1 In the fourth year of my long-distance relationship with Nolan Price, he suddenly became clingy. Before going to the lab, he would report his schedule to me in advance. If he came across a good milk tea, he would share it with me. Even when he went out for a meal with friends, he would take photos and send them to me. But after listening, my roommate and self-proclaimed relationship strategist said with absolute certainty: “Your boyfriend is cheating.” “Telling you what he’s busy with in advance is his way of hinting that you shouldn’t call.” “When he goes out to eat and only photographs the food, not the people, it’s absolutely because someone special is sitting beside him.” “And wait, didn’t you tell me before that your boyfriend never drinks milk tea?” I refused to believe it. During the long weekend, I dragged my suitcase across half the country to Nolan’s university. And there, I saw a girl take a sip of milk tea, shove it into Nolan’s hand, and complain: “Too sweet. Gross.” The next second, a message from Nolan popped up on my phone. [Tried a new milk tea flavor today. It’s sweet. You’d probably like it.] [When you come visit, I’ll buy it for you.] … “Nolan Price, you promised today was all mine. And you’re secretly playing with your phone again?” The girl snatched his phone and spoke fiercely. “I’m confiscating it.” Nolan smiled, pressed his palms together, and begged. “Please, Your Highness. Let me send one last message, then I’ll go eat with you. Give it back, okay?” “Fine. Two minutes.” [Tara, my adviser is keeping me in the lab again this afternoon, so I can’t video call. Don’t miss me too much.] Seeing that ordinary check-in message again only made my heart twist. Before coming here, I had bet a whole month of living expenses with my roommate. I was certain Nolan would never cheat. Reality slapped me immediately. I followed behind Nolan. I watched as the girl excitedly pulled him into a fish hotpot restaurant. She picked up a slice of fish coated in red chili oil and held it to Nolan’s lips with a mischievous smile. Nolan looked at her with indulgence and helplessly opened his mouth. But he was clearly a clean freak. He never shared chopsticks with me. Once, I accidentally used his chopsticks by mistake. He threw them straight into the trash without hesitation. Nolan was hit hard by the spice. He immediately picked up the drink beside him and took a sip. But when we went out for hotpot together, if even a little chili oil touched the clear broth, he wouldn’t touch it anymore. Every time that happened, I felt terribly guilty. I would blame myself for being greedy and ruining the date. So it turned out taboos could be broken. I just wasn’t the exception. I followed them at a distance. Then an older woman suddenly stopped me with a warm smile. “Miss, buy a lover’s lock.” “Hang it on Lovers’ Bridge with your boyfriend, and you’ll stay together forever. Happy and blessed.” I turned my head. The girl was holding a lover’s lock, laughing and chatting with Nolan as they queued to walk onto the bridge. I laughed at myself and politely declined the woman. “Thank you, but no. I don’t have a boyfriend.” I suddenly remembered when Nolan and I climbed a mountain together two years ago. Under the old matchmaking tree at the summit, people crowded around to buy red ribbons, write down their names with their lovers’, and pray for a lasting bond. Nolan said superstition was irrational. He also thought it was a waste of time, so he pulled me straight down the mountain. Later, I secretly climbed back up alone and hung one. Maybe because I had been in such a hurry and wasn’t sincere enough, the matchmaker god refused to bless us forever. When I walked up behind Nolan, he and the girl had just finished hanging the lock. The girl clapped her hands, planted them on her hips, and admired the lock with satisfaction. “Done. Now we’re locked together. We’ll never be apart.” I gave a soft laugh and asked them: “Lover’s locks are supposed to be hung by lovers. Are you?” “Tara?” Nolan suddenly looked up at me, his expression both surprised and guilty. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could’ve picked you up at the station.” He stood and naturally reached for my suitcase. I held it tight. He couldn’t pull it away. My expression was mocking. “If I’d told you in advance, how would I have caught this sweet little scene?” He grew slightly annoyed and scolded me in a low voice. “Tara, don’t talk nonsense.” “She and I are just ordinary friends.” I shook off his hand, my expression calm. “Nolan, you still haven’t answered my question.” I was speaking to Nolan. But my eyes were fixed straight on the girl. She smiled and took the initiative to greet me. “Hi, Tara. I’m Ruby Sullivan, Nolan’s junior.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be upset.” “I just thought it was fun, so I pestered Nolan into hanging this lock with me and you.” “If you don’t like it, I’ll ask the staff to take it down right now.” Nolan frowned. “Don’t bother. The staff remove them after a while anyway.” Only then did I remember that Nolan had mentioned the name before. Back then, he told me Ruby was his adviser’s youngest daughter. He had complained about her to me. He said she often hid their lab results and made them play hide-and-seek. Sometimes she even clumsily broke glass instruments in the lab. He had also teased her for having a sweet tooth. He said she ate so many sugary things she got cavities, then cried outside the clinic because the dentist wore a white coat. Eventually, he even started feeling sorry for her. He said Ruby was often lonely by herself, and his adviser had asked him to spend more time with her. Naturally, I had assumed Ruby was a lively little girl who had no peers to play with. I had even bought a popular doll online as a gift for her. I planned to ask her not to mess with Nolan, or maybe put in a good word for him in front of her father. But it turned out she was about my age. Nolan forcefully took the suitcase from my hand. With his other hand, he clasped mine, interlocking our fingers. “Sorry, Ruby.” “My girlfriend came all this way to see me. I can’t hang out with you today.” Ruby gave a soft “ah.” “But there’s still the lab group dinner tonight. If you’re not going, I still want to go.” “Don’t forget, you promised my dad you’d get me home safely.” Nolan hesitated for a moment, then immediately made the decision for me. “Tara, come with me then.” “You came all this way at night. You probably haven’t eaten.” “After dinner and after I send Ruby home, I’ll go with you to the hotel.” He didn’t give me room to refuse. He simply took my hand and led me into the car. “Well, well, Nolan Price. You ran around outside with your junior all day and only showed up now.” “You made all of us wait this long. You have to drink as punishment.” The guy sitting beside him pressed down the hand pouring the wine. “Nolan is practically the adviser’s future son-in-law. If you get him drunk, be careful the adviser calls you out in tomorrow’s group meeting.” Nolan’s grip on my hand tightened. He immediately explained. “Don’t take it to heart. They’re joking on purpose.” I looked around. Everyone seemed used to it. Clearly, this was the kind of joke they made all the time. Ruby slapped the guy’s forehead casually. “Why are you barking? Can’t you see Nolan brought his girlfriend?” “If you two ruin their relationship, all of you are dead.” Only then did those people notice my existence. Their gazes landed on the three of us, and their expressions instantly turned subtle. The guy smiled awkwardly and slapped his own mouth twice. “My mouth has no filter. I just talk nonsense. Please forgive me this once.” “I’ll pay for today’s meal as an apology.” “You said you’re paying, so I won’t hold back.” Ruby sat down without ceremony and picked up the menu, adding another crate of beer. Nolan frowned and pressed her hand down. “Drinking again? Did you forget how you got alcohol poisoning last time and were sent to the hospital in the middle of the night?” “Why do you never learn?” “Cancel it.” The others chimed in. “Yeah. Last time, Nolan was scared half to death. He didn’t sleep all night and stayed with you in the hospital.” Ruby snorted. “As he should.” “If he hadn’t made me mad on Valentine’s Day, why would I have gone drinking?” I froze. On Valentine’s Day, I sprained my ankle. While getting the wound bandaged, I cried and video-called Nolan for comfort, only to see that his background was also a hospital. But he didn’t notice anything wrong with me. He just hurriedly said a few words, told me he was busy, and hung up. I thought he had fallen seriously ill and hidden it from me because he didn’t want me to worry. Ignoring my own injured foot, I tried to buy a ticket to go to him. My roommate stopped me, but I still couldn’t sleep the whole night. That night, I called him countless times. Not a single call went through. So that night, for another girl, he had tossed and turned sleeplessly just like I had. Ruby snorted and shoved the menu back at the server. “Besides, you’re not anyone to me. What right do you have to control me?” Nolan froze. Sitting beside her, he fell unusually silent. I stood awkwardly to the side, watching the scene. I only felt wretched and unnecessary. In the end, it was the guy who had joked earlier who noticed my embarrassment and waved to a server not far away. “Add a chair here.” And so, for the entire meal, I was like that chair that had been dragged over temporarily. Out of place. Ruby drank quite a lot. Nolan watched her the whole time and didn’t touch a single bite of food. I, on the other hand, was starving. So I picked up my chopsticks and ate without ceremony. A message from my relationship strategist, Erica, popped up on my phone. “Have you met him? What’s the situation?” I took a photo of the scene and sent it to her. Above that message happened to be the photo Nolan had sent me as his meal check-in. Back then, I had forwarded it to her specifically, asking her to analyze it. She had concluded that he was cheating. I smiled bitterly. “I owe you a month of living expenses.” Outraged, she sent me several sixty-second voice messages in a row. I didn’t have time to listen. Because Ruby suddenly covered her mouth and stood. “I feel like throwing up.” Nolan stood helplessly and supported her. “I told you not to overdo it. Now you feel awful, huh?” “Hold it in. I’ll help you to the restroom first.” Ruby shook off his hand. “You’re a man. If you follow me into the women’s restroom, aren’t you afraid people will call you a creep?” “Let Tara come with me.” Nolan was convinced. He lowered his eyes to me. “It really isn’t convenient for me.” “Tara, can you go with Ruby?” I stood. I wanted to see what Ruby was planning. Sure enough, the moment we entered the restroom, the person who had supposedly been too dizzy to stand became sober. Ruby washed her hands leisurely and looked at me through the mirror. “Nolan never told anyone he had a girlfriend.” My heart sank. “I know you’ve already seen it. I like him.” She paused, then added: “And he likes me too.” She suddenly took a phone from her pocket and entered the password in front of me. The familiar phone case made my heart tremble. It was the birthday gift I had given Nolan last winter. Mine was the matching pair. Ruby clearly noticed that I recognized it. Proudly, she waved the phone at me. The smiling girl on the screen slowly merged with the person before me. I felt dizzy and had to support myself against the wall. “Otherwise, why would he use my photo as his lock screen and my birthday as the password?” “Oh, and you probably didn’t know.” “Sometimes, I’m the one who replies to your messages for him. No need to thank me.” “I just thought you were so pitiful, waiting by your phone every day like a dog for him to reply.” Her words were like a blade, completely cutting through the last thread of hope in my heart. So in places I didn’t know, our photo had been replaced by Ruby’s. The anniversary password I once set for him had become Ruby’s birthday. Even the love that once belonged to me alone had been divided and given to Ruby. “Tara, is Ruby still feeling sick?” “Help her out. I’ll give her some hangover medicine first.” So Nolan could be this thoughtful too. “Do you believe that if I go out now and tell him you left, he’ll only blame you for leaving me here alone?” I fell silent. Suddenly, I was terrified to know the answer. But Ruby walked out. “Why are you alone? Where’s Tara?” Ruby swayed to his side and buried her head in Nolan’s arms. “She left me here alone and went ahead. A drunk guy walked by just now.” “I was scared to death. Thank God you came.” Nolan frowned. “She left? How could she leave a drunk girl here by herself?” “I’ll help you back to rest first.” But Nolan. How could you bear to leave me alone in a city I didn’t know? I laughed at myself and called my roommate. “Erica, can you help me fill out the application form for the government-sponsored study abroad program?” “I probably can’t get back to school until tomorrow afternoon, and I won’t make the deadline.” The other end was silent for a moment. She cursed Nolan a few times, then spoke loyally. “Easy. I haven’t submitted mine either.” After hanging up, I went to the front desk to get my suitcase and planned to take a cab to the hotel. But when the female driver heard the hotel address I gave, she kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror. She hesitated several times before finally speaking. “Miss, are you here alone to visit friends?” I wasn’t used to strangers being so warm, so I casually said yes and didn’t respond further. “Then why book that hotel? If you can, switch to another one.” Seeing my confused expression, she explained. “That hotel was recently exposed for hidden cameras. They were selling guests’ private photos on overseas websites.” “It caused a huge scandal. Almost everyone local knows. Didn’t your friend remind you?” My whole body turned cold. I immediately opened my phone to check if there were any flights back to school. Luckily, I managed to find one last-minute red-eye ticket. “Thank you for reminding me. I’m not going to the hotel. Please take me straight to the airport.” While checking in, I finally received a call from Nolan. “Why did you leave Ruby alone in the restroom just because you were mad at me? Do you know how dangerous that place is?” “Luckily, nothing happened.” Nolan did not care which hotel I had booked or whether I might have been filmed. He did not worry whether I, alone on unfamiliar streets, would get lost or harassed. Only accusation came at me. Maybe he finally realized I hadn’t spoken. He finally remembered to ask: “Where are you now? I’ll come get you.” “Nolan, don’t come.” “We’re breaking up.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “461168”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When Mom nearly died giving birth to my little sister, I struck a deal with Death himself. I staked my soul to keep them both alive, but if by my eighteenth birthday Mom no longer loved me best, my soul would vanish. At the start, I was certain. “That’s far too easy,” I told the shadow. “Mom always calls me her favorite.” But she was lying. My sister was frail, a fragile porcelain doll doted on by everyone from her first breath. Just like that, I ceased to be the favored child. On my twelfth birthday, I wished aloud to be Mom’s favorite again. My sister’s weak heart panicked at the words. Furious, Mom shipped me off to a brutal reform academy for six years. When I returned as Cadet 018, my sister greeted me in a frilly dress, smiling like a perfect doll. “There’s no room for you here now. Are you mad?” she asked. “You may be healthy, but you’ll never have Mom’s love. Are you mad? They almost brought you back, but I cried and played sick until they were too afraid. Are you mad?” I simply shook my head. She was the sister I’d wagered my soul to save. How could I be angry? It was just that this wager, made in the name of love, was one I was about to lose. The moment the clock struck midnight on my eighteenth birthday, I saw Uncle Death again. Looking at my frail body and the map of scars covering my skin, the Grim Reaper froze. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “You are a good kid, but a deal is a deal.” Perhaps my miserable state moved him, because he looked at me with a trace of pity. “I can bend the rules a little for you, though.” “On this day of your adulthood, if your mother says she loves you most, whether she means it or not, I will consider it a win.” “If she cannot even manage that, I have to take your soul. You will vanish forever.” I nodded blankly. But my mother could not even bring herself to say she loved me, let alone say she loved me most. Six years in that hellhole of a school, and I never received a single phone call. Not once did she come to see me. I had learned my lesson. I no longer dared to hope for her affection. I was shoved into the dusty utility room. My old toy piano and stuffed animals were piled up there, buried under layers of grime. Just like me, discarded junk. This was my first night back, the first day of my adulthood, and likely my last day on Earth. Mom always hated how I begged for her attention. She had no idea that without her love, I would literally die. I woke up to the sound of my sister laughing. The breakfast table held four beautifully prepared plates. Mom still loved making gourmet meals. The sweet aroma filled the room, but the disposable plate and plastic fork set in front of me felt like a slap in the face. My presence made the air thick with tension. Dad tried to break the ice with a forced smile. “Sit down, Helen. It is your eighteenth today. Come try the strawberry cake your mom spent all morning baking.” “You have gotten thin. I know that boarding school was military style and tough on you, but you have always been a strong kid. A little hardship builds character.” “Your sister is fragile, so we had to send you to a school that could handle your supervision. Congratulations on graduating!” I kept my head down, too terrified to speak. I shoved the cake into my mouth mechanically. At the school, speaking during meals meant being strapped to a metal cot and shocked. Taking longer than ten minutes to eat earned you a ten mile march under the blistering sun. Seeing me gulp down my food like a wild animal, Mom’s face hardened. “Helen! Who are you putting on this act for?” she snapped. “We paid a fortune for your education, and you are acting like a victim?” Hearing my full name, my body reacted on instinct. I stood up straight, snapping to attention. “Cadet 018, reporting for duty!” The dining room fell into a dead silence. My sudden movement was so violent that it startled Grace, who was slicing her cake. She gasped, clutching her chest. “Helen, what are you doing?” Dad rushed to the cabinet for her pills. Mom pulled Grace into her arms, whispering soothing words. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Does your heart hurt? Daddy is getting your medicine.” Then she glared at me, her eyes flashing with rage. “Are you insane, Helen? If you try to hurt your sister again, I will send you right back to that school!” “Have you learned nothing? You ruin the family’s peace the very second you step through the door. How did I end up with a daughter like you?” The warm breakfast was ruined. I stood frozen in place. I wanted to explain that I did not mean to scare her, but my throat tightened. I could not make a sound. Mom’s shouting stopped. My breathing turned shallow and frantic as red hives erupted across my skin. “Helen, what is wrong with you…” “Strawberries! She is highly allergic to strawberries!” Dad shouted. “Call an ambulance!” Oh. I was allergic to strawberries. It had been so long since I had seen fresh fruit that I had completely forgotten. At school, we ate spoiled scraps. If we behaved, we got a plain piece of bread. Mostly, we just starved. I remembered when Mom used to love me. Back then, when she discovered my allergy, she went out of her way to buy other expensive fruits for me. Love used to mean worrying about whether I had enough to eat. She used to spend hours researching recipes just to get me to take one more bite. Why did her love have to change so fast? When I opened my eyes, Mom was frowning down at me. The IV drip was empty, and the hives had mostly faded. She looked relieved, but her words were still laced with blame. “Were you trying to spite me, Helen? If you knew you were allergic, why did you eat the whole thing? When you were little, you would not even touch food you did not like.” I remained silent. Mom did not know that pickiness was punished by having teeth pulled. She sighed, looking a bit awkward as she handed me a gift box. I held it like a sacred relic, my voice cracking. “Mom, you haven’t given me a birthday present in so long.” Inside was a sparkling princess dress. “Take it. You always stared at Grace whenever she wore her dresses.” I could not wait to put it on. But against my pale, sun damaged skin and dry, brittle hair, the extravagant gown looked ridiculous. Mom winced slightly. “Can’t you at least wash your hair and take a proper shower, Helen? A young woman shouldn’t look so disheveled.” Then she asked if I had a birthday wish. After six years of silence, this felt like the first drop of warmth. I remembered my wager with Uncle Death. I wanted to live. I did not want my soul to shatter into dust. “Mom, can you do one thing for me?” I whispered. “Just say, Mom loves Helen most.” Please, Mom. Save me. Just this once. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass echoed from the hallway. Grace was leaning against the wall, gasping for breath, clutching her chest in agony. On the floor lay a shattered snow globe. Scattered around her feet were drawings that said, Happy Birthday, Sis. Mom’s eyes turned red with panic. Before I could process what was happening, she slapped me across the face. The blow was heavy, and blood began to drip from my nose. But it did not really hurt. The guards at the school hit much harder. Mom held Grace, crying hysterically as she screamed at me. “You know your sister cannot handle stress, Helen! Will you literally die if you stop trying to steal her spotlight?” “Why do you have to be so selfish? Is your head filled with nothing but jealousy?” The scene mirrored my twelfth birthday exactly. Back then, a simple wish had branded me a monster. I wiped the blood from my face. “Yes,” I whispered. “Without your love, I will literally die.” Mom froze, but then she completely lost her mind. She spewed venom, wishing I had never been born, saying she wanted to rip my healthy heart out to give it to Grace. She asked why the sickness had not taken a parasite like me instead. Her eyes were cold, filled with nothing but disgust. “Do you want to know when I started regretting giving birth to you, Helen? It was the day I was wheeled out of the operating room, bleeding out. Grace and I were hanging on by a thread.” “You ran up to my bedside with a grin on your face. Your first words were not to ask if we were okay. You asked me if you were still my favorite child.” I was used to being yelled at, but my chest still throbbed with an unbearable ache. So she had hated me since the very beginning. On the day Grace was born, Mom was hemorrhaging, and both of them were dying. I had seen the dark shadows coming to take their souls. I cried and begged until Uncle Death took pity on me. He agreed to spare them if I staked my own soul. I was smiling that day because Uncle Death had not lied to me. They were alive. And I asked that question because of the wager. Mom, without your love, I really will die. Even if my life was the price for yours, it was worth it. Mom sobbed, her face twisted in grief. “The doctors said Grace would not live long. You have a perfectly healthy body. Why could you not just let her have this?” “You have a whole lifetime ahead of you, but your sister only has us. Why do you have to fight her for everything? Does it really matter who I love most?” I stood there, hollowed out. Did it matter? Maybe my soul turning to dust did not matter either. Due to the shock, Grace was resting in a hospital bed. I stood in the corner of the room in my ill fitting princess dress, looking like an unwelcome clown. Dad was carefully peeling strawberries for Grace, while Mom read her a fairy tale. Suddenly, the fire alarm blared. Panic erupted in the hallway. Shouts of fire echoed through the building. My parents panicked. Grace shivered in terror. Dad scooped her up, shielding her in his arms. Mom grabbed Grace’s favorite stuffed bunny from the bed. They ran toward the emergency exit, neither of them casting a single glance at me. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Mommy and Daddy will protect you and Mr. Bunny.” Dad protected Grace. Mom protected a toy. And I, just like those past six years, was left behind in the smoke. “Mom! Wait for me!” I cried, running after them. Don’t leave me alone. I am scared too. I was swept up in the stampeding crowd, losing sight of them instantly. I was shoved against the handrails, bruising my arms and legs. It hurt. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. The fire turned out to be minor, and the panic subsided quickly. They found me standing in the crowd, looking like a total wreck. My hair was wild, my skin was bruised, and the hem of my princess dress had been trampled into a dirty rag. Grace was spotless. Even her stuffed bunny was perfectly clean. Mom pulled me aside, her expression filled with annoyance. “You are an adult now, Helen. Can’t you even run away from a fire by yourself?” She looked down at my ruined dress, then at my bruised skin, and finally, at the older scars crisscrossing my arms. They were years old, left by the metal rods used at the school. She froze, her hand hovering over my skin. “Helen… what are these?” “Did that school abuse you? Why did you never say anything?” Her voice rose. “We paid so much money for that academy! How could they lay a hand on you? Why are you always so stubborn? Six years, and you never called home once to complain?” I quickly pulled my sleeves down to hide the marks. That school was a living hell, and the instructors were monsters. How could I have ever made a phone call? I was the only child who never had a visitor. When the guards were angry, they used me as a punching bag. The other kids joined in for fun. Every single day, I had waited. I waited for Mom to call. Not to complain, just to hear her voice. But the phone never rang. My eighteenth birthday was almost over. Would I ever hear her say she loved me? Uncle Death said those whose souls were taken would never get a chance to reincarnate. They simply ceased to exist. I did not want to fade away. “Mom,” I whispered, “are we still having my birthday dinner?” Mom let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Your sister almost had a heart attack and we just survived a fire, and you are still thinking about a birthday party?” Pushing down the hollow ache in my chest, I dropped to my knees in front of her, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, I don’t need a cake. We can cancel the party. Just grant me one wish.” I pressed my forehead against the cold floor, begging. “Please, just say you love me most. Just those words. I will do anything you want.” I was begging for my life. But even if I bled from bowing, she would not answer. My tears only irritated her. “Are you testing me, Helen?” she said, her voice dripping with disgust. “I won’t play your games. It is my own failure as a mother that turned you into such a selfish child. I cannot force myself to tell such a lie.” I let out a broken laugh, my face soaked with tears. Fine. I kept bowing, my forehead hitting the floor over and over. Ninety-nine times. It was my way of paying her back for giving me life before I died. “Mom, if you don’t say it, I am going to die.” “Then go ahead and die,” she snapped, turning on her heel and walking away. I heard Grace was crying for her, frightened by the fire alarm. Mom could not bear to let her precious baby shed a single tear. So be it. I lost the wager, and I accepted my fate. The sky grew dark, and the clock ticked closer to midnight. There was no party, no cake, no dinner. Only a trampled princess dress, a perfect metaphor for my ruined youth. The house was empty. Mom was not coming back. I huddled in the dusty utility room, waiting for my soul to be claimed. Uncle Death, even with your help, I could not do it. My mom will never say she loves me most.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “461167”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A pair of lace panties, sealed inside an envelope, was pinned to the university’s anonymous confession page. The poster was the star varsity basketball player, the undisputed campus heartthrob. The caption read: 【No, thanks. Not interested.】 The comment section exploded in seconds. 【Which desperate slut thought sending panties was a good way to hook up? I can smell the desperation from here.】 【She thought she could slide into the ice king’s DMs and got absolutely wrecked.】 I was scrolling through the drama, thoroughly entertained, until one comment made my heart stop. 【Faye Mercer from the sophomore Environmental Science department, are you really this pathetic? Do you have to throw yourself at literally every guy on campus?】 1 Before I could even process it, the replies began piling up. 【No way, I got a pair too. Haha.】 【Standard procedure. That girl is basically the campus bicycle. A hookup for a pair of panties.】 【Bold move going after the varsity captain though. Too bad she’s so dirty he wouldn’t even look at her.】 Within thirty seconds, the comment section was overflowing with filth. I zoomed in on the picture. The lace panties looked identical to the pair I had lost a few days ago. I scrolled through the thread with a tight frown, my stomach turning. Quickly, I took screenshots of every single photo and comment. The sheer, toxic misogyny in the comments made me want to throw up. Just then, the dorm door swung open, and my two roommates walked in. Rebecca, whose bunk was next to mine, rushed over. “Faye, did you see the confession page? You…” She looked at me with deep suspicion. “It isn’t really you, is it?” Paige glanced at me, then pulled Rebecca away with a soft cough. “Rebecca, go wash your hands and change first. You don’t know what kind of nasty germs you get from hanging around loose girls.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. She pinched her nose and took a step back. Rebecca’s face turned pale. They both looked at me as if I were carrying some flesh-eating virus. “Say that again,” I said, slamming my hand onto the desk as I stood up. “Who the hell are you calling loose?!” Paige pushed her glasses up her nose, her expression twisting into a sneer. “Who else? You’re the only Faye Mercer in the sophomore Environmental Science department. Sleeping around this much makes you a whore, doesn’t it?” Smack. I slapped her glasses right off her face. Before Paige could even register the shock, I used my height advantage to grab her by her ponytail. I dragged her toward the bathroom. Lock the door. Turn on the faucet. “Glug… you… let go…!” I slammed her face-first into the sink. The basin was filled with dirty, soapy water from this morning that hadn’t been drained yet. Paige thrashed wildly, her limbs flailing like a stranded octopus. Only when she was on the verge of suffocating did I finally let go. She collapsed onto the wet tile floor, completely drenched, shivering with rage and terror. “You psycho! I’m going to the department head! I’m telling the dean!” I let out a cold chuckle. I leaned down, whispering right in her ear, “Don’t you know the law protects the mentally unstable? Even if I killed you, I wouldn’t go to prison. The school would probably just try to keep me quiet.” Paige’s pupils shrunk to tiny pinpricks. With a terrified shriek, she shoved me away, scrambled to her feet, and bolted out the door. Rebecca, having witnessed the whole thing, looked just as pale as Paige. She stood frozen, her face shifting between green and white. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the dorm. Then, the door clicked open again, and Sienna walked in. She set her bag down and immediately handed me a warm cup of milk tea. “Drink up. It’ll help with the cramps.” The anger boiling inside me instantly softened. Sienna actually remembered my period. She gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I saw the confession page. Don’t let it get to you. Has the advisor called you in yet?” I shook my head. “No. But I’m going to the police.” Her posture stiffened for a fraction of a second. “The police? Isn’t that a bit too extreme?” I frowned, finding her reaction odd. “Using the law to protect myself is basic common sense, isn’t it?” Sienna tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and forced a smile. “Faye, you don’t get it. In cases like this, the girl always ends up losing. The bigger the scene you make, the worse your reputation gets.” She paused. “Besides, aren’t you trying to get into the direct-admit grad program?” Sienna’s words echoed in my mind all night, keeping me tossing and turning. As I lay awake, a faint rustling sound crept up from the desk beneath my bunk. 2 Our dorm was structured with loft beds above and personal desks and closets below. A sliver of light from the hallway crept through the gap under the door, casting a dim glow directly on Sienna’s face. I held my breath. After what felt like an eternity, the rustling stopped. Aside from the soft grinding of teeth from my other two roommates, the room returned to absolute silence. I never locked my closet door. The next morning, nothing valuable was missing, but another pair of my lace underwear was gone. Sienna and I were both from Upstate New York, sharing similar habits. Because of that, she was the closest friend I had in this dorm. I checked the campus confession page again and noticed the post had been taken down. As I stared at my phone in a daze, it suddenly vibrated. “Faye Mercer. Get to my office immediately.” The academic advisor’s harsh voice barked through the speaker. My heart sank. I walked toward the administration building. At the end of the long hallway, I saw Sienna leaning close to a tall, lean guy, whispering to him. “I’m really sorry, Bob,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her face a mask of sweet apology. “Faye is my roommate, but I honestly had no idea she was capable of doing something so disgusting.” The guy was wearing a varsity basketball jersey and a headband. His handsome face was like a block of ice. It was Bob Shaw, the star athlete from the sports department. “I’d stay away from her if I were you,” Bob replied coldly. “You don’t want people dragging your name into the mud with hers.” “And what exactly am I supposed to have done?” My sudden voice made Sienna gasp. Her face froze. “Faye. You’re here.” Bob stared at me for a few seconds before letting out a scoff. “So you’re the famous campus bicycle,” he said, stepping closer to inspect me with blatant disgust. “You’re not even that hot. Did you think because our campus is so big, your clients wouldn’t talk to each other?” “First, I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about. Second, don’t try to pin your garbage rumors on me. And third, your breath stinks.” Before he could reply, I brought my heel down hard onto his foot. His face twisted in agony. I walked right past him, stopping directly in front of Sienna. Smack. I slapped her across the face. Sienna clutched her cheek, tears welling up instantly. “Faye, just because you got caught doesn’t mean you get to take your anger out on me!” Hearing the commotion, our advisor, Mr. Gable, slammed his office door open and marched out. His face was dark with fury, spit flying as he shouted, “Faye Mercer! You’ve brought enough shame to this department, and now you’re assaulting your classmates?!” Sienna shrunk behind Mr. Gable, whimpering, “Mr. Gable…” Tears streamed down her face in perfect, pathetic drops. But I caught the fleeting gleam of triumph in her eyes. I took a deep breath. “Mr. Gable, what shameful thing have I done? If you are referring to the confession page, let’s put aside whether that post is even about me. Spreading my name and violating my privacy is a crime. It is sexual harassment and defamation. If I call the police, who do you think is going to be more embarrassed?” “Cut the act,” Bob sneered, pulling up a photo on his phone and shoving it in my face. “Are you going to tell me this isn’t you?” My chest tightened. It was an intimate, bedroom photo. 3 The girl in the photo had her eyes closed, the lower half of her face obscured by a thick blanket. But the visible parts, her delicate eyes and eyebrows, looked almost identical to mine. Bob sneered, “This is just one of the many photos of you floating around. Are you still going to deny it?” Mr. Gable’s eyes flashed with a smug satisfaction. “Faye, your direct-admit grad recommendation is revoked. You will also write a twenty-thousand-word apology letter to the department and publicly apologize to Sienna at the next assembly.” “Where is the proof?” I demanded, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the anger vibrating through my veins. “With AI deepfakes and Photoshop, anyone can make a fake image. Besides, there aren’t any other photos, are there?” A flicker of surprise crossed Bob’s eyes. I pressed on, “The photo only shows half a face, and the girl is wearing heavy makeup. How can you be one hundred percent sure it’s me?” “Stubborn girl!” Mr. Gable raised his voice, booming down the hall. “If it’s not you, who else could it be?!” Doors began to pop open along the corridor. Staff members and students who had come to turn in paperwork poked their heads out to watch the drama unfold. I narrowed my eyes. They were trying to systematically destroy my reputation. Sienna offered a look of soft pity. “Faye, if you just admit it, the school won’t expel you. Don’t make things harder on yourself by arguing with Mr. Gable.” “Isn’t the girl in the photo actually you?” I retorted, my voice cutting through her sweet act. “What exactly do you want me to admit?” “What?!” Every eye in the hallway instantly whipped toward Sienna. “Nonsense!” Mr. Gable sputtered, his face turning red. “Faye, you mess up and your first instinct is to drag an innocent classmate down with you?!” I ignored him, keeping my eyes locked on Sienna. “If it isn’t you, then why did you sneak into my closet in the middle of the night to steal my underwear?” A collective gasp echoed through the corridor. Sienna’s expression faltered. “Don’t lie! Why would I ever steal your underwear?” When people lie, their eyes tend to dart around rapidly. Sienna had another tell. She always touched her earlobe when she was lying. “My phone was recording. Do you want me to play the video?” Mr. Gable’s expression darkened. He shot Sienna a quick, warning look before barking, “Get inside my office right now! Discussing such vulgar things in the hallway is disgraceful!” Watching the silent exchange between Mr. Gable and Sienna, the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. Bob stood in silence, watching us. I shook my head. “We discuss it right here. Explain to everyone why you stole my underwear, pretended to be the campus hookup, and then threw all the dirt onto me!” Mr. Gable was practically shaking with rage. “Sienna is an honor student! She has published multiple papers, won academic scholarships every year, and represented our department in dance and piano competitions! How dare you slander her!” “Academic success doesn’t make someone a saint, Mr. Gable,” I said, emphasizing every syllable. “A degree doesn’t define a person’s character.” “You!” Mr. Gable began to cough violently from sheer anger. Bob’s gaze shifted to me, his cold eyes now filled with curiosity. By now, the crowd in the hallway had grown even larger. “Wait, what’s going on? I thought Faye was the campus bicycle.” “Faye is saying Sienna stole her underwear to frame her.” “Honestly, that makes sense. They’re both competing for the direct-admit spot.” “So Faye was framed?” As the whispers grew, the crowd parted, and a guy with a buzz cut pushed his way through. “Mr. Gable, I can prove Faye Mercer is the girl in the photo!” A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd as the stranger pointed a finger directly at me. “My name is Barrett. Faye and I hooked up, and she scammed me out of hundreds of dollars. She’s nothing but a gold-digging fraud!” 4 I pulled out my phone, which was already recording, and stared him down. “I’m recording this. Are you willing to take legal responsibility for the lies you just told?” Barrett choked on his words, his confident posture instantly evaporating. Before he could slip away, another guy stepped out of the crowd. “Wait, isn’t that Brody?” someone whispered. Brody glared at me with pure venom. “Don’t even try to deny it, Faye. It was you.” He yanked down his collar, revealing a neck and chest covered in angry red rashes. “Look at this! Faye gave me this disease. She ruined my life!” The students and staff surrounding me took a massive step back. Disgust, horror, and judgment washed over me from every direction. “That is so disgusting. She looks so innocent, but she’s actually carrying stuff like that.” “What kind of disease is that? Is it HIV?” “Oh god, I sat next to her in the library last week. Can you catch it from a chair?” Listening to the vile whispers, I took a deep breath. I couldn’t let anger cloud my judgment now. “You don’t care about the truth, and you’re happy to throw whatever mud you can find. Fine. I’m calling the police.” The moment I dialed the emergency number, Mr. Gable snatched the phone from my hand. “Call the police? After all of this, you still refuse to admit your mistakes? Do you want to drag this entire department’s reputation through the mud?!” “Give me back my phone!” I stepped forward, but Sienna blocked me. She looked at me with a sickening display of pity. “Faye, I feel partly responsible for this. If only I had noticed sooner that you suffer from skin hunger.” The hallway erupted. “What? Faye has skin hunger?!” “No wonder she’s so desperate for guys. That’s just a fancy word for being an addict.” Laughter broke out. “Faye Mercer, get in here right now! You’ve humiliated this department enough!” Mr. Gable roared, holding his office door open. I saw the smug satisfaction in Sienna’s eyes and the utter disgust on the faces of the crowd. The whispered insults crashed over me like a tidal wave, trying to drown me. “Wait,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “I have a few questions.” I walked up to Barrett. “You claim you hooked up with me. Tell everyone, how many moles do I have on my chest?” He blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… one.” I turned to Brody. “What about you?” “I…” Brody’s face flushed red. “I didn’t look closely.” He glared at me. “So what if I didn’t see? That doesn’t change the fact that we slept together! Besides, the motel room was dark. How was I supposed to count your moles?!” I let out a cold laugh. “Then you must remember what clothes I was wearing, what bag I had, and the exact date and location.” The two guys began to stammer, glancing at each other in panic. “How are we supposed to remember details from so long ago?!” “Yeah! Stop trying to dodge the blame! You need to pay for my medical bills!” “Is that so?” I sneered, pulling a few photos from my bag and tossing them right at Brody’s face. The photo fell face-up on the floor. In it, a shirtless Brody was pinned beneath another guy, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “461166”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The mountain road had collapsed. My son was trapped. I was the only rescue driver who could get a vehicle up there. My wife was on the phone, screaming herself hoarse — the only one who knew exactly where our son was: “West road! Our son is on the west road!” Without hesitation, I yanked the wheel — then a stream of floating comments flashed across my vision: [you have no idea you’re being played.] [The kid trapped on the west road is the son of Elise’s ex, Renato!] [If you actually take the west road, your son will die on the east road waiting for help that never comes!] [And after you save some other man’s kid, Elise will report you for deliberately taking the wrong route.] [You’ll think you just misheard her. You’ll jump off a building.] [Elise will marry Renato. The kid you saved won’t just survive — he’ll get into Stanford and pull in seven figures a year.] I stared at the words floating in front of me. Elise’s voice was breaking apart on the other end of the line, screaming “west road” over and over. I hesitated for a moment — then wrenched the wheel hard.

The truck climbed the east mountain road. The floating comments flickered wildly: [No way — Santiago changed course!] [What’s going on? Can he actually see our messages?] [Yes! Sori’s going to make it!] [Go, Santiago! Sori’s running out of time!] I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles ached. But the voice in my earpiece was getting more and more frantic: “Santiago, are you on your way?” I hesitated. “Yeah.” “You’re sure it’s the west road? Sori’s vitals are almost gone — there’s no room for any mistakes here!” I faltered. Elise picked up on it immediately from the other end of the line: “Did you take the wrong road?” “I…” “Santiago, Sori doesn’t have much time!” “If you went the wrong way, turn around now! There’s still a chance! Any longer and Sori is really going to die!!” Elise never panicked. Not once. But right now, her voice was on the verge of tears. “Santiago… please. Save Sori. He’s all we have.” I wavered. Sori was a miracle we’d fought hard for. Elise had devoted herself to him in ways I couldn’t match. She’d insisted on breastfeeding, hired a nutritionist to plan every meal after he was weaned, and had already set up a trust fund for when he turned eighteen. Suddenly I felt ridiculous. How had I, in that one split second, chosen to trust a stream of mysterious floating comments over the woman I’d spent ten years of my life with? I took a deep breath and jerked the wheel back. [Are you insane?!] [If you do this, Sori is gone for good!] [Keep going straight — there’s still time to save him!] [Wait, did Elise say something to him?] [Don’t let her get in your head! She will do anything for Renato’s kid. Anything.] [Even throw her own son away!] [He’s done. The main character’s going to take the blame and jump off a building.] [You don’t even know Elise has been putting money away for Renato’s kid this whole time.] I slammed on the brakes. Elise had been putting money away for Renato’s kid? The comments kept pouring in: [He doesn’t know that the day Sori had a fever, Elise didn’t have an emergency. She was with Renato — a widower who needed a shoulder to cry on.] [It’s almost funny. Renato dumped her back then, she swore she was done with him. Then he showed up holding his kid and crying on his knees, and she just… melted.] [She breastfed that kid. Hired a nutritionist for him. Set up an eighteen-year trust fund for him.] [Poor guy has no idea. The leftovers Elise brought home for Sori were actually that other kid’s leftovers. He thought she’d prepared it specially for their son.]

How could this be happening? “Santiago, are you almost there?” Elise’s voice trembled slightly in my ear. If that trembling was for someone else’s child… then what were Sori and I to her? But what if these floating words were just hallucinations? After all, Elise and I had been through ten years together. The two voices tore at me from every direction. I shut my eyes, drew a long breath, and twisted the wheel.

Those ten minutes on the road were the longest of my life. If the comments were lying to me, I’d be failing both Sori and Elise. But I’d been hesitating so long that the car had already traveled several miles. There was no turning back. Unless Elise had actually lied to me — in which case I’d regret this for the rest of my life. But would she really deceive me? The car pulled up to the landslide. I spotted a small figure pinned inside a crushed vehicle. “Sori? Is that Sori?!” I sprinted over. The car had flipped upside down. The child was hanging inverted in his car seat. Blood covered his face — I couldn’t wipe it away fast enough. But the small red birthmark on his wrist told me everything. This was Sori. “D… Daddy…” A tiny voice, barely a whisper. Sori forced his bloodied eyes open and flashed a little gap-toothed smile: “Mommy wasn’t lying… “Mommy really did send Daddy to find me~” “Daddy’s here…” Elise had lied to me after all. I grabbed the rescue equipment from the truck, cut through the car frame, and pulled Sori free. I held him against my chest and started emergency pressure on his wounds. He lay in my arms — four years old, wounds cut down to the bone — and he didn’t cry. Didn’t make a sound. He just clenched his jaw and endured it. Through the pain, he even managed to ask: “Is Mommy okay? “When I got stuck in the car, a big rock crushed her leg too.” [Sori still believes in his mom, even now.] [Sweet kid. Elise did start out trying to get him help — but halfway there, she got a call from Renato…] [Poor little guy. He doesn’t know Elise has already decided to let him go.] I tightened my grip on the bandage. “You don’t need to worry about her.” Sori blinked his big eyes up at me. “So… Mommy’s okay?” “She’s fine.” I lifted him into my arms. “She’s doing just fine.” The moment we got in the truck, Elise’s voice came through my earpiece: “Santiago — did you get Sori?” That voice — so tense, so desperate. For a moment I couldn’t speak. Elise had been driving Sori through the mountain pass when the landslide hit. She’d crawled out of the wreck herself. How could she possibly not know which road Sori was on? Was it really just a mistake? Ten years of marriage made me want one last confirmation. “Elise.” My voice came out rough. “You’re sure it’s the west road, right?”

“I’m sure.” No hesitation on the other end. “I was on the west road with Sori when the accident happened. How could I possibly be wrong about where he is? “Why are you even asking?” Her voice sharpened instantly: “Don’t tell me you took the wrong road.” I gripped the wheel. “No.” A long exhale from Elise. “What about Sori? How is he?” “Got him out. Emergency bleeding’s been controlled. Taking him to the hospital now.” “Thank God…” The relief in her voice made it sound like all the strength had left her body. I heard people on her end rushing to steady her: “Ms. Elise, you’re injured yourself — you shouldn’t be monitoring the field operation like this.” “Santiago is the best driver and rescue specialist on the team, and he’s out there saving his own kid. You should have faith in him.” “Exactly. You’ve lost so much blood. Please, just rest.” Elise’s voice was faint: “I couldn’t relax until I knew Sori was safe.” “They’re not wrong about Santiago and Elise — everyone says they’re the real deal. I believe it now.” The voices on her end blurred together. I stopped being able to make out the words. The truck flew along the mountain road. My hands locked around the wheel. I bit down hard on my back teeth. My wife had risked her own safety to monitor every move I made — not for our son. For another man’s child. I pressed my earpiece. “Honey, I’m taking Sori to the hospital now. Is there anyone else on the other road?” A pause on her end. “No. There isn’t.” My chest went cold. I let out a short, quiet laugh. “Then I’m heading straight to the hospital.” “Good. Move fast. That kid can’t wait.” I hadn’t thought Elise would go this far for Renato’s child. I ended the call and drove Sori directly to the nearest hospital.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “414989”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The night before the wedding, my fiancé Alpha Eliot’s beloved little sister Lola told me she had a surprise prepared — one I would never forget. She lured me into the Frost Pack’s restricted canyon, locked the heavy iron gate from the outside, and activated the artificial rain system. It was a December blizzard. Ice water mixed with sleet slammed into my face. The canyon was surrounded on all sides by transparent observation decks. Young wolves from both packs held up their phones, watching me shiver and struggle like I was the night’s entertainment. Lola smiled — sweet and vicious at the same time. “Seren, aren’t you always playing the high-and-mighty act? Get on your knees and beg me. Let everyone watch you shake like a wet dog!” And my fiancé, Frost Pack’s Alpha Eliot, stood at the center of the observation deck, watching me through the curtain of rain. “Just make sure nobody dies.” “A wild girl who grew up running with Rogues needs to learn the hard way that Frost Pack doesn’t let just anyone through its doors.” Ten minutes later, I smashed through the iron gate and walked out of the storm, covered in blood. I dialed the Elder Council and spoke in a voice so calm it had no warmth left in it at all. “Notify all elders. Terminate the inter-pack marriage alliance. Cut all resource ties.” “Everyone who came here tonight to watch — I won’t let a single one of you off.” Eliot thought I was just some stray girl clinging to Frost Pack for a better life. What he didn’t know was that I was the Alpha Female of Ironclaw Pack — his most important ally.

The moment the ice water hit me, I could barely breathe. The iron gate had been locked from the outside. All four sides of the canyon were enclosed by reinforced glass observation decks, and the cold white glow of night-vision lights lit everything up, leaving me no place to hide. The decks were packed with young wolves from both packs. They held warm drinks in their hands and watched like this was a carefully arranged hunting show. Someone slammed their palm against the railing and let out a long, mocking howl. Someone else raised their phone and pointed the lens straight at my soaked back. “Frost Pack’s got a new game? Pretty entertaining.” “Gotta hand it to Alpha Eliot — night before the bonding ceremony and he’s got his fiancée standing in an ice storm.” “This is his test to see if she’s worthy of being Frost Pack’s Luna!” The taunts cut through the sound of the rain and burrowed into my ears one by one. My fingers locked around the iron bars of the gate. The gate wouldn’t open. An electronic lock hung on the outside, its screen glowing with Frost Pack’s white wolf crest. Lola stood at the front of the observation deck. She wore a clean white dress, makeup flawless, like a white rose that had never been touched by dirt. She stood under a white umbrella, smiling, and gave the remote in her hand a little wave in my direction. “Seren, don’t look at me like that.” “Everyone just wants to see how much you really love Alpha Eliot.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was just loud enough for the wolves nearby to hear. Another wave of laughter rolled through the crowd. I wiped the water from my face and heard my own voice shaking. “Lola, open the gate.” She tilted her head like I’d said something funny. “But the hunt just started.” “We made a bet on how long you’d last before you begged.” She stepped closer and looked at me through the glass. “Didn’t you always say you were Ironclaw Pack’s finest heir? Independent. Strong. Capable?” “Then prove it.” I watched her innocent face, and something inside me turned cold, inch by inch. Tonight was supposed to be the eve of my bonding ceremony with Eliot. Frost Pack and Ironclaw Pack had been neighbors for generations, but border conflicts had been escalating. The Elder Councils had decided to seal the alliance through a bonding. Eliot said this was the respect he owed me. He said I had stayed by his side through Frost Pack’s three hardest years. That I had walked with him from the fringes of the pack all the way to the Alpha seat. He said I deserved to carry the title of Luna. For a while, I thought that was the best ending I could hope for. For this alliance, I had turned down three border hunts and personally reviewed every territory agreement and every supply line arrangement. But now, the man who promised me respect was standing at the center of that observation deck. He hadn’t come down. He hadn’t told anyone to open the gate. The overhang above the deck kept the rain off him. Eliot stood in the warm light, watching with cold eyes as I soaked and shook in the canyon below. I called up to him through the glass. “Eliot!” “Tell her to open the door!” I thought he would at least frown. But he just slowly brushed a hand across his sleeve. “Seren, Lola just likes to have fun.” “You’re older than her. More mature. Don’t take it so seriously.” I stared at him, eyes burning red. “You know exactly why this terrifies me!” When I was ten, I followed my father on a border hunt and got trapped with him when an enemy pack cornered us inside a collapsed cave. A blizzard raged outside. Snowmelt rose past my knees. There was nothing around me but darkness and broken rock. My father, trying to get me out, was crushed by a collapsing wall. He pushed me toward the opening. He never made it out. After that, I was afraid of enclosed spaces. Afraid of the constant sound of running water. Afraid of any night I couldn’t escape from. All these years, I never told anyone. Only Eliot knew. Because once, when the Frost Pack was cornered underground by enemy wolves, I stayed in that cave with him for an entire night to help him protect his pack’s hunting maps. He held my hand and said: “Seren, I’ll protect you from now on. You never have to be afraid again.” Now he stood on the observation deck and let my fear become entertainment for every wolf in the canyon.

“Alpha Eliot already said it himself — I’m just having fun.” “Seren, don’t be such a killjoy.” She turned to face the wolves on the deck and raised her voice. “Everyone, the bet is officially open.” “If she cries and calls out for Alpha Eliot to save her within thirty minutes, I lose.” “If she holds out and doesn’t beg, I’ll transfer one hundred thousand dollars to each of you.” The crowd erupted. “Lola, you’re the best!” “Then we’re all betting she breaks.” “She’s got no father, no backing — does she really think putting on a nice dress makes her Frost Pack’s Luna?” “Is Alpha Eliot actually going to marry her? I always figured it was just a political deal.” My fingertips went numb. Rain ran into my eyes and the sting made it hard to keep them open. I pounded on the gate. “Eliot! I’m saying it one last time — tell someone to open this door!” Eliot finally looked up at me. His expression held no guilt. Only irritation at being called out in front of everyone. “Seren, do you really have to make this so ugly?” “Lola grew up spoiled. Why are you letting her get to you?” “Besides, aren’t you the one who’s always handling crises? You can’t manage something this small?” I stood there frozen for a moment, then felt the corner of my mouth pull into a smile. So in his eyes, my fear of being locked in the storm was nothing. Just something small. Three years of blocking border threats for him, negotiating every resource deal for him, rewriting pack development plans for him at four in the morning — all of it had somehow become the reason he felt entitled to humiliate me. When Lola saw me smile, her expression flickered. She hated this. She hated that even at my lowest, I wouldn’t bend. She raised the remote and pressed a button. A second later, the rain system at the top of the canyon surged. A colder, heavier torrent came crashing down. My knees buckled and I nearly fell. The observation deck erupted — not in concern, but excitement. “She’s going to break!” “Hurry, get it on video — this is going to spread to every pack by morning!” “Alpha Eliot’s fiancée is something else, I’ll give her that…” Lola moved close to the glass and dropped her voice so only I could hear. “Seren, drop the act.” “I know exactly what you’re afraid of.” “Alpha Eliot told me himself.” My stomach dropped. Her smile got sweeter. “You think he kept your wounds as secrets?” “Sorry, he tells me everything when he’s trying to get me to sleep.” “He said you got trapped somewhere when you were little, so you never sleep well when it rains.” “He said you seem tough, but deep down you’re still that scared little wolf who’s afraid of the dark and afraid of water.” Something in my ears started roaring. Those words were colder than the storm. Three years with Eliot. I had shielded him from enemy ambushes, negotiated the northern mineral rights for him, held a starving territory together in the dead of winter. The night his stomach bled, I sat with him in the medical tent until morning. When the Frost Pack elders tried to frame him for misappropriating pack resources, I was the one who found the accounting discrepancies and pulled him out of that hole. He knelt in front of me and said: “Seren, without you, I wouldn’t be here.” “Once I’ve secured the Alpha seat, I’m going to marry you.” I thought that was a promise. But it turned out I was just a useful tool. Lola tapped the glass. “Seren, don’t blame me.” “I just wanted you to understand your place.” She glanced up at Eliot and let her voice go soft. “Alpha Eliot, you’re not upset with me, are you?” Eliot put out his cigarette. “Don’t go too far.”

Lola immediately pouted like a child who’d been scolded. “What’s too far? You promised me tonight would be fun.” “And you said the bonding was just a temporary arrangement.” A temporary arrangement. Four words. They dragged back and forth across my chest like a dull blade. I looked up at Eliot. “Is that true?” He frowned. He clearly hadn’t expected Lola to say it out loud in front of everyone. But a moment later, he settled back into that composed, untouchable expression. “Since you heard it, there’s no point hiding it.” I stood soaked to the bone in freezing water, staring at him. “So tomorrow’s ceremony — that’s all fake too?” He said, evenly, “Seren, you should understand that an alliance between two packs can’t be built on feelings alone.” “Lola is connected to the northern white wolf bloodline. She’s the one who belongs at my side as Luna.” My nails pressed into my palms. “Then what am I?” For the first time, a flicker of impatience crossed Eliot’s eyes. “Do you have to make me say it like this?” “I haven’t treated you poorly these past three years.” “You wanted power — I gave you the Beta position.” “You wanted respect — who in Frost Pack dares to address you as anything other than Beta Seren?” “The Luna title isn’t something I can offer you. I won’t lie to you about that forever.” He said it so calmly. As though three years of everything I gave had been worth exactly one title. Lola leaned against him, smiling. “Seren, learn to be grateful.” “You have no family name, no backing. The fact that you get to be Alpha Eliot’s Beta is more than you ever deserved.” Voices nearby chimed in. “Exactly.” “If Alpha Eliot actually married her, what would that say about Frost Pack?” “Being capable doesn’t matter. A Luna is chosen by bloodline.” “Seren should wake up. At best, she’s the person who helped Eliot get to the top. That doesn’t make her Luna material.” I looked at the wolves who had bowed their heads to me at every hunting council meeting. When they respected me, they called me Beta Seren. Now that Eliot wasn’t protecting me, they had turned without hesitation. One wolf in a gray jacket grinned and held up his phone. “Beta Seren, want me to take a photo for you? Something to remember tonight by?” “After tomorrow, it’ll be Lola standing next to Alpha Eliot.” “The way you look right now — might as well enjoy your last moment in the spotlight.” I said nothing. Because the fear had already passed its worst point. When pain reaches its limit, something in you goes still and clear. I reached up and touched the wolf-mark stud in my right ear. It wasn’t an ordinary piece of jewelry. Three months ago, when I noticed irregularities in Frost Pack’s internal accounts, I had my personal guard put together an emergency device for me. Three consecutive presses would trigger an automatic location signal, sending an alert to the Elder Council, my guard unit, and my private hunting team. Eliot didn’t know. He had always assumed I handed him every card I held. But he forgot: someone who clawed their way out of ruins doesn’t truly put their life in anyone else’s hands. I lowered my head, pretending to choke on the rain, and brought my hand up to cover my ear. Once. Twice. Three times. A faint vibration from the stud. The signal was sent. Lola thought I was finally breaking. Her eyes lit up. “Alpha Eliot, is she about to cry?” “I knew she couldn’t hold out long.” She pulled out her phone and aimed it at me. “Come on, Seren. Look at the camera and say you were wrong.” “All you have to do is admit you’re not good enough for Alpha Eliot, and I’ll open the gate.” I looked up at her. “Lola. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

She blinked, then let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “We’re already this far in and you’re threatening me?” “Seren, you don’t actually think you’re still Ironclaw Pack’s feared heir, do you?” “Your position was given to you by Alpha Eliot.” “He gave it. He can take it back.” I straightened slowly. “Ask him, then. Ask him whether Frost Pack still has the power to take anything back from me.” A shadow passed through Eliot’s eyes. “Seren. What are you implying?” I looked at him through the rain. “I’m implying that you should pray nothing happens to me tonight.” “Because if it does, tomorrow Frost Pack will be hosting a reckoning, not a celebration.” Laughter rippled through the crowd again. They thought I was bluffing. Lola laughed so hard she bent forward. “A reckoning? You’re going to hold Frost Pack accountable?” “Seren, did the cold freeze your brain?” Eliot’s expression went cold. “Enough.” He looked at me, voice low. “Seren, don’t overestimate your importance.” “The hunting territories you control ultimately belong to both packs.” “The connections you’ve made — you made them through the platform the alliance built.” “Without Frost Pack, you’re nothing.” I held his gaze, and in that moment the last ember of whatever I’d felt for him burned out completely. “Fine.” “Then let’s find out tomorrow, Eliot.” “Let’s see which one of us ends up with nothing after we walk away.” Lola didn’t like the look in my eyes. She wanted me to cry. She wanted me to beg. She wanted to watch me lose every shred of dignity in front of the entire pack. But I didn’t give her any of that. So the smile on her face slowly died. “Seren. You’ve got more endurance than I thought.” She handed her umbrella to someone nearby and walked to the electronic lock herself. “Since you won’t admit you’re wrong, let’s make it harder.” She pressed another button. The blackout curtains around the canyon began to drop. Heavy black panels slid down one by one, covering the transparent glass walls. The light disappeared, and my breath lurched. Enclosed. Dark. Water. All three hit at once. My vision swam. Lola stood outside the last narrow gap as the curtain fell. “You said you were going to hold us accountable?” “Come on then.” “Get out first. Then we’ll talk.” The curtain dropped completely. The canyon fell into near darkness. Only the lights at the top flickered on and off like something was broken, white and cold. The water kept falling. Each drop felt like the snowmelt that used to leak through the ceiling of that old cave. I heard my father’s voice. “Seren. Crawl out.” “Don’t look back.” I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood. I can’t fall apart. Not yet. There were still people outside waiting for me to break. Eliot was still standing there, waiting for me to bow my head and give in. I moved along the wall, feeling my way to the corner. There was a decorative wolf bone altar set up in the canyon. I used everything I had left to lift the heaviest bone from it and drove it into the iron gate. The first blow left a hairline crack in the metal. The people outside startled. Someone shouted: “She’s lost her mind!” “That’s an alloy gate. She can’t break through.” “Seren, give it up. Just apologize and this all goes away.” I didn’t stop. Second blow. Third. My wrists went numb from the impact. The skin at my palm split open and blood ran down, mixing with the rain on the ground. The cracks spread wider with every hit. Lola finally panicked. She slapped the door from outside. “Seren, stop it!” “If that gate breaks, you’ll get hurt.” I let out a cold laugh. “Now you’re worried about me getting hurt?” Lola’s face drained of color. She turned back to look at Eliot. “Alpha Eliot, she’s actually going to break it.” Eliot’s brow furrowed hard. “Seren, stop.” “All you’re doing is making this worse.” I swung the bone and brought it down again. With a sharp crack, the gate finally split open at one corner. Cold air rushed in. I drove my foot into the gap.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “414988”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

During the group photo, I crouched down to pick up a lens cap I’d dropped on the floor. When I looked up, Dylan had already raised his camera and pointed it straight at Wendy. I was about to move closer, but I could already see there was no space left for me in the frame. The colleagues around us laughed under their breath. “Here we go again. Every time Dylan shoots Wendy, you can just see it in his eyes.” “That’s what you call a photographer and his muse. Nobody gets it like they do.” My fingers tightened around the lens cap. Everyone said they had a natural chemistry. But nobody remembered that I was the girlfriend he’d been with for four years. In those four years, he took over a thousand photos of me. He never edited a single one. When I complained, he’d just ruffle my hair. “It’s not like you make a living off your looks. Why bother retouching them.” “Natural is better.” Then he’d turn around, open his editing software, and go through Wendy’s photos frame by frame. Carefully. Like he was crafting a grand confession. Watching his back, I suddenly understood in that moment. It wasn’t that everyone else had misread their relationship. It was that I had misread my own. I was never going to be the lead in his story.

Dylan poked his head out from behind the camera, brow slightly furrowed. “Lily, can you move over a little?” “The light is falling perfectly on Wendy’s face right now. The client needs these shots. We can’t mess this up.” He paused, then added. “I’ll take some of just you after.” My fingers went numb. I spoke quietly. “This is the spot I was assigned to stand in.” Dylan sighed and walked over to me. He reached out to ruffle my hair, but I turned my head away. His voice carried a note of resignation. “Stop being like this. Wendy’s dress is a dark color today, so she needs to stand in the center to catch the light.” He lowered his voice. “Just work with me today, okay? Once the client approves this set, I’ll make it up to you.” Wendy smiled at me apologetically. “Lily, why don’t you take the center spot? I really don’t mind. I don’t want you two fighting because of me.” Dylan turned toward her, his voice softening. “We’re not fighting. She’s just a little tired today. Hold your position and don’t move. That angle is perfect.” I looked down at the lens cap in my hand. Then I quietly stepped back two paces. “Go ahead and shoot.” The shutter clicked in rapid succession. Dylan kept his eyes on the screen, giving occasional direction on posing. From start to finish, he didn’t spare me a single glance. When the shoot wrapped up, everyone suggested going out for dinner. Dylan smoothly took the prop umbrella out of Wendy’s hands and turned to look at me. “Let’s go get Mexican. There’s a new place that just opened up the street.” I stood where I was and looked at him. “My gastritis just cleared up. I can’t eat spicy food this week.” Dylan paused. He came over and put his arm around my shoulder. “Everyone said they want to go.” He hesitated, then continued. “That place has mild options too. I’ll order you a plain soup so you don’t have to touch anything spicy. Just this once, okay?” That dinner brought back a memory. Another group outing, another table full of spicy food. We had just started dating. Not wanting to seem difficult in front of everyone, I pushed myself and took a bite. By midnight I was curled up on the edge of the bed, shaking from the pain. Dylan went pale with fear. He carried me on his back and rushed to the emergency room. He never let go of my hand the whole time. After that, he wrote it down in his phone’s notes app: Lily can’t eat spicy food. Needs bland food when her stomach hurts. Back then, he would’ve brushed off everyone else’s suggestion without a second thought. Just one sentence: Lily can’t handle it. But now, he clearly still remembered. The arm around my shoulder felt suffocating. I nodded.

“Okay.” At the restaurant, Dylan handed the menu to Wendy, and the two of them leaned together to discuss what to order. I sat on the other side. After all the food arrived. Dylan picked up a piece of baked lobster with cheese and placed it in Wendy’s bowl. “Try this one. The chef here is really good.” Wendy took a bite, her eyes lighting up. “Oh wow, this is amazing. You should try some too, Dylan.” Dylan. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d called him by his first name like that. I looked down and picked through the leaves floating in my soup. “Lily, how come you’re not eating?” A coworker across the table asked casually. Dylan turned and looked at my untouched bowl. His brow creased. “Still no appetite. When are you going to get over this picky eating thing.” Wendy set down her fork and looked at me. “Lily, are you upset with me? I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you couldn’t eat any spice at all.” “I’ll go outside and order you something milder.” “Sit down.” Dylan pressed a hand on Wendy’s arm, his tone stiffening. “Excuse me, can we add another bowl of soup?” Then he looked at me. “And stop giving everyone the cold shoulder. We’re all here together.” A dull ache spread through my stomach. I looked up at him. Something caught in my throat. “Dylan, do you remember why I can’t eat spicy food?” He went still for a moment. I didn’t wait for his answer. I set down my fork. “Never mind. I’m done. Enjoy your meal, everyone.” When I got home, the living room was completely dark. I felt my way to the couch and sat down in the dark. The cramping in my stomach was sharp. I dug out some antacid tablets and swallowed them dry. A bitter taste spread through my throat. One in the morning. Dylan came in carrying the smell of the evening on him. He reached over and flicked on the light. “Why is it dark in here?” He kicked off his shoes, walked to the couch, and looked at me. I said nothing. He sighed and sat down beside me, pulling at his tie. “Are you still upset about tonight.” “Wendy just got into the industry. As someone more experienced, isn’t it natural for me to look out for her a little?” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Dylan, tomorrow is our four-year anniversary.” He blinked. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “I know. I already booked a restaurant. I’ll clear my schedule tomorrow night to spend it with you.” “I’m exhausted tonight. I’m going to shower, and then I need to finish editing Wendy’s photos.” He got up without another word and walked straight into the bathroom. The sound of water started. I looked at the sketchbook he’d carelessly tossed on the table. Page after page of Wendy’s profile and silhouette. Every sketch had camera settings and notes written beside it. My photos, meanwhile, lived forever in a folder he’d simply named “Everyday.” The next afternoon. I left work early, bought groceries, and picked up the cake. He’d said he booked a restaurant, but I knew he’d been running himself ragged this week and would probably forget. Sure enough, at seven that evening. A voice message came in from Dylan. “Lily, I’m sorry. There’s a problem with Wendy’s set layout and I can’t get away.” “I canceled the restaurant reservation. Just grab something for yourself. I’ll definitely make it up to you tomorrow.” I listened to the whole thing without replying. I sat at the dining table and waited for a long time. The food went from steaming hot to a film of cold grease floating on the surface. I stared at the words on the cake. Happy 4th Anniversary. And I suddenly remembered that this time last year, I’d been quietly browsing engagement ring styles.

It turned out only one of us had been counting the years. I cut into the cake and took a bite. It was too sweet. Cloyingly, nauseously sweet. I sat there for a long time without moving. Then I threw the cake and all the food into the trash. At eleven that night, Dylan came home. He looked exhausted, but there was a brightness in his eyes. “Lily, Wendy’s photos came out incredible. The investors are thrilled. They’ve decided to expand her solo exhibition.” He had completely forgotten what day it was. I sat at my desk, organizing my work files. “Congratulations.” Dylan noticed the food in the trash and frowned. “That’s all you ate tonight? Didn’t I tell you to get yourself something decent?” “I didn’t stand you up on purpose. The situation with Wendy was unusual. It’s her first time carrying a project on her own. The pressure got to her.” He reached out to hold me. I stepped back. “Lily, do you really have to protest like this? Just shutting me out?” “I already said I’d make it up to you tomorrow.” I turned to face him. “I’m not protesting.” “I genuinely mean it. Congratulations.” Dylan suddenly turned irritable. “Fine, you’re not protesting.” He let out a cold laugh. “Then I won’t bother making it up to you either. Since you clearly don’t care.” He turned and walked toward the study. The door slammed shut behind him. I stared at the closed door, then pulled out my phone and opened an apartment listing app. I scrolled for a while. My finger stopped on a city two thousand kilometers away. Southport. There was a magazine there that I’d always wanted to work for. Over the next few days, Dylan practically lived at his studio. He was in the final push before his photography exhibition. On Friday afternoon, Dylan’s assistant called me. “Lily, Dylan’s stomach is really acting up. He’s sweating through it and still won’t go to the doctor. Could you maybe make some oatmeal and bring it over?” I almost said no, but then I thought about the empty pill box in his drawer. I went into the kitchen without a word. Last time, I told myself. I pushed open the studio door to a flurry of activity. I carried the insulated container straight to Dylan’s private room. The door wasn’t fully closed. There was a gap. I was about to push it open when I saw what was inside. Wendy was standing in front of a full-length mirror in a deep burgundy gown, turning slowly in a circle. Dylan was sitting nearby, his face pale, his eyes soft. “Does it look good?” Wendy asked, glancing back at him. “It looks beautiful.” Dylan smiled. “That color really suits your complexion.” My breath caught. That dress. Dylan had bought it last month while he was away on a work trip. He’d sent me a photo at the time and said he’d seen it and immediately thought of me. Said he was buying it as an early anniversary gift. But after he came home, the dress had never appeared. I thought he’d forgotten about it. Apparently, it had just found someone else to wear it. “But, didn’t Dylan buy this for Lily originally?” Wendy looked down, her voice uneasy. Dylan rubbed his temple, his voice dropping. “You need it for your audition today, so just wear it once. I’ll buy her a new one afterward. She won’t make a big deal out of this.” I took a slow breath and pushed the door open. Wendy’s face went white when she saw me. “Lily, let me explain. I’m only trying it on.” Dylan froze too. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” I set the insulated container on the table. “Your assistant said your stomach was hurting.” “It’s nothing serious. Sorry for making you come all this way.”

He reached for the container. But Wendy stepped forward first. “Let me serve it for you.” She probably just wanted to break the tension, but she moved too fast. Her sleeve caught the edge of a document box. A clatter. The box hit the floor and everything inside spilled out. They were handmade photo albums. I had spent three full months rebuilding them from Dylan’s discarded negatives, turning them into a proper portfolio. I had originally planned to give them to him. I hoped they might remind him of why he fell in love with photography in the first place. But that day came and went, and I never got the chance to bring them out. Afterward, I had just left them at the studio. Now the photos were scattered across the floor. Wendy, trying to catch the falling container, stepped directly onto them. A stiletto heel punched straight through one of the prints. “Oh—” Wendy let out a sharp cry. She still couldn’t catch the container. Scalding oatmeal splashed out and landed across the top of her foot. “That burns,” she whimpered. Her eyes filled with tears instantly. She bent down, clutching her foot. Dylan shoved the table aside and yanked Wendy up. “Where did it burn? Let me see.” He glanced at the container, then at Wendy’s foot, his face dark. “Lily, I’m not blaming you.” “But couldn’t you have knocked before walking in? None of this would have happened.” I looked at the mess on the floor. My voice came out completely flat. “She knocked it over herself.” He helped Wendy to a seat, frowning at the scattered photos. I watched his concern for her, and felt something absurd move through me. I quietly crouched down and picked up the photos one by one. Then I dropped them all into the trash can beside me. The photography exhibition was set for that Saturday. It was the largest show Dylan had put on since opening his studio. Three months ago, when he handed me the planning documents, he pointed to the first item on the event rundown. “Lily, the featured speaker slot — that’s yours, no question.” “This studio wouldn’t be where it is today without four years of your support.” I’d turned down every company obligation to hold that commitment. I helped him secure the venue, coordinate with media, and rewrote every press release line by line. Saturday morning. A large banner stood at the entrance to the gallery. I stopped walking. My eyes dropped to the line near the bottom. The space where my name had been listed as featured speaker was covered by a sticker. It now read: Wendy. I looked at it for a moment. Then walked inside. Dylan was directing workers adjusting the lighting. When he saw me, he walked over quickly. His gaze swept over me briefly and his brow tightened. “You made it. Head to the back lounge and rest. The ribbon cutting is about to start.” I looked him in the eye. “The name on the banner. What happened?” Dylan paused. “The investors brought it up this morning at the last minute. I was in the middle of dealing with the press and didn’t have time to talk to you first.” “Lily, I know this isn’t fair to you. But we can’t have anything go wrong today. Once it’s all over, I’ll personally thank you in front of everyone.” I didn’t respond. I walked past him into the gallery. At one of the display stands hung a large print of a woman’s silhouette. The girl in the photo was wearing a white dress, standing on the rocks by the ocean. The light and shadow were handled perfectly. Something cold and mysterious breathed through the image. That was from two years ago, when Dylan and I took a trip to the coast. He had captured it in a spontaneous shot. At the time, he said it was the most soulful photograph he had ever taken. I looked at the label below the print. Title: Muse. The model field was blank. In its place, a single line of text.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “414987”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was reborn on the day I got buried in a sand pit. My wife of seven years leaned over the edge of the hole and screamed down at me. “The rope is down. Tie it around Stellan first. You’re strong. You can hold on another five minutes.” In my last life, I grabbed it first. Stellan ended up brain-damaged from oxygen deprivation. She forced me to work sixteen-hour days to pay off the debt. “Stellan is your fault. You did this. Why don’t you just die?” In the end, my leg bone rotted away. She threw me out of the hospital. I died alone in a basement that leaked when it rained. This time, I said only one word: “Okay.” I fastened the rope around Stellan’s harness. It pulled taut, and he was yanked up. Then the roar of the SUV’s engine faded fast. She drove away in the only vehicle, taking him with her without a single look back. I leaned against the wall of flowing sand and closed my eyes. This time, I wasn’t going to fight for it. But Mandy, why did you end up regretting it? “Ethan! The rope is down. Hook yourself in, now. The car can’t pull two people through this sand. We can only bring up one at a time. Do you hear me?” The sand had already swallowed me up to my chest when Amanda’s sharp voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, riding a wave of harsh static. I tilted my head up. The windstorm hit my goggles like gravel being hurled by a fist. Less than a yard away from me, Stellan had sunk halfway into the quicksand. He was clinging to a dead branch that was about to snap, his face streaked with sand and tears, screaming up at the surface in pure desperation. “Mandy! Help me! I can’t breathe! I don’t want to die out here!” Watching the scene in front of me, I felt nothing but cold emptiness inside. So I actually got a second chance. This moment was exactly the same as before. In my last life, Amanda and I had been married three years, both of us working out here in this wasteland. When the sand collapsed without warning, I’d been buried in the quicksand just like this. Back then, driven by survival instinct and by my trust in the woman I’d just married, I grabbed the lifeline. But I never could have imagined that one desperate choice would become the beginning of a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Because Stellan spent ten extra minutes under the sand, he was oxygen-deprived long enough to cause brain damage by the time they pulled him out. His mental capacity dropped to that of a ten-year-old. From that day on, the look Amanda gave me held nothing but a hatred that cut all the way to the bone. She drove me to work sixteen hours a day. Every dollar I earned, salary, bonuses, everything I had saved toward buying us a house, went straight to Stellan’s medical bills. “This is the consequence of what you did. If you hadn’t saved yourself first, Stellan would never have ended up like this. You have to take responsibility.” Then, after years of grueling work in brutal conditions, the bone in my thigh deteriorated so badly I could barely walk. At the moment I needed surgery money most desperately, Amanda quietly drained every cent from our account. She stood over me where I lay in the hospital bed, her voice stripped of any warmth. “Stellan needs new physical therapy equipment, and that costs a lot. Your leg is already ruined anyway. There’s no point wasting money on it.” In the end, she kicked me out of the hospital without mercy. I died alone, in a basement with no heat. Every bone in my body rotted. I died in agony, drowning in regret that had nowhere to go. “Ethan! Are you deaf? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Amanda’s voice came through the walkie-talkie again, edged with fury she could no longer hold back. “Stellan has severe asthma. Inhaling all this sand could kill him. You’re in good shape. You can last another five minutes down there. Clip the safety hook onto Stellan. Do it now.” She didn’t even ask, not once, whether I was also about to be swallowed alive. Whether I might die too. In her mind, my strength and my obedience had become the very reasons it was acceptable to abandon me. I looked at Stellan sobbing beside me, and suddenly I thought my past self was the world’s biggest joke. I’d nearly killed myself trying to prove I mattered more to her than her best friend. And all I got in return was a rotted leg and a cold corpse. This time, I wasn’t going to fight for it. “Okay.” I spoke into the walkie-talkie, calm, my mouth full of grit. Then I reached out with both hands, pulled the rope toward me, and clipped it directly onto Stellan’s safety harness. “Ethan… thank you. Don’t worry. I’m sending the guys down with equipment right now. Give me five minutes!” A thread of relief slipped into Amanda’s voice, along with something that tried to pass itself off as gratitude. I didn’t respond. I just reached over and switched off the walkie-talkie. All I could hear now was the soft scraping of sand against Stellan’s body as he was pulled upward. The rope went taut fast. It jerked Stellan out of the pit in one rough motion. He wailed like a rescued child in midair, flailing his arms and legs as they hauled him up. I stood in the tightening sand and watched his shape disappear into the blinding light above. Then came the muffled growl of the SUV’s engine from somewhere overhead. The tires spun furiously in the sand, throwing out a sharp, grinding shriek. One hard rev of the engine, and then the sound moved away fast. She drove off in the only vehicle. Took Stellan, the one she treated like he was everything, and left without looking back. In this scorching wasteland where the sun could peel the skin right off you, she drove away the only vehicle that could save my life and told me to wait. I leaned back against the tightening quicksand wall and closed my eyes. There was no rage in me. Only a stillness, deep and dead, like water that had forgotten how to move. The Ethan who had spent his whole life revolving around Amanda died in that moment, buried beneath the dry, drifting sand.

The vibration from Amanda driving away triggered a second collapse. A falling boulder slammed into my left leg and snapped it clean. The quicksand surged up to my neck in seconds. To survive, I pried my leg free from the rock with an entrenching tool, forcing the bone loose through sheer will, spitting blood as I dragged myself out of the pit. In fifty-degree heat, I walked on that mangled leg. One step, then another. I don’t know how long I moved. When my mind started to blur, I finally saw the cluster of red tents and the high-end climate-controlled trailer sitting on the edge of the horizon. That was our base camp. Running almost entirely on instinct, I crawled on my hands and knees to the door of the climate-controlled trailer. I reached up with a hand caked in blood and sand and pulled at the door handle. It didn’t move. Someone had locked it from the inside. Cold air seeped through the gap in the metal door, a faint, maddening whisper against my skin. Through the sand-resistant window, I could hear Stellan’s weak moaning, and Amanda’s gentle, soothing voice. “Take it slow, Stellan. It’s ice-cold lemonade, best thing for heat exhaustion.” My hand hung in midair. The grime under my fingernails was dark with the blood I had dug through the sand with. I clenched my jaw and knocked on the window with the wooden handle of the entrenching tool. Hard. “What is wrong with you? Ethan, seriously!” Amanda’s voice came through the trailer’s external speaker almost immediately, dripping with irritation and barely restrained fury. “Stellan just had a severe panic attack down there. His airway is badly inflamed right now. You’re covered in filth and you smell. If you bring germs in here and something happens to Stellan, are you going to take responsibility for that?” “You walked back on your own two feet, which means you’re fine. Go wait in the supply tent. There are sleeping pads in there. Once Stellan falls asleep tonight, I’ll come out and bring you something to eat.” The speaker cut out. Silence settled over everything like a burial. I leaned against the scorching metal side of the trailer and slowly slid down to the ground. My left thigh had swollen to the size of a bucket. The skin had turned a sickly blue-black. I was losing sensation fast. My wife, knowing full well I’d just survived a life-threatening collapse, wouldn’t even unlock the door. Because she found my smell offensive. I stared at that sealed door, and then I dropped my head and laughed. I laughed until something dry stung the corner of my eye, something that evaporated instantly in the desert heat before it could even fall. I didn’t knock again. I didn’t say another word. I pressed my hands to the ground, dragged my useless left leg behind me, and inched my way toward the tent. I lay down beside the cold, hard metal of the equipment cases, closed my eyes, and let the darkness take me.

The supply tent was stifling. I lay beside the cold metal equipment cases, every inch of my skin crawling like it was being eaten alive. The dehydration had pushed my body into a high fever. My forehead burned to the touch. The cracks in my lips wept tiny beads of blood. My left leg had gone completely numb. The thigh had swollen so badly it was straining against the fabric of my pants. The skin had taken on a taut, glossy sheen, the look of severe internal bleeding and muscle death beneath the surface. I could feel it. My body was failing, slowly but steadily, giving out from the dehydration and the damage. “Ethan! Oh God, what are you doing on the ground?” The tent flap was yanked open. Dr. Sam Pearce, the survey team’s medic, burst in with his kit. One look at me, and the color drained out of his face. He dropped to his knees beside me, hands trembling as he tore open my pant leg, and sucked in a sharp breath. “The muscle tissue is severely necrotic. It’s already losing blood supply. Ethan, are you out of your mind?” Sam’s eyes went red with panic. He was already rummaging frantically through his kit, pulling out the last saline bag, getting it ready to run an IV. “No good. His kidneys are starting to fail. He needs fluids right now, and then he needs surgery at a county hospital immediately. If we wait any longer, that leg is coming off. He could lose his life.” He was still talking as he struggled to find a vein in my arm. Amanda pulled the tent flap aside and walked in. She was holding a stack of recovered survey documents, brow furrowed. When she saw Sam putting the needle in, her expression went flat. “Sam, what are you doing in here? I told you to stay with Stellan in the trailer. His ice packs have melted. He’s dizzy again. Go get him fresh ones, now.” Sam shot to his feet, pointing at my leg, furious. “Mandy! Ethan has a broken leg, he’s severely dehydrated, and he’s running a high fever. If he doesn’t get fluids and surgery, that leg is done.” Amanda’s gaze finally moved to my left leg. When she saw how swollen and darkened it was, something flickered in her eyes, a brief tightening of the pupils. But it lasted less than a second. Then it was gone, replaced by cold indifference and suspicion. “Sam, don’t let him fool you. You know what kind of shape Ethan is in. The man carries forty pounds of gear across miles of rough terrain on a normal day. You’re telling me a little time in a sand pit broke his leg?” She walked over and gave my lower leg a light nudge with the toe of her boot, voice thick with impatience. “Ethan, is this your way of guilting me for pulling Stellan out first? Stellan actually has asthma. Inhaling all that sand could have suffocated him. You’re perfectly healthy. Can’t you just be a little less selfish about this?” I lay on the hard ground and listened to her. I didn’t even bother opening my eyes. In my last life, every time Stellan got so much as a scratch, she would make sure the whole team heard about it, turning me into the brute who was too rough and too simple to understand suffering. In her mind, men like me didn’t deserve to hurt. Men like me were made of stone. “Mandy, have you lost it?” Sam shook with rage, pulling the saline bag close to his chest. “I’m the doctor here. I’m going off the test results. Ethan’s body is at its absolute limit. This IV needs to go in right now.” “No.” Amanda snatched the saline bag out of Sam’s hands and set it back in the kit without a second thought. “Stellan’s been vomiting. He’s critically dehydrated. We’re out of resupply. That’s the last saline bag, and it needs to go to Stellan. Ethan’s tough. He can drink from the water barrel outside.” She looked at me, and her voice took on a hard edge. “Stop being dramatic. Get up and clean yourself off. Lying there like that, it’s disgusting.” She dropped those words, picked up the med kit, and walked out without turning back. Sam stood there staring at his empty hands, eyes red, tears threatening to spill. “Ethan… how can she do this to you? You’re her husband. You’ve been married three years.” My cracked lips moved slightly. My voice came out as a dry rasp, barely a sound. “Sam. Don’t go back to her.” I paused. “Just get me a bowl of plain cold water. That’s all. Thank you.” My heart had gone cold a long time ago. Now the only thing I wanted was to stay alive. And then get far, far away from her.

Evening came. The desert wind picked up, carrying a dry rustling sound, and the temperature finally dropped a little, but my fever climbed higher. Sam did everything he could. In the end, all he managed to get down my throat was a few mouthfuls of water that tasted of grit and salt. My thoughts were starting to blur at the edges. A violent, twisting pain tore through my lower back. “That’s it. We have to move. We need to get to the county hospital right now!” Sam kicked the supply tent flap open and shouted at Amanda, who was outside directing the team as they packed up gear. “Ethan’s starting to talk out of his head! Mandy, give me the keys to the Land Cruiser. I’m driving him out of here myself!” The survey team had two SUVs. One had been totaled in yesterday’s collapse. The only vehicle still running was the Land Cruiser, the best one they had. Amanda was helping Stellan into the passenger seat. Stellan had a damp cloth draped over his face and a blanket pulled around his shoulders, moaning softly with that look he always wore, like the world owed him a gentleness it had never given him. When he heard Sam, Amanda’s hands paused. Then she turned around, her face set. “I’m not giving you the keys. I’m taking Stellan to the hospital myself.” “His skin blistered in the sun. He’s severely on edge. The therapist at the hospital is already booked. If we don’t get there today, Stellan could be left with serious psychological trauma. His career can’t take that hit.” Sam looked like he was about to explode. “Stellan has a sunburn. Ethan is dying. Look at his leg. It’s completely black. The back seats are wide open. Just put Ethan in the back and drop him at the hospital on the way. Is that so impossible?” Amanda glanced at me, pale, motionless on the stretcher, and something shifted in her eyes. Distaste, and something careful. “Stellan is traumatized. Seeing Ethan triggers his anxiety attacks. He can’t breathe when Ethan’s nearby.” “The supply truck comes in tomorrow morning. Ethan can ride out in that. The cargo bed is big enough for him to lie flat.” Tomorrow morning. That was more than twelve hours away. In my condition, dehydrated, with a leg that was already dying, lying in this supply tent for twelve more hours with no medical equipment. By the time the truck showed up, I would probably be a stiff. Amanda turned back to the door and reached for the handle. “Mandy.” I was flat on the stretcher. I dug up everything I had left and rasped her full name. Her hand froze on the handle. She turned and looked at me, surprised, off-balance. In three years, I had always called her by her nickname, the soft way. This was the first time I’d said her name in full, without a single degree of warmth in it. “You’re not giving me the keys.” I looked at her. My eyes were as cold as the desert at three in the morning. “That’s your answer?” Something in Amanda’s expression cracked. She covered it quickly, pulling herself up, throwing the words back at me with a sharp, almost panicked edge. “Ethan, what is your problem? I’m making the best call for the whole team and for Stellan’s health. If you’re so capable, walk yourself out. Don’t just lie there glaring at me.” “Fine.” I let out a short, humorless laugh and closed my eyes. “Sam. Stop asking her. Help me up.” And then, from somewhere far out along the horizon, there came a deep, heavy rumble. A large truck was moving along the dirt road beside the camp, its high beams cutting bright lines through the dark. It was a mining truck from a nearby site. It ran a nightly haul into town. “Sam. Flag it down.” I pointed at the truck. With my left hand braced against the edge of the stretcher, gritting through the grinding agony of broken bone against bone, I forced myself upright. Sam’s eyes were wet. He ran straight to the roadside and started waving his red wind jacket over his head with both arms. The truck let out a long pneumatic hiss and slowed to a stop. A weathered, middle-aged driver leaned out. “What’s going on? You need help?” “Please, my colleague has a broken leg, severe dehydration. We need to get to the county hospital. Can you take us?” Sam was crying as he shouted it. “Get in. I’ll get you there fast. She’s rough on the road but she moves.” The driver didn’t hesitate. He reached over and swung the passenger door open. Between Sam and the driver, they got me up and into the passenger seat. As I climbed in, I turned and looked back at Amanda one last time. She was staring at me. Both hands still gripping the keys to the SUV. Her face was frozen, stunned, unable to process what she was seeing. She couldn’t seem to understand it. The man who had always bent to whatever she wanted, without question, without complaint, he was leaving. And he wasn’t stopping. “Ethan! Are you insane? That truck is going to shake you apart. Your leg can’t handle that.” She was shouting from below, sharp and rising. I didn’t answer. I reached up and pulled the door shut, cutting her voice off, sealing it out there in the wind and the grit and the dark. “Drive.” I looked out at the long, black road ahead of me. “Let’s go.” The truck pulled away from the camp and didn’t look back.

Sam held onto me the entire ride, steadily wiping the cracking skin of my lips. “Stay with me, Ethan! We’re almost at the county line!” I don’t know how long it took. The truck finally stopped in front of the county hospital. Sam and the driver carried me out together. The ER team came rushing. “Comminuted fracture of the femur, severe ischemia in the affected tissue. Prep for emergency surgery immediately.” The ER doctor’s voice rang through the corridor. The consent form was handed to Sam. The doctor looked at him urgently. “Where’s his family? Why is there only a coworker? We need a signature right now. We can’t delay any further!” “I’m just his colleague. His family isn’t here.” Sam was wiping his face with the back of his hand. I was lying on the gurney, fighting the vertigo that came in waves with the fever. With my right hand shaking, I reached for the pen. “Doctor. I’ll sign it myself. I’m an adult. Whatever happens, that’s on me.” I said it one word at a time and wrote my name at the bottom of the form: Ethan Cole. The anesthetic moved through me slowly, and then the world softened. In the last second before everything went dark, I thought about the helplessness of lying in that hospital bed in my last life. This time, I had taken the first step back. When I opened my eyes again, sharp sunlight was pouring through the window. The ward was quiet. The air carried the faint, clean bite of antiseptic. My left leg was elevated and wrapped in thick white bandaging. It still ached distantly, but the burning was gone. Sam was slumped over the edge of my bed, asleep. “You’re awake?” The door opened. My attending physician walked in with a glasses and a thick stack of charts. He looked at my leg, then at me, and let out a slow breath. “Surgery went well. You’re alive. The leg is still there.” His tone was even, but what came next hit the quiet ward like something heavy dropped from a height. “That said, the fracture was severe. More critically, you were dehydrated for too long in extreme heat. The muscle and vascular tissue in that leg were compressed under that rock for too long. A significant portion of the tissue was completely necrotic. We had no choice but to remove it.” “Going forward, that leg will never function the way it did. You’ll walk with a limp. You’ll need a cane permanently. And you absolutely cannot return to any kind of high-intensity fieldwork. You need to prepare yourself for that.” Inside, I was surprisingly calm. Sam had woken when the doctor started talking. He sat there, stricken, unable to hide the grief in his face. “You’re twenty-eight years old. You love being out there in the field. What are you going to do now?” I looked at my bandaged leg. The corner of my mouth lifted, just slightly. “Sam. Don’t cry.” I put my hand on his trembling shoulder. My voice was quiet, but there was nothing unsteady in it. “I made it out of the wilderness alive. That’s more than enough. If I can’t go back to the desert, then I won’t go back.” In my last life, I left everything in that desert. My health, my time, my life. All of it spent for Amanda and Stellan. This time, I traded one leg for my life back. That was the best deal I had ever made.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “414986”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I woke up and found myself convicted of a hit-and-run killing. On the day I was sent to prison, my fiancé Brandon suddenly confessed to me: “Actually, it was your sister Freya who did the hit-and-run. I fabricated the evidence to make you take the fall for her.” Seeing me frozen in shock, he said it like it was nothing: “I’ve been seeing her behind your back for a while now. She’s pregnant with my child.” “Your whole family knows.” My body went stiff. My mind went completely blank. He continued: “Don’t worry. When you get out, my child with her will be your child too.” Except I never made it out. I was beaten to death in prison. After I died, my soul drifted to Brandon and Freya’s wedding. Without meaning to, I possessed Freya’s body. The officiant was holding the microphone, asking the bride if she took this man to be her husband. I controlled Freya’s body, ran a hand over her slightly swollen belly, and smiled with her face — smug and satisfied: “I absolutely do!” “After all, I’ve been sleeping around with multiple men. Not only did I pick up an STD, I’m also carrying some random guy’s baby.” “So after I ran someone over drunk driving, I deliberately let Caitlin take the fall and go to prison, then stole her fiancé.” “If I don’t marry Brandon, where else am I going to find a loaded idiot willing to take me in?” I turned to Brandon, whose face had gone a sickly shade of green. I patted his cheek and smiled with cold contempt: “Baby, don’t worry. The child might not be yours, but I’m still yours, aren’t I?” ⋯⋯

The moment those words left my mouth, the entire banquet hall froze like someone had hit pause. The silence was so complete you could hear a pin drop. This was a union between the Western Brown family and the Andre family. Every guest here was somebody. The bride had just detonated a scandal with her own lips. The media in the room descended like sharks smelling blood, cameras surging toward me from every direction. After a brief silence, the room erupted into furious whispers. Brandon’s brow twisted. He shoved the reporters back, seized my hand in an iron grip, and dropped his voice: “Freya, what exactly did you just mean by that?” “Wasn’t it Caitlin who had the STD and got knocked up by some other guy?” I looked at this man I’d loved for five years and felt a sharp, gutting pain move through me. Three months ago, Freya had used one AI-generated fake photo to make Brandon completely convinced that I was sleeping around behind his back — that I had an STD, that the baby I was carrying belonged to some unknown man. I had begged him to believe me. The photo was fake. It was Freya who had the STD. But he shoved me to the ground, loomed over me, and screamed: “Freya is pure and kind. Why would she ever frame you?” “You’ve always resented her for taking your place as the Brown family’s daughter. You just can’t stand her!” I hit the floor. The pain in my lower abdomen was so severe I broke into a cold sweat all over my body. I curled into myself and begged him to take me to the hospital. To save our baby. He stared at the pool of blood spreading beneath me, his voice soft and brutal at the same time: “Caitlin, as long as that bastard in your belly is gone and you get your STD treated, I’ll still marry you.” I crawled through the blood to reach the table, grabbed my phone, and called 911. By the time I got to the hospital, the baby was already gone. He had killed our child with his own hands. I dragged my broken body home, only to find Brandon and Freya tangled together in my bed. When I fell apart and confronted them, Brandon sneered: “You’ve been with so many men. You were carrying some stranger’s kid.” “I’m just fooling around with one person. If anything, you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

My thoughts snapped back to the present. I looked at Brandon through Freya’s eyes and gave him the worst smile I could manage: “You idiot. I was obviously lying to you!” “Those photos of Caitlin were AI fakes I made myself. I’m the one carrying some random guy’s baby!” “I made you kill your own child with your own hands, and then handed you someone else’s kid to raise without any of the pain.” “If you think about it, you’re actually getting a pretty good deal!” Brandon’s face cycled from pale to dark. The veins at his temples bulged. His eyes took on something terrifying. At that moment, Freya’s soul started fighting to reclaim her body. She screamed inside my head like something unhinged: “Caitlin! You disgusting piece of trash! Get out of my body right now!” Since this was my first time possessing someone, my hold on her soul was unstable. The world spun violently and I was forced out. Freya, freshly back in control of her own body, burst into tears — the kind that looked beautiful and heartbreaking. She grabbed Brandon’s arm and rushed to explain: “Brandon, none of those words were mine!” “It was Caitlin — that awful woman — she died but she still…” She caught herself mid-sentence, seemed to remember something, and quickly changed her story: “She’s taking revenge on me. I don’t know what kind of dark trick she used to take over my body and make me say those things.” She took Brandon’s hand and pressed it against her small round belly: “She’s jealous that I’m carrying your child. She’s trying to tear us apart on purpose!” The mention of the baby smoothed out Brandon’s furrowed brow immediately: “I knew it. You’re too good and too sweet for any of that. Of course it’s my child. It has to be Caitlin stirring things up!” Seeing Brandon buy the story, Freya let out a deep, quiet breath of relief. Her brother John, sitting in his wheelchair, clenched his fist and spat: “Even locked up, she’s still scheming against people. And here we were, spending a fortune to make sure the guards treated her well — practically turning her prison sentence into a vacation. She doesn’t know how good she had it!” “I want nothing to do with a sister this vicious!” “She should have died in that prison!” I floated there above them, feeling nothing but a dark, hollow absurdity. They had conspired together to put me behind bars with fabricated evidence. And yet they expected me to bow down in gratitude to the very people who destroyed my life. It had only been a few days after my miscarriage when Freya, drunk behind the wheel, ran someone over — then deliberately reversed and ran over the body again before fleeing the scene. When it all came to light, she cried and sobbed and said it wasn’t her fault. The victim had stepped in front of her on purpose, trying to extort money from her. She was scared. She couldn’t go to prison. And just like that, without a second thought, the whole family pointed their finger at me. My parents wrapped their arms around Freya and acted like it was the most natural thing in the world: “Freya was raised to be pampered. She couldn’t survive prison.” “Caitlin, your sister has spent over twenty years being devoted to this family in your place. You owe her everything.” “Going to prison for her is the least you can do to repay that debt.” My brother John hated me for what he believed I’d done — hiring someone to break both his legs, leaving him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He wanted me to suffer, so he supported sending me to prison without hesitation. And Brandon — he used the gentlest voice to say the cruelest things: “Caitlin, you’re already damaged. A little more damage doesn’t matter. I won’t think less of you for it.” “But if Freya goes to prison, her whole life is ruined.” Even now, even dead, there was still a gaping hole where my heart should have been. The hatred was so overwhelming it launched me straight back into Freya. I shoved her soul out and took back control of her body. I wiped away the tears Freya had just been crying, drew back my foot, and kicked hard enough to nearly send John’s wheelchair toppling. I laughed through the tears still clinging to my face: “You are so irreparably stupid!” “Use that tiny little brain of yours and think! Caitlin had no grudge against you. She had no money. Why would she ever hire someone to break your legs?”

“Obviously it was me. I hired them to break your legs and pin it on Caitlin. I needed you to hate her — really hate her — so I could drive a wedge between you two, steal the shares that were rightfully hers, and force her to take my fall.” I looked a lot like John. He’d run into me by chance one day, started to suspect something, had DNA testing done in secret, and then brought me back into the Brown family. When I first came home, both he and my parents wanted to make up for the twenty-two years of family I’d missed. They were planning to announce my identity as the true Brown family daughter at the company’s anniversary celebration half a month away. And to transfer my rightful shares into my name. But just a few days later, John was dragged into an alley and had both his legs broken. He’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Based on the fake evidence the attackers had deliberately planted, he didn’t even look into it. He decided I was responsible and hated me for it with everything he had. My parents, nudged along by Freya’s manipulation, grew colder toward me with every passing day. John stared at the sister he’d cherished and spoiled for twenty-two years. His lips trembled: “Freya… is that true?” Now that I was in Freya’s body, I had full access to her memories. That’s how I knew all these details. I laughed coldly: “The guy who led the attack was named Jason. His number is… but you don’t have to take my word for it. Look it up yourself.” John’s face drained white, then darkened. He barked at his assistant over the phone, demanding they investigate immediately. He made it clear — if Freya really was behind what happened to him, he would not let it go. I clapped Freya’s hands together with exaggerated delight: “Good! Please, don’t let me off the hook!” “Send me to prison. Have me torn apart. Make it count — for your real sister.” He grabbed my wrist hard: “What are you saying? What do you mean, torn apart? What do you mean, make it count?” In order to put me behind bars and cover for Freya, they had falsified dashcam footage, altered surveillance recordings, and bribed everyone involved. They’d successfully gotten me convicted and thrown in prison. But then they’d also spent a small fortune bribing the guards and other inmates to look after me — to ease their own guilt, and so they could tell themselves I was fine and ought to be grateful. What they hadn’t counted on was Freya. Using the Brown family name, she had issued her own orders, overriding all of that — commanding those same people to beat me, humiliate me, and work me until I died. I was laughing so hard my eyes burned with tears: “Of course I was the one who paid them off. I had them beat Caitlin every single day until she was dead.” “Now no one can ever take the Brown family name away from me again.” John’s brow furrowed. He seemed to be weighing whether to believe it. Brandon shoved through the crowd and grabbed my arm: “What the hell are you saying? How could Caitlin be dead?” “Didn’t you say just yesterday that Caitlin complained about the food in there and asked you to get three million from me?” The situation was spinning out of control. Freya went frantic inside me — cursing me, clawing at the edges of her own mind, trying to force me out of her body. No one else could see the two souls fighting for control. From the outside, Freya just looked like she was losing her mind — one moment sobbing: “John, please don’t believe any of this! How could I ever want to hurt you?” “It was Caitlin — she used some kind of witchcraft on me and made me say those things!” “Brandon! I’m carrying your child! This is all Caitlin’s doing, she’s trying to destroy me…” And the next second, slapping herself hard across the face, calling herself worthless — saying she had stolen someone else’s life and deserved every terrible thing coming to her. She even pulled out her phone to call the police and turn herself in. Mrs. Brown rushed forward, knocked the phone out of my hand, pressed her palm over my mouth, and pulled me into her arms.

She turned to the guests with an embarrassed smile and explained that ever since I had come home, I’d been unable to accept Freya as an adopted daughter and had been bullying her relentlessly. Freya’s breakdown today, she said, was clearly my fault. I seized the moment and wrestled back control, shoved her to the floor, and turned to Mr. Brown with a cold, flat stare: “Dad. When exactly are you planning to finish moving the company assets? When are you going to get rid of this old woman so you can bring my real mom home and finally have the family you actually want?” Mrs. Brown hadn’t expected the daughter she’d adored to push her to the ground. It took her a long moment to process it. She pressed a hand to her chest and stared at me, her lips moving: “Freya… what did you just…” Freya was fighting me with everything she had. I bore down and held her back, took control of her hands, and cast the contents of her phone onto the big screen at the front of the hall. Mrs. Brown stared at the image on that screen — Mr. Brown with his arm around another woman, the three of them posed like a perfect little family — and the blood drained from her face. “Honestly, you’ve only got yourself to blame for being so easy to use. If you weren’t loaded, why would my dad have stayed with you this long?” “The one my dad has always loved is my mother, Laura.” “To give me a better life, my dad deliberately switched me and Caitlin at birth. He had her abandoned out in the woods.” I let myself laugh until I nearly doubled over: “The precious daughter you’ve been raising and spoiling for twenty-two years is your husband’s illegitimate child. She’s his mistress’s daughter.” “And you — you went and sent your own biological daughter to prison. For her.” “You killed your own flesh and blood with your own hands.” Every word landed like a hammer blow directly to her chest. She turned to look at Mr. Brown, whose face had gone the color of ash. She murmured to herself, barely audible: “That can’t be real… none of this is real…” She pulled herself up from the floor and latched onto my wrist with both hands: “Freya, tell me. Tell me right now that everything you just said was a lie.” “It was Caitlin, wasn’t it? That vicious girl did something to you, made you say all of that!” No one answered her. Because the answer was staring everyone in the face — Freya looked almost identical to the woman Mr. Brown had his arm around in that photo. I didn’t bother engaging with any of them. I just kept casting more files from Freya’s phone onto the big screen. Photos of her with various men. A hospital report confirming her STD diagnosis. A message thread showing her ordering the guards to have me beaten to death. And then — Brandon’s recent medical report confirming a diagnosis of low sperm count. One bombshell after another. The media in the room were ecstatic, cameras clicking and flashing in a relentless barrage. Brandon snapped at the staff to kill the screen, then grabbed my wrist: “Freya, Caitlin did something to you, right? She’s the one behind all of this?” John and Mrs. Brown both chimed in — saying I had always been vicious, that all of this so-called evidence was obviously something I had fabricated. I looked at the three of them, cold and still. Even with everything laid out in front of them, they still chose to believe in Freya. Still chose to call me the villain. It was almost funny. I controlled Freya’s body and laughed until the tears nearly came. I pointed at them and screamed: “Caitlin is already dead!” “You people killed her. Every single one of you.” Mrs. Brown fired back immediately: “She’s just spiteful. She resents her own family, so she’s been pulling strings behind the scenes, setting all of this up to humiliate us!” John added: “Exactly. We made sure she was well taken care of in there. Prison was practically a vacation for her—” He stopped himself. He’d said too much. Every guest in that room was sharp enough to know when something didn’t add up. The next moment, a hesitant voice rose from somewhere in the crowd: “I heard there was a bullying death at that prison last week. That wasn’t… Caitlin Brown, was it? Is she actually dead? Does that mean all of this is real?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “414985”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The night the dam broke, I was trapped on the rooftop with my one-month-old son in my arms. I pressed the radio to my lips and called out to my husband. “Ethan, the water is rising. We’re up here on the roof. Please come get us.” His voice came through the receiver, but he wasn’t talking to me. “Don’t be scared, Mandy. I’m on my way.” The next second, the green light on our private channel went dark. He had blocked me. I tried to reconnect like a madwoman. Once. Then again. The motor of a rescue boat roared in the distance, growing closer. A searchlight swept across my face, then slid away without mercy. I pressed the radio to my lips, my voice raw and bleeding. “Ethan. You don’t have to save me. But please, take the baby. He’s only a month old. He’s never even seen your face.” The only answer was the fading growl of that engine. I looked down at the child in my arms, his warmth slipping away. Then I looked at the GPS bracelet he had fastened on my wrist with his own hands. So when everything fell apart, the one he chose to save was someone else.

Sophie’s POV The moment the dam broke, I held my one-month-old son with everything I had. I kicked the rooftop door open with the last of my strength. My newborn’s little face had gone blue from the cold. His cries were so faint they barely existed. I pressed the call button and reached out to my husband. “The baby and I are trapped. The water keeps rising. Bring the boat around and grab a can of formula on your way. Please. Save our son.” Nothing came through the radio but static. I bent my head and pressed my cheek against his cold little face, trying to warm him with what little heat I had left. This was our child. One month old. Ethan hadn’t even held him once. “Ethan, it’s me. Sophie.” I ran my thumb desperately over the ridges of the radio, tears and rainwater streaming together. “The baby’s with me. He’s so cold. Please, just say something.” The channel went quiet for half a second. Then came the sound of low, urgent breathing. Ethan. I nearly cried out with relief. I knew that breathing anywhere. Five years ago, after the old dam collapse, Ethan had dug me out of the rubble with his bare hands, gasping just like that. That day, he had clasped this GPS bracelet around my wrist himself and looked me in the eye. “This frequency is yours alone. Even if the whole city loses power. Even if the sky falls. I will dig you out from whatever has buried you.” “Ethan, you can hear me, right…” Before I could finish, a sharp voice cut through the channel, shrill and trembling, wet with tears, drowning me out completely. “Ethan! I’m so scared! The water is at the window. I’m really scared!” Mandy. The girl Ethan always kept close, his so-called “goddaughter,” though they shared no blood. Every drop of warmth left in my body turned to ice. I didn’t even get the chance to speak. Through the radio came Ethan’s voice, steady and gentle.”Don’t be scared, Mandy. I’m almost there.” I opened my mouth. Cold rain poured down my throat, and the pain choked off every sound. A sharp beep. The green light on the private channel, the one meant only for me, blinked out and went gray. I hammered the reconnect button. Failed. Again. Still nothing. Ethan had cut my signal. While our baby was freezing to death, my husband had severed my only lifeline to go save another woman. “Ethan!” I raised the radio into the downpour and screamed until my throat tore. “Ethan, our baby is up here!” The dead gray screen didn’t move. Then I heard it, the sound of a motorboat in the distance. I snapped my head up. A blinding searchlight swept past a half-collapsed billboard and cut straight toward the rooftop edge where I was standing. That was Ethan’s rescue boat. I lurched to my feet, wading through waist-deep floodwater, waving both arms at the beam of light. “Over here! Ethan! We’re over here!” The cold light swept across my face. Then moved on without a second’s pause. The boat carved a clean arc through the water, spun around, and sped toward the far bank where Mandy was waiting. My arm froze in midair. A wave of brown water slammed into my lower back. I stumbled and went down, and the baby let out a sound so faint it barely registered. I clapped my hand over the back of his head, pulling him close. But the last of his warmth inside the wrappings was draining away fast. I pressed the radio hard against my lips and hit the emergency backup channel for the last time. My voice came out in shreds: “Ethan… I’m not asking you to save me first. Just take the baby. Please. He’s only a month old. He’s never even seen his dad.” The only answer was the engine fading into the distance, and the dead silence of a radio that would never connect again. I let my head fall. On my wrist, the GPS bracelet I’d worn for five years blinked blue. Still sending. Still doing its job. But the person on the other end had blocked me. I unzipped my rescue jacket and lashed the baby’s wrappings against my chest. My fingers were so frozen I couldn’t grip. I bent my head and used my teeth to pull the cloth strips tight, biting down until they held. When it was done, I lifted my wrist and put the bracelet’s clasp in my mouth. A hard click. The clasp cut into my lip. I tasted blood, but it gave way. The bracelet, the one that was supposed to mean I will always find you, slipped off the wrist it had circled for five years. I closed my fingers around the cracked screen and held on. I pressed my back against the rooftop exhaust pipe, pulled my son against my chest, and slid slowly down into the water. The cold rose inch by inch past my knees. Over my chest. I lowered my chin until it rested on the still bundle wrapped against me. I had nothing left to shout.

Sophie’s POV At four in the morning, a rescue helicopter winched me up from the water. The baby in my arms had stopped breathing. By the time the upriver rescue team reached the Riverside District, the rooftop of Building Three was completely submerged. Only a few inches of exhaust pipe still broke the surface. The searchlight swept across it and found my hand first, fingers locked white around the metal pipe. Then it found my face, bloated and pale, completely still. Against my chest, tied in place with the ruins of my rescue jacket, was a small bundle. A rescue swimmer dropped down on a rope to free the knot. He found my fingers frozen solid. He had to force them apart twice before the wrappings came loose. The moment the medic took the bundle, his arm stopped. Too light. Like holding a roll of cold cotton. “Move. Get the baby to trauma first.” “The mother’s alive. Pull her up.” The helicopter blades tore through the rain. I was lifted onto the stretcher unconscious, my lips purple, water dripping from my clothes. But my right hand was clenched in a fist so tight no one could open it. The medic cut my sleeve open and saw a ring of deep marks pressed into my wrist, the imprint of something worn there for a long time. Now there was nothing there. “Got it!” Another rescuer pulled something from the water: a cracked bracelet caked with mud. The GPS light was still blinking. Faint. Stubborn. He wiped it clean and plugged it into the team’s terminal. My ID came up instantly, and the last recorded coordinates were locked to the rooftop of Building Three, Riverside District. He scrolled down to the transmission log. Every two seconds. From the moment the dam broke, right up until the helicopter arrived. I had never stopped sending. He checked the receiver log. One line. Cold and clear: Blocked. The rescuer stared at it. His face changed. He knew exactly what that meant. They all did. This was deliberate. He shoved the bracelet to the team recorder, his voice flat as ice.”Photograph it. Log it. Seal it in an evidence bag and don’t let anyone touch it.” The helicopter set down at the Memorial Hermann Hospital helipad. I was rushed into trauma, blood pressure so low the monitors screamed the whole way. In the room next to mine, they laid my baby on a table. The medics unwrapped him from his soaked bundle and worked on that tiny chest. One compression. Another. Again. That small body, one month old, did not move. I tried to say something, but the nurses were already pushing me through a different door. Ethan still didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know I was lying in a trauma bay with my life hanging by a thread. He didn’t know that his son, the one who never got a name, had been covered with a white sheet. And the bracelet he had clasped on my wrist was sitting in a clear evidence bag, its cracked screen still blinking its dim, bitter light. Near dawn, the door to the neonatal trauma room opened slowly. The doctor pulled off his mask. He looked at the chart in his hands and spoke in a voice too tired to soften it. “Unidentified infant male. Approximately one month of age. Hypothermia from immersion. Non-responsive to resuscitation.” The nurse’s eyes were red. She lowered her head and filled in the time of death. In the room next door, I lay buried under tubes and wires, my face as white as the walls. A nurse came in and told me everything. The shock was too much. I lost consciousness.

Sophie’s POV When I came to, the hospital room was empty. I opened my eyes and saw the IV stand first, then my own bare wrist. The mark from five years of wearing the bracelet was still pressed into my skin. The bracelet was gone. The nurse stood at the bedside with a clipboard, keeping her voice low. “Ms. Gray, don’t try to move yet.” My throat was dry enough to crack. “Where’s the baby?” She didn’t answer right away. That pause landed harder than anything she could have said. I looked up at her. The veins in the back of my IV hand went taut. “I’m asking you. Where is my baby?” I wanted so badly for what I’d heard before losing consciousness to be wrong. The nurse’s eyes filled. She gripped her clipboard. “When they brought him in, he wasn’t breathing on his own. They worked on him for a long time.” She stopped. “He didn’t make it.” I didn’t cry. I stared at the ceiling. My lips were cracked. Under the bandages and tubes, my chest rose and fell in small, slow movements. Yesterday he had been pressed against me. His tiny fingers curled around the edge of his wrappings. When he went still, I told myself he was just tired. Now the words came down again, and everything in the room fell away. The doctor arrived shortly after, two nurses behind him. He set the charts at the foot of the bed and kept his voice as level as he could. “The infection from your delivery wound is severe. Combined with extended exposure in cold floodwater, your condition deteriorated past the critical threshold. We performed emergency surgery, but…” He paused. “We weren’t able to save your uterus.” I turned my head and looked at him. He held the pause a moment longer. “We’ll continue monitoring the infection. The fact that you’re alive at all is not a small thing.” My fingers moved. “It’s gone?” He nodded. I looked back at the ceiling. Something inside me went hollow in that moment. Not pain, exactly. Pain has a location. This had none. A nurse brought over a clear sealed bag. Inside was the swaddling cloth, washed clean. The mud was gone, but the fabric was old and worn, and there was a small stain at one corner, a faint yellow patch that hadn’t come out no matter how many times it was washed. “This came in with the baby. We cleaned it.” I pushed myself upright against the bed frame. The nurse moved to help. I shifted away. I took the bag and ran my thumb over the cloth through the plastic. He had lain in this. Last night I’d tied it against my chest so all the wind and water hit my back first. I thought that was enough to protect him. I opened the seal. Took the cloth out. Laid it flat. Folded one corner to the opposite. Then again. Slowly. The IV pulled at the back of my hand with every movement. I didn’t stop. When it was folded, I slipped it back into the bag and pressed the seal closed. I set it on the pillow beside me. That bag was all that was left of him in the world. That afternoon, the door to the room wasn’t fully shut. The TV at the nurses’ station down the hall was running disaster coverage, the anchor’s voice rising and falling. I wasn’t paying attention, until I heard a name I knew. “Mandy.” I turned my head. Through the gap in the door, the screen had just cut to a replay. Mandy was propped up in a hospital bed, face pale but hair neatly brushed, a small cake on the tray beside her. A candle burned on top. She smiled for the camera, eyes faintly red. A caption rolled across the bottom. So glad you’re still here. The camera shifted and caught a jacket draped over the chair beside the bed. Ethan’s rescue team patch was visible on the sleeve. The comments scrolled past. He stayed with her on the night of the flood to celebrate her birthday? That’s the sweetest thing. Your boyfriend is everything. That’s real security right there. I stared at the jacket. That same night, my son had been cooling against my chest while I called Ethan’s name over and over, begging him to come, to bring formula, to get the baby out. During that same stretch of hours, Ethan had draped his jacket over Mandy’s shoulders. The candle on the cake was still lit. I reached over and pulled the sealed bag into my arms. The plastic was cold and stiff against my hospital gown. On the screen, Mandy bit into the cake and smiled. “Ethan said as long as I’m alive, that’s all that matters.” My arms tightened slowly. The seal made a faint sound under my hands. I didn’t get up. I didn’t call for the nurse to turn it off. I sat there, looking through that gap in the door, and watched Mandy finish every last bite.

Sophie’s POV By the time the lawyer came to the room, I was already getting out of bed on my own. I sat by the window in my hospital gown, the sealed bag on my knees. Outside, the temporary helipad was still up. Rescue vehicles moved past one after another. None of them were Ethan’s. The lawyer set his document folder on the small table and looked at me first. “Ms. Gray. Everything you asked for over the phone is ready.” I nodded. “Read it to me.” He opened the folder. The first document was a voluntary waiver of marital assets. The apartment, the savings, Ethan’s stake in the rescue company, I was taking none of it. The second was a power of attorney authorizing the lawyer to handle all legal matters between Ethan and me. The divorce. The asset separation. Any future correspondence. All of it would go through him. The third was a donation inventory. A set of equipment at the New York rescue station, a generator, life vests, a medical supply kit, a satellite terminal, had been purchased with my own savings after the marriage. I wasn’t taking them. I was donating everything to the upriver rescue team. The lawyer looked up from that page. “The market value of this equipment isn’t trivial. Are you sure you don’t want compensation?” I set the bag down on the bed. “I’m sure.” “If Mr. Shaw doesn’t agree, the process could drag out.” “Then we sue.” The lawyer’s pen paused. The room was quiet for a moment. I picked up the first document and turned to the signature page. My hand hadn’t fully recovered. My wrist was stiff, and my name came out slow. Sophie Gray. Watching the letters land on the page, my hand trembled slightly. I signed the second document. Then the third. After each page, the lawyer pressed a sticky note with instructions for notarization and delivery. I didn’t ask questions. I just signed where he indicated and pressed my thumb where the ink pad was. The red ink stayed on the pad of my finger. I wiped it twice and it didn’t come off. The lawyer gathered the documents and pressed them into a hard-shell folder. “From this point forward, all contact from Mr. Shaw will come to me first. I’ll also file a privacy request with the hospital on your behalf.” I looked up. “Don’t tell him my condition.” “Understood.” “And don’t be the one to tell him about the baby.” He watched me. “Are you sure?” I picked up the sealed bag from the bed and set it back on my knees. “He has his own channel.” The lawyer didn’t push. He closed the folder and left. After the door shut, all that was left in the room was the smell of antiseptic. I sat for a while. Then I pulled back the covers, got out of bed, and walked to the end of the hallway. There was a payphone near the wall, old, with tape wrapped around the receiver. I dropped in coins and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. It rang six times. Then someone picked up. “Hello?” “Hannah. It’s me.” A pause on the other end. “Sophie?” I leaned against the wall. The puncture wound on the back of my hand hadn’t closed yet. Pressing the receiver against it stung. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Can you find me a place to rent in Houston?” Hannah didn’t ask why. I heard her chair scrape back. Then her voice dropped. “Just you?” I looked down at the loose hem of my hospital gown. “Just me.” A long silence. “Okay. Do you want it close to a hospital?” “Close.” “South-facing?” I closed my eyes. “Doesn’t matter.” “I’ll look at places today,” Hannah said. “Call me when you get in.” I held the receiver, and my throat moved. “Thank you.” “Don’t. Just get yourself to Houston in one piece.” The call ended. I put the receiver back and walked slowly along the wall back to my room. There was a photo tucked under my pillow. I pulled it out. Five years ago, after the old dam collapse. Ethan and I stood outside the rescue tent, both of us covered in mud. His hand was resting on my shoulder, his smile exhausted. I was smiling too, and on my wrist was the GPS bracelet, freshly clasped. The corners of the photo had started to curl. I looked at it for a long time. Then I turned it over, held it against my chest, and tucked it into the inner pocket of my hospital gown. I didn’t want anything else. Only this. Outside, another rescue vehicle drove past, its tires crashing through standing water. I walked to the bed, set the sealed bag on the pillow, pulled open the drawer, and took out the hospital discharge form.

Sophie’s POV The day I left the hospital, it was still raining in New York. I didn’t wait for the nurse to change my dressing, and I didn’t wait for the lawyer’s car. The moment the light came through the window, I undid my hospital gown button by button, exposing the bruising across my chest that hadn’t faded yet. There was only one thing in the locker: an old rescue jacket, washed clean. The one I’d been wearing in the photo, five years ago. The cuffs were worn pale, the shoulders had gone stiff from being waterlogged, and the threads at the edge of the team patch were fraying. I shook it out and put it on slowly. Halfway through zipping it up, the incision across my abdomen pulled, and I had to stop and breathe through the pain before I could pull the zipper all the way to the top. The photo was under the pillow. I slid it out and looked at it once. In the picture, Ethan stood beside me, hand resting on my shoulder. He had just finished clasping the GPS bracelet on my wrist. His face was smudged with mud, but his eyes were bright. I folded the photo in half. The crease pressed flat across Ethan’s face. I slipped it into the inner pocket of my jacket, next to the post-surgery bandaging, where it made a small firm shape against my side. On the bed, I laid out the hospital gown and folded it, sleeves over sleeves, collar aligned, until it was neat and square. I put the sealed bag on top of it. The cloth inside had dried. The edges were still crinkled. That small stain in the corner was still there, pale yellow, caught behind the plastic, the last thing he had left behind. I pressed my thumb against the seal for a moment. It gave a soft sound. I looked down at the bare mark on my wrist where the bracelet used to be. The cracked GPS unit was in the drawer. The nurse had said the rescue team had logged it and I could take it with me. I picked it up. The screen was dark. The frame had mud in the seams. The clasp had a deep groove where I’d bitten into it. I’d assumed it was broken. Broken was fine. If it still lit up, the promise it carried would only look worse by contrast. I set it on top of the sealed bag. One old promise pressing down on the only thing left of my son. That felt about right. Footsteps passed the door, a nurse, light and quick. I didn’t look up. I took my discharge papers and walked to the nurses’ station. The nurse saw me dressed and stopped. “Ms. Gray, you can’t be walking around yet.” I set the papers on the counter. “I need to check out.” “Your infection markers still need to be rechecked.” “I’ll follow up somewhere else.” She looked at my face, pale and hollowed out, and started to say something else. I was already picking up the pen. On the last page of the hospital records, there was a privacy disclosure section. Authorize disclosure of medical information to family members. I checked a box. No. Authorize disclosure of patient whereabouts to family members. I checked another box. No. Authorize legal spouse to receive future medical correspondence. I didn’t pause. Third check. No. The pen tore slightly into the paper. The nurse took the form back, her voice quieter now. “Do you need us to call you a car?” “No.” I signed the last page, put the pen down, and walked out through the main entrance with nothing in my hands, just the folded photo pressing into my chest through the inner pocket. Wind pushed through the doors. The rescue jacket was thin, and it didn’t stop the cold. The train station was nearly empty. Trains had only just resumed running after the flood. The waiting area was scattered with wet umbrellas and muddy footprints. I stood at the edge of the platform, and my phone buzzed. A message from Hannah. Found a place. South-facing, close to a hospital. Text me when you land and I’ll come get you. I read it, then turned my phone off. The arrival tone sounded down the track. The rails began to hum. I looked down at the top button of my rescue jacket. In the photo from five years ago, this same button was there, bright and sharp. Ethan had done it up for me once. Told me to wear the jacket properly and stop leaving the collar open. I reached up and pulled. The thread snapped. The button dropped into my palm. I stepped to the yellow line at the platform edge and opened my fingers. The button fell, hit the gravel between the rails, rolled twice, and disappeared into a crack in the dark. The train came in on a wall of wind. The doors opened. I stepped on, found a seat by the window, and sat down. The platform lights slid past my face one by one. I didn’t look back. Back in the hospital room, the cracked bracelet still rested on the sealed bag. Deep inside its shattered screen, the local memory held a complete record of every GPS ping from the night of the flood until the morning I walked out. In the receiver field, that one line remained. Blocked.

Ethan’s POV I reached Memorial Hermann a week after the flood. That week, I had been handling the aftermath, giving interviews, managing the press, keeping Mandy calm in front of the cameras. I assumed Sophie and the baby were recovering in the hospital. That the baby had caught a chill. That Sophie was angry with me. I figured I would come when she had cooled down and bring them both home. I even stopped at the gift shop downstairs and picked up a can of baby formula and a bunch of white roses that were entirely wrong for the occasion. The elevator doors opened and I saw the lawyer first. He was standing at the end of the hallway, black document bag in hand. When he saw me, nothing on his face changed. I stopped walking. “Why are you here?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a folder, holding it out toward me. “Mr. Shaw. Ms. Gray asked me to deliver these.” I didn’t take it. “Where is she?” “The documents explain everything.” I looked at him steadily. “I asked you where she is.” He extended the folder another inch. “Ms. Gray has authorized me to handle all legal matters between the two of you. The waiver of marital assets, the power of attorney, the equipment donation list, all signed and in effect.” The color drained from my face slowly. “She just had a baby. You let her sign all of that?” The lawyer met my eyes. His tone didn’t move. “She requested it.” “Get out of my way.” I pushed past him and went straight to the room. The door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open and saw the empty bed first. The sheets were tucked smooth. The pillow was centered. The chair had been pushed back under the desk. On the nightstand, a hospital gown was folded in a neat square, white and cold-looking. On top of the gown was a clear sealed bag. On top of the bag was a cracked bracelet. I stood in the doorway. The formula hit the floor. The white roses scattered, stems rolling to the foot of the bed. I walked over and picked up the bracelet. There was a bite mark on the clasp. Deep. I recognized it. This was the bracelet I had put on Sophie’s wrist myself. The day the old dam gave way, she had been sitting in the rescue tent with her arm in bandages. I had knelt and clasped it for her, and told her: even if the sky came down, I would find her. Now the screen was cracked. She had left it behind. My fingers locked up. My eyes moved down to the sealed bag beneath. Inside, folded small, was a swaddling cloth. It was very small. Clean in a way that felt wrong. I reached for it, and the moment my fingertips touched the plastic, I pulled back. The weight was off. Too light to press against. The seal had been pressed down very firmly. I tore it open after two tries. The cloth came free. There was a small stain at one corner, faint yellow, the kind that doesn’t wash out. It smelled like hospital antiseptic and, very faintly, like mud and floodwater. My throat tightened. I had never held that baby. The day he turned one month old, Sophie sent me a text asking if I had time to come home and see him. I told her I was busy. After that, I never heard from her again. I pressed the cloth back into the bag, but my hands were shaking too badly to get the seal to line up. The nurse took the bag from me. Sophie had left a belongings transfer form before discharge, and handed it to the lawyer to take with him. I held the bracelet and pressed the power button. The screen flickered twice, then lit up in a patchwork of broken blue. The local log opened automatically. Line after line of GPS transmissions. The night of the flood. Building Three, Riverside District. Every two seconds. For hours. My breathing went wrong all at once. I kept scrolling. Half the receiver log had been corrupted by water damage. But the last field was perfectly legible. Blocked. My thumb stopped on the screen. The cracked glass made it hard to read clearly. The room was quiet. The lawyer was still outside the door. He hadn’t come in. I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the bracelet in my hands. The hospital gown crumpled under me. The sealed bag slid onto my knee. I looked at the cloth in my hands. Then at the bracelet. A baby had died the night I crossed the river to the other bank. A woman had sent me her location every two seconds from a rooftop. I never received it. My receiver had blocked her. I snapped my head up. My eyes were shot through with red. “Who touched my account?” The lawyer didn’t answer. From the hallway came the sound of a nurse’s cart, wheels rolling over tile, stopping outside the door. The nurse glanced at the empty bed, then at what I was holding, and looked away. I tightened my grip on the bracelet. The cracked frame dug into my palm. Blood seeped between my fingers and dripped onto the clear sealed bag.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “414984”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

George’s first love, Eve, was back. She’d fallen so far that even her villa was up for auction. I asked him if he still had feelings for her. He frowned and said that was all in the past. I believed him. Until his phone lit up in the middle of the night. A bank transfer notification. Eight hundred thousand dollars. That money was used to buy Eve’s villa. He used our joint marital assets to buy back another woman’s home. I sat there holding my phone, waiting for him to wake up. Then I saw Eve’s latest Instagram post: “Some people say goodbye with their lips, but hold up the sky for you in secret.” The photo was of the villa’s garden. I suddenly remembered what George said when he proposed to me: “I’m the kind of man who only loves once in his lifetime.” Turns out he meant every word. It’s just that the one he loved was always Eve. — George’s phone lit up again. Eve had posted a second Instagram story. A photo of a front door, with the caption: “Home.” I stared at that door. Last year George had taken me to see that villa. It was built by Eve’s grandfather, over a hundred years old. He said the house had history. A shame, he said, that Eve’s family had lost everything. I didn’t think much of it then. Now I understood why he knew so much about it. The living room lights were off. The glow from the phone screen fell across my face. I pulled up the transfer record. Eight hundred thousand, clean. The recipient was a private auction house. The memo field was filled in clearly: “Final payment — villa.” He’d never been that careful when buying anything for us. I heard movement from the bedroom. George woke up and shuffled out in his slippers. He saw me sitting on the couch and stopped. “Why aren’t you in bed?” I turned the phone screen toward him. George went still. He walked over and reached for the phone. I pulled it back. “Eve’s villa. You bought it?” He didn’t answer. “I’m talking to you.” “Yes.” His voice was quiet. “Her place was going to auction. I helped her get it back. Don’t worry — I’ll cover the money from somewhere else. It won’t affect us.” I almost laughed. “Won’t affect us.” We’d been married three years. His money and my money had long since blurred together. Now he was saying this “wouldn’t affect us” — like it was a shared decision? Eight hundred thousand dollars, and he just did it. Without asking me once. “When did you decide to do this?” “Just… recently.” “Recently?” I checked the transfer date again. “Ten days ago. For ten days you ate dinner with me, slept next to me, and said nothing.” George frowned. “I didn’t want you overthinking it.” “Overthinking what, exactly?” He looked at me for a moment, then sighed. “Karen, Eve and I are history. She’s in a tough spot and I helped her out. That’s all. Don’t read into it.” “That’s all.” Then why did you write “Eve’s villa” in the transfer memo? Why did you like every Instagram post she put up the second she uploaded it? How did you even know her family villa was going to auction the moment she got back? None of that happens without effort. I didn’t say any of that. I only said one thing: “You helping her — I have no problem with that. But you used our joint money to do it without even mentioning it to me. Do you think that’s okay?” George’s expression shifted. He sat down across from me, hands folded over his knees, voice softer now. “You’re right, I should have talked to you first. I just wanted to lock in the bid before someone else got it. That house means everything to her family.” “It means a lot to you too, doesn’t it?” —

He didn’t respond. Eve posted another Instagram story. Nine photos this time. The living room, the study, the garden, and one of herself — no makeup, wearing a white dress, standing in front of a carved wooden door. She looked distant and untouched. The caption read: “Thank you for being the one who stayed when everyone else walked away.” I almost laughed out loud. That post was clearly meant for George. “What exactly is going on between you and her right now?” “Nothing.” George looked at me. “I told you, I was just helping her.” “Then what does that post mean?” “How should I know what she means.” He was getting impatient. “Can you stop being so sensitive?” “Sensitive.” The first time he called me sensitive was the day Eve left the country. He’d had a lot to drink that night. I asked what was wrong. He said nothing. I pressed and asked if it was about Eve. He said I was being sensitive. The second time was when we ran into one of Eve’s friends at the mall. The woman smiled and told George that Eve was back. George said he knew. On the way home, I asked when they’d been in touch. Sensitive again. This was the third time. I stood up from the couch and handed him his phone. “If you want to be there for her that badly, I’ll step aside.” George’s head snapped up. “What does that mean?” “Exactly what I said.” I looked at him. “You two were always supposed to be together. If she hadn’t insisted on leaving, you never would have married me. Now she’s back and she’s struggling, and you feel guilty. I get it.” “Karen —” “I’m tired. We can talk tomorrow.” I walked into the bedroom and closed the door. My hands were shaking. Not from anger. It was because I knew I was right. The day George proposed, I asked him why he chose me. He said, “You make sense.” I thought that was just how he was — not the type to say romantic things. Now I understood. He genuinely meant it. I “made sense”. Practical. Suitable. Nothing like Eve, who had never left his mind. My phone buzzed. A message from George. “I only see Eve as a friend. If it bothers you, I’ll cut off contact.” I didn’t reply. He sent another: “The eight hundred thousand was my mistake. Tomorrow I’ll transfer it back into our joint account. Consider it a loan from me to myself.” Still nothing. When the third message came in, I turned off my phone. It had started raining outside at some point. I lay down and stared at the ceiling. Three years ago on our wedding day, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. George was good-looking, successful, and thoughtful in his own way. He promised not to keep flowers in the house because I’m allergic to pollen. He said he didn’t like cats, but he helped me take care of three. He remembered everything about me. I thought it was because he loved me. Looking back now, maybe he was just someone who knew how to take care of people. A habit, not a feeling. It didn’t really matter who that person was. I couldn’t sleep. A little past two in the morning, I got up to get some water and found the living room light still on. George was awake. He was sitting on the couch, phone in hand, screen still lit. I walked closer and saw the name at the top of the screen. Eve’s messages. The last one was from her: “George, thank you for today. When do you want to come pick up the spare key to the villa?” Time stamp: one minute ago. He hadn’t replied yet. I stood behind him for a long time without him noticing. Finally I spoke first. “If you want to go see her, just go. You don’t have to hide it from me.” —

George spun around. His phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor. “When did you get up?” “Right when you were about to reply to her.” He bent down to grab the phone and pressed the power button before he’d even straightened up. Screen went dark. “I wasn’t planning to go see her.” “Then why haven’t you replied?” “I was figuring out what to say.” “Figuring out how to keep me from finding out?” George looked at me, eyes shot through with red. “Do you have to talk like that, Karen?” “How do you want me to talk?” I set my glass on the table. “You say there’s nothing going on, but she’s texting you at two in the morning and you can’t even answer her with me standing right here. You say the eight hundred thousand was just a favor, but every post she puts up is thanking you. What am I supposed to think?” George stood up and kept his voice low. “Three years of marriage. When have I ever lied to you?” “You’re lying to me right now.” He said nothing. I looked him in the eye. “George. Do you still have feelings for her?” A long silence. Long enough that I thought he wasn’t going to answer. “I’m not the type to be led around by my emotions,” he said. I almost smiled. What a careful answer. Not “I don’t love her” — just “I’m not that sentimental.” Which meant: yes, there was something there, but maybe not anymore. Or maybe just not as much. But if you spend eight hundred thousand on a villa for a woman you claim not to love, if you sit up past midnight waiting on her texts — is that what “not being led around” looks like? I didn’t say any of that. I picked up my water glass and went back to the bedroom. I lay there listening to the sounds from the living room. He was on the phone, voice pressed low, but I still caught pieces of it. “…keep the key. I’m not coming.” “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” “Get some rest.” After he hung up, the living room was quiet for a long time. Then I heard his footsteps. He came to the bedroom door, paused, and walked away. He never came in. I barely slept. Just before dawn, I heard the front door. I got up and looked out. His car was gone. Where did he go? I picked up my phone. Eve had posted a voice note on Instagram. I pressed play. Her voice was thick, like she’d been crying. “George, you’re really not coming? I want to see you.” Posted fifteen minutes ago. George had left fifteen minutes ago. I sat on the edge of the bed and felt something almost absurd settle over me. Three years of marriage. He never left the house in the morning without telling me. Every single thing that had been off about him traced straight back to Eve. Then his other phone buzzed. The one he’d left at home. I picked it up. Twenty-something unread messages on the screen. All from Eve. The newest was a voice note. I pressed play. “George, I was wrong back then. I never should have left. I regret it so much — I really do. You still care about me, don’t you? You wouldn’t have bought the villa if you didn’t. You told me once that the biggest regret of your life was not being able to make me stay. I’m back now. Can you… give me another chance?” The voice note ended. A text came in right after. “You said it yourself — the one thing you regret most is losing me. I’m here now. Can’t we try again?” I set the phone down. “The biggest regret of his life.” On our wedding night, during the toast, he’d smiled and said: “I have nothing left to regret.” That wasn’t the truth, was it. The doorbell rang. I went to answer it. A woman stood outside. White dress, long hair, red-rimmed eyes. Eve. She saw me and blinked, then forced a small smile. “Karen, is George home?” —

“No.” “He promised to come by today and help me go over the renovation plans for the villa. I’ve been waiting and he’s not answering his phone.” She peered past me into the apartment. “Can I come in and wait?” I stepped aside. When she walked in, her eyes swept the entryway. George’s shoes were there. His jacket. His car key fob. “George hasn’t gone out today?” “He has.” “But all his things are still here.” I didn’t answer. I watched her settle onto the couch — the exact spot where George had been sitting last night. Eve seemed to sense something. She looked down and started fiddling with her fingers. “Karen, please don’t get the wrong idea. There’s nothing going on between George and me. He’s just been helping me deal with some things related to the villa.” “I know.” “I just got back and I don’t really know anyone here anymore. He was the only person I could ask.” “Sure.” She looked up at me, something unreadable in her expression. “George is such a good person. I wish I’d never left.” She said it so lightly. But I understood perfectly. She was telling me that if she had stayed, I would never have been standing in this home. I didn’t respond. The sound of a key in the lock. George walked in and went completely still when he saw Eve on the couch. Eve stood up, eyes already going glassy. “George.” He glanced at me, then back at her. “What are you doing here?” “I couldn’t reach you, so I came myself.” Her voice had a slight catch in it. “I wanted to look at the renovation plans. You said you’d show me today.” George pulled a folder from his bag and held it out to her. “The plans are here. Take them home with you.” Eve took the folder but didn’t move. She stood there, looking between the two of us, and bit her lip. “Did you two have a fight? Because of me?” Before George could speak, I answered first. “No. We never fight.” That was the truth. Three years and we’d never once raised our voices at each other. I used to think that was proof of how solid we were. Now I realized it was because he never cared enough to. After Eve left, the silence in the living room was suffocating. George stood with his hands in his pockets, not moving. Eventually I was the one who spoke. “You left your other phone here. Eve had sent messages. I saw them by accident.” His fingers twitched. He said nothing. “Why did you two break up back then?” A long silence. “Her family sent her abroad. They didn’t approve.” “Did she say anything to you before she left?” “Yes.” His voice dropped. “She told me to wait for her.” “You didn’t.” “I waited two years. She never came back.” “So you settled for me.” I didn’t say it. George looked at me. “Karen, that chapter is closed. I’ll talk to her and make it clear. We won’t be in contact anymore.” I looked him in the eye. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” “I’m sure.” “Then tell me something. When you bought that villa — were you doing it to help her, or were you holding on to something you couldn’t let go of?” George opened his mouth. Nothing came out. I had my answer. “I want a divorce.” George froze. “What did you just say?” “A divorce.” He stared at me for a few seconds, then gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re joking.” “Do I look like I’m joking?” He put down what he was holding and walked toward me. “Because of Eve?” “Not because of her.” I looked up at him. “Because of you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “414983”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster