake. I looked toward the doorway, where Roe was standing, his face entirely devoid of emotion. “Roe, what the hell are you doing? No matter what happened, I am still your wife…” This was the man who swore he would support me unconditionally, who promised he would always be on my side. But when he opened his mouth, his voice was dripping with venom. “Valerie, not only did you cause Chloe to almost lose the babies, but you let the neighbors film the whole thing. Now it’s all over the internet. She’s getting cyberbullied. You don’t deserve to be her sister!” “Three years ago, after what you did to me, I never abandoned you! I even thought that if you refused to sign the divorce papers, I would just let it go. We could stay married, even if it was just on paper. But what did you do? Is this how you repay my mercy?” “These three men are patients I pulled from an infectious disease ward… Don’t worry, I won’t let them actually r*pe you. I’m just having them pose with you. We’ll take some photos and post them online. I want you to experience the exact same pain Chloe is feeling. I want you to know what it feels like to have your dignity dragged through the mud.” Seeing him turn to leave, I suddenly remembered something. A year ago, when Chloe was hospitalized for her miscarriage, a man came to visit her. That man was one of Roe’s colleagues from the surgical department! I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Chloe played you, Roe! A year ago, she didn’t get hit by a car! She was caught sleeping with a married man and the man’s wife beat the baby out of her! That man was your coworker! And three years ago, I didn’t abandon you, I—” “Shut up! You literally ran her over, and now you have the nerve to frame her?!” Roe looked at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. “You walked out on me when I needed you most, Valerie. You have no heart!” As I stared at him in sheer disbelief, he delivered the final, fatal blow. “By the way, I had your mother skin that dog of yours and boil it into a stew for Chloe. Dog meat is highly nutritious for pregnant women.” Boom. My brain completely shut down. Buster had been with me for six years. When Roe and Chloe were vacationing in Europe and I was home alone recovering from broken bones and a lost pregnancy, Buster was the only one who stayed by my side. I could see his little head resting on my knees. I could see every moment of the last five years I had spent with Roe. The pain was so excruciating it felt like I was being sliced alive. After Roe walked out the door, the three men lunged toward the bed. “All those stuck-up bitches think we’re disgusting… We haven’t had a taste of a real woman in years…” My scalp prickled with terror. “Roe told you to just take pictures!” “Yeah, well, your sister gave us different orders. She said if we’re gonna put on a show, we might as well make it real. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you enjoy it.” I shook violently, screaming for help, but Roe was already gone. Just as they ripped my shirt, my hand brushed against a heavy glass lamp on the nightstand. I grabbed it and smashed it directly into the face of the closest man. While the other two recoiled in shock, I scrambled off the bed, sprinted out of the room, and bolted out the front door. By the side of the road, Roe was opening the door to his SUV. Behind me, the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer. I opened my mouth to scream for Roe, but before I could make a sound, I saw Chloe lean out of the passenger side window. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they kissed deeply. Despair crashed over me like a tidal wave. I thought of my murdered child. My dead dog. My parents who sold me out. And the man who had just died in my heart. I knew I couldn’t outrun those men. And honestly, I didn’t want to run anymore. Without a second of hesitation, I turned sharply and sprinted straight toward the jagged cliff edge. The roaring ocean crashed against the rocks below. I spread my arms and threw myself into the void. In the moment of freefall, I thought I heard Roe’s voice, screaming with a completely raw, desperate agony. “Valerie! No!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440991”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

They all say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. For thirty years, I believed them. Every single day, I’d craft new dishes for my husband, David. His stomach was weak, so I was careful with every pinch of salt. Then came the storm. I saw him with my own eyes, his arm wrapped around his old flame, Linda, in a cheap diner, the two of them lovingly sharing a single ice cream cone. I returned home, soaked to the bone, only to stumble upon his hidden medical report: stomach cancer. So, not only had he betrayed me, but he was also planning to let me wither away by his side, none the wiser, so he could cash in my life insurance and run off with her. The worst part? The absolute joke of it all? He had the audacity to ask Linda to learn my recipes, to “take over for me” when I was gone. Fine. If he wanted to eat from two kitchens, I’d be more than happy to plan his menu. If Linda made him crab, I’d serve a rich tomato stew. If she seared him lamb chops, I’d prepare a refreshing watermelon salad. Let’s just see how long his broken body could take it. 1 After I retired, I started posting videos of my cooking online. My followers always said a talent like mine shouldn’t be confined to a home kitchen. Last month, someone recommended an international culinary competition. All expenses paid, a trip around the world, a huge cash prize for the winner, and even funding to open your own restaurant. It was an incredible offer, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. But my hand hovered over the application page for what felt like an eternity. I just couldn’t bring myself to click. My husband, David, had a terribly weak stomach. He needed constant, meticulous care. For thirty years, my carefully prepared meals were the only thing keeping him going. Without me, he wouldn’t have made it this long. I treated him like a king, but he treated me like the hired help. If a dish was too salty or too bland, if the porridge was too thick or too thin, he’d throw his chopsticks down and demand I remake it. For his health, I endured it. For thirty years. This morning, he surprised me by asking me to buy a chicken to make a broth. A warmth spread through my chest. He never liked chicken soup—but I loved it. And today was my birthday. But just as I bought the chicken, the sky opened up in a torrential downpour. I quickly called him, but he just screamed at me. “You idiot! Can’t you do one simple thing right?” He hung up. The little warmth I’d felt was instantly extinguished. I ran home through the rain, but my feet froze when I saw the diner downstairs. There was David, huddled under a single umbrella with his old flame, Linda, the two of them cooing as they shared an ice cream cone. David wrapped his arm around her. “I had the old woman make you some chicken soup. I’ll bring it over tonight to help you warm up.” Linda pouted playfully. “Who wants chicken soup? I want soda and ice cream. I want to be your sweet little baby.” “Of course,” he cooed back. “You’ll always be my sweet little baby.” I stood there in the pouring rain, smelling the stale cooking oil on my clothes and looking at the blisters on my hands. In that moment, I finally understood just how foolish I’d been for thirty years. When I got home, I was soaked through, but I didn’t bother changing. I went straight to the bedroom and started packing. The competition organizers had said there was a flight tonight. Just then, David walked in. As always, his first words to me were, “Hurry up and make dinner.” I ignored him, continuing to pack my suitcase. When he saw I wasn’t moving, his voice rose. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you! Did you get the chicken? Get in there and make the soup!” I zipped my suitcase shut and finally looked up at him. “I’m leaving. The house is all yours.” He stared at me for a second, then his face twisted in anger. “What’s gotten into you? So I didn’t pick you up in the rain, and now you’re throwing a fit? I was busy helping a friend!” 2 I stared at the corner of his mouth, where a faint smear of ice cream remained. “A friend? What friend?” He licked his lips reflexively. “Just an old friend. You wouldn’t know her.” “The doctor said your spleen is weak. You can’t have cold things. Next time you and Linda have a date, maybe you should eat something else.” With that, I grabbed my suitcase to leave, but he lunged forward and seized my arm. “You were following me! Have you no shame?” I ripped my arm from his grasp. “You’re asking me about shame?” He faltered for a moment, then, unbelievably, he smirked. “Yeah, I saw Linda. So what? Can’t old friends catch up? Why are you so damn paranoid?” I looked at his smug, uncaring face and remembered the time I’d served him soup that was slightly too cool. He’d slammed his bowl on the table and screamed at me all night. Now, to please Linda, he was ignoring his doctor’s orders. Suddenly, the fire in my chest fizzled out. It felt like even being angry was a waste of energy. I didn’t say another word. I just picked up my suitcase and walked out of that house without looking back. On the way to the airport, he called me relentlessly. I ignored every call. A few minutes later, my son called. “Mom, what are you doing? Where are you going to go without Dad? I’m out of state, I can’t take care of you!” “Don’t worry,” I said flatly. “I won’t be a burden to you.” I had just hung up when my daughter’s call came through. I sighed, speaking before she could. “I already told you, you don’t need to worry about me!” There was a pause. “Mom, what are you talking about? I got a raise, and I wanted to take you out for a nice dinner. It’s your birthday.” Hearing her words, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I poured out all the hurt and humiliation from the day. The line was quiet for a few seconds. “Mom,” she said, her voice firm. “You go. Don’t worry about a thing. Even if you lose the competition, it doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of you from now on.” I clutched the phone tighter, a wave of relief washing over me. At least I still had my daughter. “I promise you, honey, I’m going to win. You just wait for me.” At the airport, the texts from David started flooding in: “You’re sixty years old, stop acting like a child! It was just a damn ice cream cone! Get back here and make dinner, I’m starving!” I was done with his nonsense. I turned off my phone. But as I reached the gate, a staff member stopped me. “Ma’am, airline policy requires passengers over sixty to present a recent health report before boarding.” “But I’m in perfect health! Look, I can carry this heavy suitcase with no problem. I’m fine, really.” “I’m sorry, but it’s the rule.” The competition organizer tried to help. “There’s another flight tomorrow morning. Why don’t you go home and get the report?” I gazed at the boarding gate and sighed heavily. Fine. One more night. As soon as the sun came up, I would be free. I heard the sound of laughter as I approached my front door. When I pushed it open, the scene inside made me freeze. David and Linda were on my bed, their clothes in disarray. Linda scrambled to her feet, frantically straightening her shirt. “Susan, don’t get the wrong idea! I was just making David some dinner. You should have some, too.” I let out a cold laugh. “No, thank you. I’m afraid I might catch something.” “What the hell are you talking about?” David snapped. “If it wasn’t for Linda, I would have starved! You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here! I thought you were so tough.” I ignored him and started searching for my health report. He kept yelling. “Since you’re back, you better start behaving! You pull that face with me again, and you won’t see a single penny from me!” Linda awkwardly picked up her purse. “Well, since Susan’s back, I should probably get going.” 3 David rushed to see her out. I heard their hushed voices from the doorway. “David, you should go check on her,” Linda whispered. “I think she’s looking for that health report.” “Let her find it! Maybe when she sees she has terminal stomach cancer, she’ll finally shut up and stay by my side where she belongs.” “What do you mean? You mean you still have feelings for her?” “Of course not! While she’s alive, she’s a free maid. When she’s dead, I get a fat insurance payout. I’m going to use her until there’s nothing left!” I stared at the report in my hands. My own name, my own diagnosis: mid-stage stomach cancer. My mind went blank, and my hands started to tremble uncontrollably. The man I had painstakingly cared for for thirty years didn’t just see me as a free maid. He was actively waiting for me to die. I looked at the pot of chicken soup still simmering on the stove, and a cold resolve settled over me. If that’s how he wanted to play it, then I would stay. And I would put my heart and soul into every single meal I made from now on. The moment David walked back in, I ladled a bowl of chicken soup and placed it in front of him. “Drink this while it’s hot. I even added a few slices of ginseng for you.” He eyed me with suspicion. “What’s this all about?” I let out a soft sigh. “You’re right, I overreacted today. It was foolish to make such a scene over an ice cream cone.” A smug grin spread across his face. “It’s about time you came to your senses. Besides, where would you go without me?” My voice cracked as I replied, “You’re right. At my age, where else could I go? This house is all I have.” I pushed the soup towards him. He took it and drank the entire bowl in one gulp. I reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth, but he shoved my hand away. “Pathetic. From now on, just stick to your cooking and stay out of my business.” I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to put my heart into every meal.” As the words left my mouth, he clutched his stomach. “Ow! Why does my stomach suddenly hurt so much?” Watching him stumble towards the bathroom, I clenched the empty bowl in my hands. Ginseng and ice cream. That was just the appetizer. David, your reckoning is coming. From the day I “surrendered,” David became even more brazen. At first, he would meet Linda in secret. Now, he brought her right into our home. “You need to teach Linda how to cook properly,” he told me, his tone matter-of-fact. “That way, when you’re gone, she can take over for me.” I gripped the spatula so hard my nails dug into my palm. The old bastard! I wasn’t even dead yet, and he was already training my replacement. Linda chimed in with a sickeningly sweet smile. “David always says what an amazing cook you are. If you teach me, I can help out and you can finally get some rest.” The old me would have sent them packing with a hot pan. But now, I just smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’d be happy to. Just tell me what you want to learn.” And so, David began eating from two kitchens. He’d have lunch at Linda’s, then come home for the dinner I prepared. On the first day, I taught Linda how to make spicy crab. That evening, I served him a hearty beef and tomato stew. On the second day, I showed her how to pan-sear lamb chops. For dinner, I made a chilled watermelon and lotus seed soup. On the third day, I taught her a simple spinach stir-fry. That night, I made him scrambled eggs with loofah squash. In just three days, David’s face turned as sallow as old newspaper. He spent most of his time clutching the toilet, moaning in pain. The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with him, just advised him to watch his diet and avoid street food. Hearing this, David became even more dedicated to eating our home-cooked meals. 4 A week later, he was nothing but skin and bones. That day, Linda stewed beef for him. I, on the other hand, prepared only a small plate of sugar-roasted chestnuts. When he came home that night, he slammed his briefcase down and flew into a rage. “The doctor told me I need to eat well to protect my stomach, and this is the crap you serve me?” I slowly peeled a chestnut, my voice low. “Do you remember what day it is?” “What day?” “It’s our thirtieth wedding anniversary.” I pushed the peeled chestnut towards him. “The day we got our marriage license, you peeled them for me just like this. You said our life together would always be as sweet as these chestnuts.” He scoffed, his face a mask of impatience. “We’re almost seventy. You really think I have time for this sentimental garbage? Just go make some real food!” I rose slowly, my eyes locked on his. “Do you know why you’ve been having such terrible diarrhea lately?” “Spicy crab with tomato stew. Seared lamb with watermelon soup. It was all part of a menu I carefully designed, just for you.” He shot to his feet, stumbling back a few steps. “What are you saying? You’ve been poisoning me?” I just stared at him in silence. He scrambled to the sink and began to retch violently. “You venomous bitch! I’m calling the police!” A cold smile touched my lips. “Go ahead. Call them right now.” I slapped the life insurance policy down on the table. “Let’s have the police see who bought a massive policy on me. Let them see who deliberately hid my cancer diagnosis from me. Let them see who’s been praying for me to die every single day!” He stared at me for a few seconds, and then a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “So, you know. No point in hiding it anymore.” “That’s right, I’m waiting for you to die. But I didn’t give you terminal cancer. You can only blame your own bad luck for that.” “I suggest you go back to being a good little wife and taking care of me. You wouldn’t want to make this a bigger mess, would you? If you’re good, I might even buy you a nice burial plot.” I looked at his disgusting face and started to laugh. I pulled another health report from my bag and laid it in front of him. “Such a shame. I went back to the hospital a few days ago. Turns out, they made a mistake. They mixed up our names on the reports. The one with stomach cancer is you, David. Not me.” He snatched the report, his hands trembling as he read it. His face drained of all color. After a long moment, he looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear. “What are you going to do to me?” “You have terminal cancer. Do I really need to do anything? The divorce papers are on the table. I’ve already signed them.” “I’d suggest you call your dear Linda to take care of you. After all, your little pension won’t be enough to hire a nurse.” “Susan,” he whispered, his voice pleading. “You’re joking, right? This is a joke.” I let out a final, cold laugh, picked up my suitcase, and walked out of the house. He screamed my name behind me, but I didn’t turn back. This time, with a clean bill of health in my hand, I passed through security without a problem. But just as I was about to step onto the jet bridge, two police officers stopped me. “Are you Ms. Susan Clark? We’ve received a report that you are a suspect in an attempted murder. Please come with us.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440990”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel