At the company holiday gala raffle, I hit the jackpot. I won an Hermes Kelly bag with a market value of forty thousand dollars. I rushed to a luxury appraiser the next morning, ecstatic about cashing it in, only to be told it was a counterfeit. A total fake. When we got back from the holidays, I tried to report it to the Vice President, Ms. Vance. But the Head of HR, Brenda, intercepted me. “Don’t bother Ms. Vance with this petty nonsense,” Brenda snapped. “Bring the bag to me. I’ll handle the quality complaint and get back to you.” Instead, that very afternoon, I received a termination notice. Worse, the company filed a lawsuit against me. Brenda’s mask had slipped completely. “The box was unsealed. You expect us to just take your word for it?” she sneered. “You obviously sold the authentic bag and swapped it for a cheap fake to extort the company!” I was drowned in legal fees and debt. Under that crushing weight and relentless pressure, I jumped from the top of my apartment building. When I opened my eyes again, the roar of the gala filled my ears. I was back. Brenda stood before me, a subtle, scheming glint in her eyes, handing me the sealed signature orange box. Instead of keeping it, I turned and handed the box directly to Ms. Vance in front of everyone. “Thank you for everything the company has done for me! But honestly, a gift this expensive really belongs with you, Ms. Vance. Please, I insist you accept it!” 1 Ms. Vance looked pleasantly surprised. “Oh, Sarah… that is incredibly generous. I couldn’t possibly…” Despite her words, her hand was already reaching out to take it. This was exactly why I chose her. Ms. Vance was obsessed with designer luxury. In my past life, I knew she had been desperately trying to source a Kelly bag. What would happen if the fake bag ended up in her hands? Would a wealthy, powerful executive with a notoriously short temper be better equipped than a powerless employee to dig into who swapped the real product for a counterfeit? “Wait!” Brenda hurried over, a flash of panic in her eyes. “Sarah, company policy clearly states that all raffle prizes are registered to the individual winner. They cannot be transferred or gifted.” “HR has to log the winning information into the system right now. If you just give it away, the entire compliance process will be a mess.” Ms. Vance’s hand froze halfway to the box, the smile on her face dimming slightly. I sneered internally, but kept my face a mask of pure confusion. “But it hasn’t been registered yet, right?” “Brenda, can’t you just register it in Ms. Vance’s name directly? The raffle ticket didn’t have a name on it; it was just based on who was holding the winning number.” Brenda’s expression twitched. She clearly hadn’t expected me to push back so directly. She shot a quick look at Ms. Vance, realizing that the VP was staring right back at her, her annoyance visible. Brenda raised her voice, growing frantic. “Company perks are for the employees. Using a prize to kiss up to your boss is a terrible look. What are the other employees going to think?” She was laying it on thick, deliberately trying to shame me. People at the surrounding tables perked up, turning their attention toward us. Since Brenda had made it a public issue of optics, Ms. Vance felt forced to save face. She retracted her hand, her tone turning cool. “It’s the thought that counts, Sarah. But we do need to follow company policy. Brenda is right. You should keep the prize yourself.” She didn’t glance at the orange box again. My heart sank. I had no choice but to awkwardly pull the box back, apologizing profusely. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vance. I wasn’t thinking. Please don’t take offense.” Brenda breathed a visible sigh of relief and patted my shoulder. “Sarah, remember to come over to the administrative table to register in a few minutes. Don’t hold up the line.” My mind was racing. I left the box at my seat and hurried to the restroom. Thankfully, the banquet hall was covered in security cameras. As long as I didn’t leave the building with the bag, no one could accuse me of swapping it. But as soon as I sat down in a stall, the sound of Brenda’s voice drifted in, getting closer. 2 “…I know! I’ll get the money together soon! Isn’t the gap only forty thousand dollars? … Let them harass me! What if they call my house? Just hang up!” “Discovered? How the hell would I be discovered?! As long as that idiot takes the bag out of the building today, she can scream until she’s blue in the face, and everyone will think she just kept the forty grand for herself! Who is going to believe her?” “Ms. Vance really wanted that bag today… In a few days, I’ll suggest a policy change to management. I’ll pitch a rule that the company can recall any physical prize valued over ten grand for a cash payout. When that happens, I’ll force Sarah to pay back the forty grand difference! I get the cash to pay off my debt, and I can buy another fake to gift to Ms. Vance to get in her good graces. Two birds, one stone!” “If she can’t cough up the money, the company will just sue her for embezzlement of corporate assets!” The person on the other end of the line seemed to argue back, and Brenda roared impatiently. “Enough! I took a massive risk to cover my own ass! Do you think I want those predatory online lenders threatening my life every day?! As long as we get through today, I’m in the clear!” The call ended abruptly. The sharp click of her high heels echoed as she quickly left the restroom. “Where did that idiot Sarah go? Why hasn’t she registered yet…” I sat in the stall, my entire body icy cold. So that was it. It wasn’t a simple product swap. Brenda owed a massive amount to illegal payday loan sharks. She had replaced the real bag with a high-end replica, and sold the authentic one for forty thousand dollars to pay her debt. And I was her designated fall guy. As long as I left the gala with this prize, I could never wash off the stain. Even if I didn’t cause a scene tomorrow, she had plenty of ways to force me to cough up that forty thousand! This bag could absolutely not stay in my hands. The gala had about two hours left. Before it ended, I had to get this fake bag to someone else! 3 The moment I sat back down at my table, my phone started buzzing relentlessly. Brenda was spamming the company group chat. “Attention everyone: All raffle prizes must be registered before you leave the venue.” “Employees who have not registered their prizes cannot leave yet. Please cooperate.” “There is currently only one employee left who hasn’t registered. Please come to the admin desk immediately so we can wrap this up.” Coworkers who were already packing up their things turned to look at me. “Sarah, are you the only one left? Haven’t you registered yet?” “Hurry up and do it, we’re all waiting so we can go home!” Before I could dodge them, a few coworkers practically dragged me over to Brenda’s table. Brenda sat behind the registration sheet, her chin tilted up, looking at me with absolute smugness. I stood perfectly still. Chloe, a notoriously obnoxious coworker standing nearby, raised her voice. “Wow, win the grand prize and suddenly you think you’re royalty, huh?” “Some people get handed a fortune and just want to act high and mighty. If you don’t want it, just give it to me! I certainly won’t complain!” She was part of Brenda’s clique and constantly picked on me. When I won the Hermes bag, her eyes had practically turned green with envy. She was genuinely bitter. A few coworkers snickered, clearly enjoying the drama. Acting as if her words had completely enraged me, I shoved the heavy orange box directly into Chloe’s chest. “Fine! Take it! You act like I actually care about this thing!” Caught completely off guard, Chloe grabbed the box. A second later, sheer ecstasy washed over her face. She hugged the box tight, terrified I would take it back. She whipped around and yelled at Brenda, “Brenda! Quick, put my name down! Sarah gave it to me voluntarily! Hahahaha, some people just can’t handle wealth!” But the blood drained from Brenda’s face. Her voice came out sharp and panicked: “No!” Chloe was stunned by the outburst, her smile freezing. “…Why not?” I put on a mask of pure innocence. “Yeah, Brenda, why not? I gave it to Chloe voluntarily. Plus, you two are super close, right? Can’t you just bend the rules for her?” Brenda glared at me with pure venom, suffocating on her own panic before finally forcing the words out. “No means no! I have to follow corporate compliance! It has to be registered under Sarah’s name!” Chloe looked like someone had just snatched a winning lottery ticket out of her hands. Her face contorted in anger, and she pointed a finger right at Brenda, raising her voice. “Are you fucking kidding me, Brenda?! You’re the one who writes the ‘compliance’ rules whenever you want to kiss up to management! Don’t pull this bureaucratic bullshit on me! I’m keeping this bag today, period!” 4 Chloe’s voice was shrill and piercing, drawing the attention of dozens of people who hadn’t left yet. Brenda was furious and terrified. Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, she grabbed Chloe’s arm and hissed, “Come with me! I’ll explain it to you!” Brenda half-dragged a resistant Chloe into a quiet corner. The two put their heads together. As Brenda whispered frantically, Chloe’s expression morphed from anger to shock, and she kept shooting suspicious glances in my direction. Just then, a group of executives walked over, likely drawn by Chloe’s screaming. Leading them was Ms. Mercer, the fierce head of Marketing, who had a long-standing, bitter rivalry with Ms. Vance. She glanced at the orange box still clutched in Chloe’s arms and let out a sharp laugh. “Well, well. That box looks familiar. Don’t tell me that’s the Hermes bag?” “Ms. Vance, isn’t that the exact Kelly bag you’ve been dying to get your hands on? I saw your Instagram post yesterday complaining about how you were calling every sales rep in the city trying to track one down.” Ms. Vance’s face instantly darkened. She didn’t reply. Ms. Mercer wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip. She looked Ms. Vance up and down, feigning realization. “I was wondering why you kept staring over here earlier. It must be agonizing. Seeing an employee win the exact bag you want, and all you can do is stand there and watch. That must really sting, huh?” “Watch your mouth, Mercer!” Ms. Vance finally snapped, her tone rigid. Ms. Mercer turned her attention to me. “Sarah, weren’t you just trying to give this bag to Ms. Vance a minute ago?” Every eye in the vicinity locked onto me. I immediately lowered my head, playing the part of a terrified, intimidated subordinate. “I… I did want to give it to Ms. Vance. But Brenda told me company policy explicitly forbids transferring prizes… so I couldn’t do it.” “Oh!” Ms. Mercer dragged out the syllable, her expression dripping with exaggerated mock-sympathy. “So it was ‘company policy’ that stopped it! I see. But you know…” Her tone sharpened, turning incredibly condescending. “Since when does HR dictate the rules at our corporate gala? Ms. Vance, you’re a Vice President. You want a gift that an employee voluntarily offered you, and you have to ask an HR admin for permission? You play it a little too by the book, don’t you think? Taking orders from the clerical staff?” 5 Every word was laced with venom, stabbing directly at Ms. Vance’s pride. Her face flushed a furious, mottled red. Ms. Mercer was pretending to praise her for following the rules, but was actually mocking her for being a coward—for lacking the authority to claim a simple handbag, making her look weaker than an HR admin. Ms. Vance’s chest heaved. She shot a lethal glare toward the corner where Brenda was still frantically whispering to Chloe, completely oblivious to the executive showdown. Ms. Vance suddenly reached out her hand. “Sarah! I’m taking the bag. Consider it a direct sale. The market value is forty thousand dollars. I’m transferring the money to you right now!” The entire hall fell dead silent. Acting as if I was flustered and overwhelmed, I practically fumbled to pull the striking orange bag out of its box. Ms. Vance snatched it from my hands. Without even looking at it closely, she pulled out her phone. “Account number!” I rattled off my banking details. Seconds later, my phone vibrated. A deposit alert: $40,000. Clutching the bag, Ms. Vance shot one final, icy glare at Ms. Mercer, pivoted on her heels, and stormed out of the banquet hall. Ms. Mercer let out a triumphant scoff and walked away with her entourage. I quickly moved back to the admin table. The last line of the registration sheet was still blank. I picked up a pen, neatly wrote “Hermes Kelly Bag (Market Value: $40,000)” in the prize column, signed my name, and then added a very specific note in the margins: Cashed out on-site. Sold directly to Ms. Vance. Transaction complete. Just as I closed the empty box, Brenda and Chloe finally finished their hushed conversation and walked back over. Chloe’s expression had softened considerably, though the way she looked at me still held a trace of malicious glee. “Sarah, are you still giving me that bag? Because let me tell you, I already called a friend who runs a luxury consignment shop. I was banking on that cash for my holiday trip to Europe!” Brenda stepped up, having hastily reconstructed her cold, professional mask. “If you’re going to swap, do it now. I’m only making an exception this one time. Once it’s done, there are no take-backs.” The two of them were playing off each other perfectly. They had clearly reached some sort of dark agreement. I lowered my head, rubbed my hands together, and put on a guilty, hesitant face. “About the bag… I’m not giving it away anymore.” “What?” I stiffened my neck, acting like someone who was just being stubborn. “I said I’m not giving it away! I already signed the registration sheet myself. I’m just going to keep it!” Chloe glared at Brenda, looking furious. “Damn it! You snooze, you lose. I shouldn’t have listened to your stupid gossip earlier!” Brenda looked like she wanted to burst out laughing, but fought desperately to keep a straight face. “Why didn’t you just do that in the first place? You wasted everyone’s time!” 6 I clutched the empty box to my chest like I was guarding a treasure and turned to leave. But Brenda stepped in front of me again. “Not so fast, Sarah. Since you registered it, protocol requires a photograph of the actual prize for our archives. Open the box so I can take a picture.” She was being overly cautious. I put on an extremely petty, calculating expression, pulling out my own phone. I pretended to open my camera app, but actually hit ‘Record’ on my voice memos. “Take pictures… Brenda, can I take some pictures too? I want to get macro shots of the stitching, the hardware, the date stamps… I heard the super-fakes these days are incredibly convincing. If it turns out to be counterfeit, I want to have proof so I can call the police right here in the lobby!” Brenda’s face instantly went paper-white. She backpedaled immediately. “Never mind! We don’t need to do an unboxing inspection for yours! It was procured by the company, how could it possibly be a fake? Just a picture of the exterior box is fine!” I acted relieved and didn’t push the issue any further. Finally, while they were distracted, I made a show of tearing off the pink carbon copy of the registration sheet. “I’ll just keep the carbon copy for my records. I’m heading out now.” With that, I hugged the empty box and briskly walked out of the banquet hall. Faintly, I could still hear their mocking laughter trailing behind me. “Hahahahaha, that idiot actually thinks she hit the jackpot…” On the first day of the holiday break, I posted a status update on my Instagram. No photo, just text. [Taking my new bag out to see the girls! Finally getting a chance to flex!] I set the privacy so it was only visible to my coworkers. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Brenda updated her own status. She didn’t name names, but every word was a poisoned dart. [Just a piece of advice: don’t try to flex a counterfeit in high-society circles. You’ll just embarrass yourself when someone calls you out. Real is real, fake is fake. Don’t wait until you’re humiliated to regret it.] She was practically praying I’d realize it was a fake soon, eagerly waiting for me to storm into the office and cause a scene. After posting that, she even made sure to leave a sycophantic comment on Ms. Vance’s latest post. To make things even better, Ms. Vance had updated her feed just ten minutes prior. She posted a picture of an exclusive business gala invitation, with the caption: [Decided my new Kelly is going to be the centerpiece for tomorrow night’s event.] Brenda, completely oblivious, likely assumed Ms. Vance had gone to an Hermes boutique and bought a real one herself. She commented: [Congratulations on finally getting your dream bag, Ms. Vance! It suits you perfectly!] I locked my phone and let out a long, slow breath. The bait was in the water. Now, I just had to wait to reel the net in.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395315”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When the estate attorney’s office called, I was in the middle of making oatmeal for my mother-in-law. The voice on the other end was polite and professional. “Is this Ms. Emma Davis? We need to verify some details regarding Mr. Robert Sterling’s will.” “The will?” I froze for a second. My father-in-law’s will had been finalized through probate two years ago. The developer buyout money for his old property was left to my husband, Mark. After Mark passed away, that inheritance legally defaulted to me and our daughter. “Yes. The will was recently amended. You are no longer listed as a beneficiary.” My hand, gripping the phone, stopped in mid-air. In the kitchen, the oatmeal bubbled and popped on the stove. From the living room, my mother-in-law yelled, “Is breakfast ready yet? I’m starving to death in here!” I didn’t move. I was no longer the beneficiary. Then who was? Free Chapters 1 ######################### Data Divider ######################### Chapter 1 When the estate attorney’s office called, I was in the middle of making oatmeal for my mother-in-law. The voice on the other end was polite and professional. “Is this Ms. Emma Davis? We need to verify some details regarding Mr. Robert Sterling’s will.” “The will?” I froze for a second. My father-in-law’s will had been finalized through probate two years ago. The developer buyout money for his old property was left to my husband, Mark. After Mark passed away, that inheritance legally defaulted to me and our daughter. “Yes. The will was recently amended. You are no longer listed as a beneficiary.” My hand, gripping the phone, stopped in mid-air. In the kitchen, the oatmeal bubbled and popped on the stove. From the living room, my mother-in-law yelled, “Is breakfast ready yet? I’m starving to death in here!” I didn’t move. I was no longer the beneficiary. Then who was? Mark passed away two years ago. A car crash. Rear-ended by a semi-truck on the interstate. The day the highway patrol called me, I was braiding my daughter’s hair. Lily was four years old at the time. She asked me, “Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?” I told her, soon. It was the cruelest lie I have ever told in my life. When Mark died, he left behind a house with a $350,000 mortgage, a four-year-old daughter, and a mother who needed constant care. My mother-in-law, Martha, was sixty-three. High blood pressure, bad knees. When Mark was alive, she lived in her own older house across town. Three days after Mark’s funeral, she showed up at my front door with two suitcases. “My son is gone. I’m living with you now.” It wasn’t a discussion. It was a notification. I didn’t refuse. At the time, I thought: She just lost her only son. I can’t turn her away. From that day on, my life turned into this: Wake up at 5:30 AM. Boil eggs and make oatmeal for Martha. Wake Lily up at 6:30 AM. Dress her, do her hair. Drop Lily off at preschool by 7:00 AM. Rush to work by 7:30 AM. During my lunch break, call Martha to ask if she ate and if she took her pills. Clock out at 5:30 PM. Rush to the grocery store. Pick up Lily by 6:00 PM. Get home by 6:30 PM. Cook dinner. Martha never cooked. “My knees are bad. I can’t stand for that long.” Martha never did laundry. “I don’t know how to use these new fancy machines.” Martha never cleaned the house. “My eyesight is going bad, I can’t see the dust.” After dinner, I would wash the dishes, mop the floors, help Lily with her learning exercises, and take Martha’s blood pressure. By 10:00 PM, Lily was asleep, and Martha was asleep. I would sit alone in the living room, open my phone, and calculate the budget. The mortgage was $1,800 a month. Lily’s preschool was $1,200 a month. Martha’s prescriptions were $300 a month. Utilities, water, and HOA fees were $400 a month. Groceries and household items were $800 a month. My take-home pay was $3,800 a month. $3,800 – $1,800 – $1,200 – $300 – $400 – $800 = -$700. Every single month, I was $700 in the red. Mark’s life insurance and the accident settlement came out to about $100,000. After paying $15,000 for the funeral, I had $85,000 left. Over the past two years, covering the monthly deficit and emergency expenses had drained almost $20,000. That $85,000 safety net had shrunk to $65,000. I had to borrow money from my coworkers three times. During my most desperate month, I only had $150 left in my checking account. A hundred and fifty bucks. To stretch until the end of the month. I never told anyone. Martha didn’t know. All she knew was that meals were served on time, her medicine was always refilled, the heat was on in the winter, and the AC was blasting in the summer. She never once asked me: “Do you have enough money?” Not even once. The news of the developer buyout broke last year. My late father-in-law, Robert, had left behind an old property on the south side of town. It was a tiny, run-down lot that had been sitting empty for years. Early last year, the city announced a massive commercial redevelopment project covering that entire district. The day the compensation offers were mailed out, Martha actually initiated a conversation with me. “Robert’s old place is getting bought out.” I hummed in response. “The developer is offering about 1.5 million dollars.” 1.5 million dollars. My heart skipped a beat. If we got that money, the mortgage could be paid off. I wouldn’t have to stress about Lily’s college fund. We could finally breathe. “You know what his dad’s will said,” Martha added. “It goes to Mark. Since Mark is gone, it goes to you and Lily.” I nodded. When my father-in-law passed away five years ago, the will was drawn up by a registered estate attorney. Black and white. The property and its equity were to be inherited by his son, Mark Sterling. Upon Mark’s death, by law, that inheritance would pass down to me and Lily. I thought this was a done deal. Completely ironclad. But the buyout process dragged on. Appraisals, surveys, signing endless agreements—it took over six months. During those six months, I noticed a subtle shift in Martha’s attitude. She started going out a lot. Before, she rarely left the house, complaining about her bad knees. Now, she was leaving two or three times a week, claiming she was “catching up with her church friends.” One day, I got off work early and saw her standing by the community gate, talking on her phone. Her voice was hushed. The second she saw me, she hung up immediately. “Who was that?” I asked casually. “Telemarketer.” She refused to look me in the eye. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Back then, I was so exhausted every day that all I wanted to do was crash into bed. I didn’t have the energy to monitor what my mother-in-law was up to. Until I got that call from the attorney’s office. The next day, I took a half-day off work and drove straight to the law firm. The man who received me was a young attorney with glasses, Mr. Hayes. “Ms. Davis, here is the situation. Mr. Robert Sterling’s will had an amendment notarized and filed three months ago.” “An amendment?” “Yes. The original beneficiary was Mark Sterling. The amended beneficiary is—” He flipped a page in his file. “Chloe Bennett.” Chloe Bennett. I searched my brain. I didn’t know anyone by that name. “Who is Chloe Bennett? What’s her relation to the Sterling family?” Mr. Hayes hesitated. “Well… we aren’t entirely sure. The amendment paperwork was submitted by proxy through Martha Higgins, utilizing a Power of Attorney supposedly granted by Robert Sterling, alongside an amendment application.” “Wait a minute.” My ears started ringing. “My father-in-law died five years ago. How could he grant a Power of Attorney three months ago?” Mr. Hayes pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “That is exactly why we contacted you.” He slid a document across the desk toward me. “During an internal audit, we noticed some red flags regarding the signature on this Power of Attorney. Mr. Robert Sterling’s signature here has glaring discrepancies compared to the signatures we have on file for him.” I looked down at the document. On the Power of Attorney form, my father-in-law’s name was written in a shaky, crooked scrawl. Robert had been an accountant. His handwriting was always pristine, sharp, and perfectly aligned. This signature looked like someone had clumsily traced it. “Are you saying—” “We suspect this Power of Attorney may be a forgery,” Mr. Hayes said gravely. “Therefore, we are required to verify this with the legal heirs listed in the original will.” Forgery. My hands began to tremble. 1.5 million dollars. Someone had forged my dead father-in-law’s signature to transfer $1.5 million from my husband to a woman named Chloe Bennett. And the person who processed this paperwork was my mother-in-law. I sat in the leather chair, my mind flashing to a single image— Just this morning, before I left for work, Martha had been lounging on the sofa watching TV. She had called out to me: “Pick up my blood pressure meds on your way home!” And I had said, “Okay.” It was this exact woman. Behind my back, she was trying to steal 1.5 million dollars and put it in a stranger’s name. I took a deep breath. “Mr. Hayes, is the original will still intact?” “It is. We have the original on file, and it maintains full legal authority. Because the amendment has been flagged for suspected fraud, it has been suspended indefinitely.” “I need a certified copy of the original will.” “Of course. I will have that drafted for you right away.” I put the certified copy in my purse. When I left the law firm, I didn’t go straight home. I stood on the sidewalk, pulled out my phone, and searched “Chloe Bennett.” Nothing useful came up. Then, I pulled out Mark’s old phone. I had kept it charged since the accident, mostly to save some of his photos and voicemails for Lily. I had never snooped through it. Now, I opened his text messages. I scrolled down, contact by contact. A. B. C. No Chloe. I kept scrolling through his message history. Twenty minutes passed. Then I froze. There was a contact saved as “CeeCee.” The very last text thread was from the day before Mark’s fatal crash. “Come over early tomorrow. I made your favorite roast.” Followed by a heart emoji. Mark had replied: “Sounds good, wifey.” Wifey. He called her wifey. I tapped into her contact profile and opened her linked Instagram page. Her profile picture was a cat. Her most recent post was from one month after Mark died. It was a black-and-white photo of a sky, captioned: “Missing you forever.” I kept scrolling down. Two years ago. Three years ago. Selfies. Long hair, round face, dimples when she smiled. Then, I found a photo of them together. Her and Mark. At a restaurant. Mark had his arm draped over her shoulder. He was grinning from ear to ear. The location tag under the photo: Oakwood Apartments. That date was my wedding anniversary. That was the night Mark had texted me saying he had to work late at the firm and couldn’t make it home. I stared at that photo. I stared at it for a long, long time. Then I clicked on her “About” section. Her email address was listed. chloebennett92@… Chloe. Bennett. 1.5 million dollars. This was the person my mother-in-law was trying to give the money to. My husband’s mistress. I didn’t go home. I drove straight to Oakwood Apartments. It was an older, slightly rundown complex about a forty-minute drive from my house. I parked and walked up to the directory board at the entrance. The security guard at the booth glanced at me. “Who are you looking for?” “Chloe Bennett.” “Chloe Bennett?” The guard scratched his head. “Building 3, Unit 402?” “Yes.” I had no idea why I confirmed it so confidently. But the guard nodded and buzzed me through the pedestrian gate. I walked up to the fourth floor. The door to 402 was painted white. A pair of men’s slippers sat on the welcome mat. Size 10. Mark was a size 10. I didn’t knock. I stood by the door and listened. I could hear the faint sound of a TV playing cartoons. And the sound of a toddler laughing. A toddler. My heart plummeted like a stone. I turned around and walked back down the stairs. Back in my car, I sat in silence for a very long time. Then, I made a phone call. Not to Martha. I called Sarah. Sarah was a clerk at the estate attorney’s office, and she happened to be the older cousin of one of my college friends. She was the one who helped process my father-in-law’s original will years ago. “Sarah, I need to ask you a huge favor.” “Shoot.” “Three months ago, when someone brought in a fake Power of Attorney to amend my father-in-law’s will… who was the clerk that handled it?” Sarah was silent for a moment. “Let me check the system.” Half an hour later, she called me back. “Emma, this is… it’s a bit complicated.” “Tell me.” “It was processed by a new guy, Kevin. He didn’t scrutinize the signature closely enough. But the proxy form also had a copy of Robert’s ID attached to it, along with a… Proof of Kinship document.” “What Proof of Kinship?” “A document proving Chloe Bennett’s relationship to the Sterling family.” “What relationship?” Sarah paused. “The document states that Chloe Bennett’s son, Leo Sterling, is the biological son of Mark Sterling.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395314”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On New Year’s Day, I had this sudden urge to jump on a trend and post a “Year in Review” video of us—the ultimate power couple summary. The moment I brought it up, Preston’s face darkened. “Are you serious? How childish can you get? I don’t have time for this nonsense.” The words were out before I could think, and I immediately regretted it. I spent the next ten minutes apologizing, remembering too late how much Preston hated being on camera. In five years of marriage, the only photo we had together was the one on our marriage license. Knowing I was in the wrong, I put on my favorite new lingerie that night and waited for him in bed. He never came home. Instead, a few hours later, I was scrolling through TikTok and stopped on a video just posted by a generic couple’s account. “Celebrating 1 million followers! Here’s a little gift for you guys~” the caption read. In the video, a man in a soaking wet, white button-down was sitting in a bathtub, the water clinging to his ripped abs. The influencer was straddling his lap, teasingly running her fingers along his Adam’s apple. The man let out a low groan, gripping her waist tightly, his voice choked with suppressed need. “You little temptress. Stop torturing me.” His face was never shown. But the sound of that man, lost in the heat of the moment… I knew it better than I knew myself. It was my husband. Preston Sinclair. Chapter 1 I went rigid, the blood in my veins turning to ice. In complete disbelief, I kept replaying the clip, dragging the progress bar back over and over again, listening to the rasp of his breath, the muffled groan as he succumbed to his urges. I forgot how to breathe. I clicked through to their profile, but my gaze was instantly captured by their avatar. The woman’s slender waist was locked in a massive hand, while the man’s other hand held her chin with terrifying possessiveness. He was crushing his lips against hers, her cheeks flushed red. My fingers froze against the screen. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was Preston. Because the luxury watch on the wrist in that photo was the exact one I bought him the year we got married. I went back to the video. The comments section was full of fans gushing about how real their chemistry was. “Mr. P’s voice is so sexy, I can’t stop listening. This girl is eating SO good.” “I am officially deceased!” “Total stranger here, but is this what they mean by insane sexual tension? Damn.” I stared at the man in the video. My mind was a blank void. In five years of marriage, forget about getting him to do a TikTok trend with me—we barely had a handful of snapshots together. Yet my phone was filled with thousands of photos of him. All of them were candid, taken when he wasn’t looking. I had been naive enough to believe he actually hated being photographed. I didn’t realize I was gripping my phone so hard my knuckles had turned white. And right then… The woman’s cloyingly sweet, giggling voice blasted through the room, the volume so loud it vibrated against the walls. I had accidentally hit the volume rocker. Before I could turn it down, she spoke: “So, I wanted to do a normal year-end summary, but Mr. P told me that was boring. Hmph.” “So, I decided to punish him a little.” The woman in the video grinned at the camera. “For our year-end summary, let’s tally up how many times we had sex this year!” The scene cut abruptly. Inside a dimly lit car, a woman in a lace bra was straddling a man’s lap, her eyes hazy with pleasure as she moved above him. Her moans drowned out the man’s low growl. Simultaneously, her smug voiceover returned: “Our first time last year: New Year’s Day. P was so impatient, he insisted on doing it in the car.” My face drained of all color. Last New Year’s, Preston had said he had an emergency at the office. He left halfway through our family dinner. My in-laws had spent the rest of the night lecturing me. The lecture was always the same: it was my fault I couldn’t keep Preston interested, that I needed to try harder in the bedroom. But Preston rarely slept with me. Watching this hour-long video compilation, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I dragged the slider directly to the end to see the final tally— 160 times. Average of three times a week. A cold chuckle escaped my throat. Then, I noticed she had posted a new status update. [Teaser: Mr. P is proposing to me tonight at midnight.] The geotag was set at the city’s largest Ferris wheel at the Navy Pier. I checked my watch. Half an hour until midnight. I grabbed my keys and drove there immediately. When I arrived, I was just in time to see Preston and the woman kissing sweetly amidst a cheering crowd. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. I dialed his number. I watched him glance at his phone and decline the call. I called again. Until, finally, he picked up, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Preston, is the other woman a good kisser?” Chapter 2 Preston’s expression shifted instantly. He snapped his head up, his gaze landing squarely on me, standing just outside the cheering crowd. I sneered coldly. “Surprised?” “I never imagined my husband would be here proposing to another woman. A New Year’s Eve proposal. How romantic.” “Should I take off my wedding ring right now and offer it as a gift to the happy couple?” The sarcasm in my voice turned Preston’s face ashen. He lowered his voice, irritation bleeding through: “That’s enough, Audrey! Go home right now—” “Who is this on the phone, baby?” Before he could finish, the woman next to him smiled and leaned in. Catching him off guard, she snatched the phone from his hand. She pouted, her voice ringing out angrily: “I don’t care who you are, but tonight, he belongs entirely to Mia!” With that, she hung up the phone. The freezing night wind whipped against my face, stinging my skin. I felt nauseous. A sharp, piercing pain began to spread from the very center of my chest. I clenched my fists tight, refused to give them another glance, turned on my heel, and walked away. Because I knew Preston would follow. Less than ten minutes later, he caught up to me. And the very first thing out of his mouth was: “Audrey, Mia is young, and it hasn’t been easy for her to get where she is. Don’t go looking for trouble with her. If you’re mad, take it out on me.” “As long as you don’t make a scene, the title of Mrs. Sinclair will always be yours.” Preston frowned, looking down at me with an air of absolute superiority. His tone sounded like he was offering charity to a beggar. I actually laughed. Not a single word of explanation. He thought he could just brush me off by letting me “keep” the title of his wife? I curled my lips into a cold smile and mocked him: “You cheat on me, and you say it with such undeniable righteousness. You really are a master businessman, Preston. Your thick skin and your silver tongue are truly unmatched.” “She hasn’t had it easy? So that gives her the right to be a cheap homewrecker?” “Audrey, that is enough!” Preston lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. His grip was brutal, like he was trying to crush the bone. His voice was lethal: “Could you stop being so incredibly toxic?” “Mia is innocent. She doesn’t know anything about us. I arranged the entire proposal myself. I am warning you, do not lay a finger on her, or I will make you pay a thousand times over!” His words ignited a blazing fire in my chest. “Since you’re so terrified I’ll hurt her, fine. Divorce me.” “Absolutely not!” Preston shot back without a second’s hesitation. Ours was a corporate marriage. The assets of the Sinclair Group and my family’s company, Davis Corp, were deeply intertwined. The financial fallout of a divorce would be catastrophic. He knew this. He thought it was his ultimate leverage. I stared dead into his eyes, my voice freezing: “You have two choices. Either we get a divorce, or I expose both of you to the media. Because frankly…” “I have zero interest in logging onto the internet and watching my husband’s homemade pornos with another woman.” With that, I ripped my hand out of his grip and walked away. That night, Preston didn’t come home, and I stayed awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling. When I got to the office the next morning, my head was still pounding. A few minutes later, my secretary rushed into my office, her face paper-white. “Ms. Davis, it’s a disaster!” “Someone secretly photographed you and Mr. Sinclair last night and posted it online. A major influencer is claiming you’re the other woman, and it’s already trending at number one on Twitter and TikTok!” “Davis Corp’s stock is plummeting as we speak. The board of directors is demanding an immediate explanation.” My secretary frantically handed me her tablet. My brows slammed together. I clicked on the trending hashtag and saw that the internet was flooded with photos of Preston and me from our confrontation last night. Preston’s face was blurred out. The only face clearly visible in every single photo was mine. The paparazzi had chosen their angles perfectly. Even though we were practically screaming at each other last night, the photos made the scene look incredibly intimate and scandalous. Scrolling up, I saw that familiar avatar—Mia. Her latest post read: [I expect certain people to have some self-respect. Stop trying to seduce other people’s fiancés!] [Mr. P and I are very much in love. I trust that he would never betray me, so please, stop degrading yourself with these pathetic attempts to steal my man.] Chapter 3 The attached photo was a close-up of their intertwined hands. My eyes locked onto the matching engagement rings resting on their ring fingers. It felt like a knife had been driven straight through my heart. My face turned to stone. Without a second thought, I pulled off my wedding ring and dropped it directly into the trash can next to my desk. The comment section under Mia’s post was a warzone of insults and death threats aimed at me. [What a desperate, home-wrecking bitch! Go die!] [Don’t worry, Mia! We’ve got your back! No one is going to ruin your relationship!] [Shameless tramp. I’m doxxing her right now!] [Everyone, let’s boycott Davis Corp! She’s the heiress to the company. Does she think having money means she can just steal whoever she wants?] The further I scrolled, the worse it got. Her fans were Photoshopping my face onto grotesque, violent images. I was dominating the top ten trending spots across all platforms. …If Preston didn’t have a hand in fueling this algorithm, I’d eat my own shoe. A wave of blind fury surged through me. I immediately dialed his number. As soon as he answered, I demanded: “Did you pay to push this trending topic?” Preston’s voice was icy and detached: “Mia saw me go after you last night. She cried the entire night. This PR push today was just to pacify her. Do not respond to any of it, and do not issue a statement.” “Once she’s in a better mood, the trending tags will naturally drop.” I was so furious I actually laughed out loud. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. Before I could even respond, he added: “Also, do not call my phone randomly from now on. It upsets Mia.” Click. He hung up on me. An unprecedented wave of absurdity and freezing betrayal washed over me. I took a deep breath, looking at my secretary. “Post our marriage certificate on the company’s official accounts.” Facts speak louder than words. Within half an hour, the narrative online violently reversed course. Seeing Davis Corp’s stock finally stop its freefall, I breathed a sigh of relief. The massive weight on my chest lifted. Just then, my secretary’s voice trembled: “Ms. Davis…” She looked at me, her face completely drained of blood. “Sinclair Industries… they just issued an official statement. They claim Mr. Sinclair is not married, and that the marriage certificate we posted is a forgery!” “What did you just say?!” My head snapped up. I felt like I had been struck by lightning. I scrambled to open the official Sinclair Industries Twitter account. [I am not married. The documents circulating are completely fabricated. Cease and desist letters have been issued to all offending parties. — Preston Sinclair] My secretary’s voice shook violently: “R-Right now, Mia’s fans are crashing our corporate website! The entire internet is boycotting us!” “Ms. Davis, what do we do?” My fingers froze over the screen. My mind went completely blank. …Preston was actually willing to go this far for Mia. He was willing to burn the reputations of both our families to the ground. [LMAO so it was just Photoshop all along!] [Wow, look at Ms. Innocent now! Give us another performance, why don’t you?] [What a psychotic, desperate woman! I feel so bad for Mia and Mr. P. Imagine being targeted by this crazy stalker.] My face turned deathly pale. Instinctively, I went to text Preston, demanding to know why he would do something so destructive. But when I hit send, a giant red exclamation mark appeared next to my message. Message failed to send. …He had blocked me. I ground my teeth together, forcing myself to remain calm. I issued my orders: “Contact the Sinclair executives. Ask them what the hell this means, and if they’ve completely lost their minds.” “Have the operations department compile every single active contract and joint venture we have with Sinclair Industries. Tell the legal department to draft lawsuits against the accounts spreading defamation immediately.” “We convene in the boardroom in thirty minutes.” My secretary practically sprinted out to execute the orders. Everything was moving methodically. Everything except Sinclair Industries. There was absolute radio silence from their end. I said coldly: “If they don’t respond in one hour, terminate one of our joint ventures. Let’s see how long they can afford to play dead.” One of the executives in the room looked shocked. “But if we breach the contracts…” “I’ve already secured new replacement partners.” Chapter 4 I cut off their objections immediately. My eyes were ice. “This incident will not drag Davis Corp down.” My secretary distributed the new partnership agreements to the board. The shareholders exchanged looks, but seeing the new contracts, they finally relaxed. The very minute our first termination notice was sent to Sinclair Industries, Preston called me. He was absolutely furious: “Audrey, do you really have to burn us both to the ground to be satisfied?!” “I told you Mia wouldn’t affect your status! Do you absolutely have to drive her insane before you stop?!” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion: “Preston, I gave you a choice.” “This is the path you chose.” Preston sneered, “Fine! Let’s see how long you can keep that stubborn mouth of yours shut!” I looked up at my secretary. “Send the next termination notice.” This corporate standoff lasted deep into the night. When I finally took the elevator down to the executive parking garage, I hadn’t even pulled out my car keys when suddenly, over a dozen people rushed out from the shadows and surrounded me! My heart dropped. “Who are you—” Smack! Before I could finish, a woman lunged out of the crowd, raised her hand, and slapped me hard across the face! The sharp sound echoed through the concrete parking garage. “You filthy bitch!” “Spit on her! This is what you get for being a homewrecker and trying to steal another woman’s man! We’re delivering divine justice tonight!” The slap made my vision swim with black spots. I instinctively frowned, stepping back. “I’m not a homewrecker. You have the wrong person—” Before the words were fully out, someone spit a wad of phlegm directly onto my face. “Still trying to lie, you little slut?” The woman grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanked my head back, and slapped me again! I looked up in shock, my entire body shaking with rage. “You—!” “You what?! Apologize to our Mia right now!” The next second, someone from behind kicked me hard in the back of the knees. The blinding pain drained the color from my face, and my legs buckled uncontrollably, forcing me to my knees. Then, a hand shoved my head down, slamming my forehead violently against the concrete floor! The sickening thud echoed in the garage. Followed by their mocking laughter. An overwhelming sense of humiliation surged into my throat. My eyes went bloodshot. Right then, a designer heel stepped forward, lifting my chin. Mia looked down at me from her pedestal, her eyes filled with contempt. “Ms. Davis, this is the price you pay for trying to destroy someone else’s family.” “Preston is mine. Next time you try something, it won’t be this easy.” I was forced to look up at her, my face scratched and bleeding from their fingernails. I wasn’t surprised to see her at all. I laughed through the pain, gritting my teeth: “If you’re so brave, why don’t you drag Preston to City Hall right now and see if he gets arrested for bigamy?” “Also, there are security cameras all over this garage. You’re all going to prison.” Mia’s face shifted slightly at the mention of bigamy. But then, a flash of pure malice crossed her eyes, and she raised an eyebrow. “With Preston backing me, what’s a security camera? But you know, you just gave me a great idea.” She pressed the sole of her shoe into my cheek, grinding it into the concrete. She smiled down at me: “Strip her clothes off. Then make her crawl to the front of every car in this garage, screaming ‘I’m a homewrecker and a filthy whore.’ If we post that online, it’ll definitely go viral.” “You wanted to seduce a man for attention, right? Consider your wish granted.” The fans’ eyes lit up. They cracked their knuckles and closed in on me. My eyes felt like they were going to burst from my skull. I thrashed wildly, my teeth chattering in fear and rage: “Don’t touch me!” “This is a felony… the Davis family will destroy every single one of you!” They pinned me down from all sides, excitedly ripping my dress, tearing it until I was stripped bare! The freezing night air bit into my exposed skin. I was shivering violently, screaming until my voice was hoarse: “You are going to regret this!” “Spit on her! You think you can act arrogant when you’re the side piece?” “Our Mia is the undisputed future daughter-in-law of the Sinclair family! With Mr. Sinclair protecting us, you think we’re scared of you?” Mia stood there, looking at me with absolute triumph. She was just about to say something else when a piercing, deafening alarm suddenly blared through the parking garage. Her face paled. The next second, a commanding, authoritative male voice roared through the concrete pillars. “Stop right there!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395313”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To be with Ethan Vance, I cut ties with my family. The day I was kicked out of my house, my dad sneered at me: “Serena, you’ve been sheltered your whole life. You have a terrible eye for people. Let’s see how long you can last.” For six years, I stayed by Ethan’s side. We moved from a cramped basement to a tiny studio apartment. We went from eating cheap instant ramen to occasionally being able to afford a nice dinner out. When he drank himself sick entertaining clients, I stayed up all night mixing electrolytes and making him black coffee. Finally, his tech startup went public. The IPO celebration was held at a five-star hotel. As his fiancée, I arrived early to make sure everything was perfect. But the moment I walked into the ballroom, I saw someone already sitting in the seat of honor—his infamous “work wife,” Chloe Harper. Dressed in a crisp white pantsuit, she was laughing and chatting with the investors. She carried herself with the effortless grace of a hostess. When she saw me, she barely spared me a glance before speaking to me like it was her right: “Serena, you’re here? Perfect. Go rush the kitchen staff. Mr. Caldwell has a severe seafood allergy, so they need to be extra careful with the appetizers.” Beside her, Ethan casually took the champagne flute from Chloe’s hand, took a sip, and murmured, “Always so thoughtful. I almost forgot about Caldwell’s allergy.” Throughout the dinner, they bounced industry jargon and capital maneuvers off each other. In the most thrilling chapter of his life, Chloe was the absolute main character. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. A few drinks in, Ethan stood up to offer a toast. Chloe immediately looped her arm through his, standing up with a radiant smile: “Everyone! Ethan has hit the jackpot in both his career and his love life! Shouldn’t all of us single folks make him take a penalty shot?” The room erupted in cheers. A few executives, buzzed from the alcohol, started getting loud: “If you ask me, you and Chloe are the perfect match! You understand each other with just a look. The synergy is insane!” “You guys went from eating ramen in the office to ringing the bell on Wall Street! What do you call that? Riding out the storm together to share the glory!” Ethan just smiled, not denying a word, letting the atmosphere bubble over. I looked at this banquet, supposedly a celebration, and felt like a complete outsider. “It seems your company’s victory party doesn’t lack a leading lady.” “So you and your ‘best partner’ can celebrate properly.” I grabbed my coat and walked out of the ballroom, ignoring the shocked stares of everyone at the table. Free Chapters 1 ######################### Data Divider ######################### Chapter 1 He chased after me, grabbing my wrist in the hallway. His voice dropped into a coaxing whisper: “Serena, don’t make a scene.” I yanked my arm away, my eyes stinging. A few board members had followed him out to smooth things over. The most senior one, Mr. Davis, patted Ethan on the shoulder. “Ethan, talk it out nicely. Don’t make Serena feel left out.” Ethan took a deep breath, his expression turning serious. “Chloe was just too excited and crossed a line. I apologize on her behalf. But Serena, six years together… are you really going to throw it all away because of her?” His tone grew a little panicked. “Did you forget what we promised? Once the company went public, we’d go to Norway to see the Northern Lights. We’d have our wedding in Tromsø.” My heart gave a sharp ache. We had survived so much hardship, finally reaching this day. He rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb. “Don’t you want to see the auroras with me anymore, Serena?” Those words hit my softest spot. Mr. Davis sighed. “Serena, you were wronged tonight. Chloe is a workaholic; she treats the company like it’s her own home and lost her sense of boundaries.” Just then, Chloe strolled out, stopping a few feet away. Her tone was perfectly polite. “Serena, I was careless earlier and caused a misunderstanding. I’ll penalize myself with a drink.” She raised a glass she had snagged from somewhere, her posture elegant. The tension awkwardly dissolved. Before leaving, Mr. Davis made a point to say, “Ethan, the executive team is heading up to the mountain spa resort tomorrow to unwind. Bring Serena along so she can relax, too.” Ethan nodded immediately, wrapping his arm tightly around my shoulders. “I will. I’ll definitely bring her.” That night, back at our apartment. He held me in the steamy bathroom, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over, kissing me with desperate, heavy urgency. He took me several times that night, moving with such force it felt like he was trying to shatter all his insecurities. I closed my eyes and took it, but the thorn in my heart only dug deeper. 2 The next evening, we arrived at the luxury mountain resort. Chloe was already lounging by the indoor pool, wearing a silk robe and holding a glass of Pinot Noir. Seeing us, she smiled faintly. “Ethan, did you bring your swim trunks? You always forget.” She then turned to me, bringing it up casually: “Last time we had a business trip in Chicago, I had to run out and buy his trunks at the last minute~” Ethan looked a little embarrassed and squeezed my hand. “That was ages ago.” The group this time consisted mostly of younger executives and staff. Everyone naturally gathered around the edge of the hot springs, sipping wine and chatting. Someone cheered, “Chloe, tell us a story from the early startup days!” Chloe covered her mouth and giggled. “The most unforgettable moment was the night we secured our Series A funding. Ethan was so ecstatic he picked me up and spun me around, and we both fell into the pool.” The crowd erupted in laughter. Ethan let out a soft chuckle. “You had quite a few drinks that night, too.” More hooting and hollering from the peanut gallery. A project manager, clearly hammered, slurred, “Chloe, Ethan… have you two really never dated? Since the future Mrs. Vance is here, confess now and get a lighter sentence!” Someone instantly chimed in, “Yeah! I remember working late until 2 AM once and seeing you two hugging in the office!” Chloe took a sip of her wine. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling as she shot him a sidelong glance. “We… well, we have kissed.” My head snapped up. The area around the pool fell dead silent. Ethan leaned against the edge of the hot spring, his eyes closed, acting as if he hadn’t heard. Chloe smiled, her tone dancing between joking and serious: “It was the night the company almost went under. He told me… if we could turn things around, he’d be with me.” Her gaze shifted to my pale face, and she enunciated every word clearly: “And then,” “He kissed me.” 3 Those words were a bucket of ice water, drenching me from head to toe. The people around us were completely mute. I shot to my feet, staring at a very drunk Ethan. “Is she telling the truth?” Stripped of the warm water, I was left shivering. The man who had held me just last night, swearing his love, now had unfocused eyes. He looked at Chloe, then at me. Then, he broke into a dopey grin and mumbled thoughtlessly: “What truth? It was just one kiss!” “Her lips were so soft… she was crying, it broke my heart.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “So, the company turned around, which means you should be with her?” My voice shook. That seemed to sober him up a fraction. He rubbed his temples in frustration. “Serena, don’t bring up ancient history… I was under so much pressure…” Before he could finish, Chloe rushed over to support his weight. Her face didn’t change as she took the initiative to explain: “Things were just too hard back then. You can’t take everything said in the heat of the moment seriously. Please don’t be upset, Serena.” She sounded so sincere. But the sheer adoration in her eyes when she looked at Ethan wasn’t hidden at all! She helped Ethan stand, her voice gentle. “Ethan has a bad stomach; he shouldn’t soak in the hot water too long.” He leaned heavily against her in his drunken daze. They looked incredibly intimate. A veteran employee sighed. “Serena, you weren’t there for the really bad times. When the company was about to fold, Chloe stayed up with Ethan for three days straight.” “During the hardest moments, they definitely… relied on each other a lot.” Chloe said softly, “It’s all in the past. The company is doing great now, and he’s with you. I’m happy for him.” Her words said she was happy, but her eyes were pure provocation. Another drunken executive raised his hand. “I can vouch for that! Ethan even said back then that if we survived, he would never do Chloe wrong!” Amidst the chorus of ambiguous agreements, Ethan leaned his head on Chloe’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and muttered, “Mhm… I’ll never do you wrong, Chloe.” That scene entirely broke me. I grabbed my towel robe, threw it on, and walked away. Behind me, I could hear the whispers: “She can’t even handle that?” “They were never from the same world anyway.” “Chloe is the one who actually suffered through the trenches with Ethan.” Back in the hotel room, I locked the door. Outside the window was the quiet mountain night. I thought about the days we crammed into a two-hundred-square-foot studio, splitting a single bowl of ramen. He had held me and said, “Serena, once I make it, I will never let you suffer again.” I thought about his first failed funding round, when I stood with him on a windy overpass at 3 AM. He had said, “Thank God I still have you.” Now, he had made it. But it seemed that on his journey of loving me, he had fallen in love with someone else. I stared into the thick darkness, sitting paralyzed until dawn. Ethan didn’t come back to the room that night. And I never expected that what I was waiting for wouldn’t be his apology. At noon the next day, he barged into the room, furious. A slightly red-eyed Chloe trailed behind him. He slammed an iPad down in front of me—the company’s official website homepage had been hijacked with a video playing on a loop: [Watch Chloe Harper, the Homewrecker, Reveal Her True Colors!] It was the exact clip of Chloe saying “we have kissed” and Ethan drunkenly slurring “I’ll never do you wrong, Chloe.” The comment section was a bloodbath of insults. “Serena!” Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot. “The website was hacked! Now the entire industry is treating us like a laughingstock!” He glared at me intensely. “Your childhood best friend is a hacker, isn’t he? Using tactics like this… you’re beneath contempt!” I stood frozen. Because of a simple connection, he immediately convicted me. Chloe took a step forward. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she stood tall and proud: “Serena, if you’re unhappy, you can say it to my face. But this company is the blood, sweat, and tears of everyone here. You shouldn’t take revenge like this.” Every word was flawlessly composed, perfectly contrasting my supposed pettiness. I looked at this man I had loved for six years. For her sake, he didn’t hesitate to condemn me. The death of a heart happens in an instant. I raised my eyes and looked at him calmly. “Ethan, so you brought her here to interrogate me?” I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Did you forget that you owe me an explanation first?” “Or why don’t you just look me in the eye and tell me you want to break up?” 4 “Break up?” Ethan frowned deeply. “Serena, we are talking about the company website being hacked!” “And the fact that you’ve ruined Chloe’s reputation.” He pinched the bridge of his nose impatiently, his tone hardening. “Is this really your attitude after doing something so wrong?” Chloe stood beside him, her voice level but laced with venom. “Serena, I understand you. But launching a cyberattack against corporate servers is a federal crime. This could destroy everything Ethan has built.” Those words struck a nerve in him. He immediately stepped in front of Chloe to shield her, staring at me with profound disappointment. “She’s looking at the big picture despite everything, and you’re still throwing a tantrum? Apologize!” I watched them standing shoulder to shoulder. “I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice ice cold. “Who else could it be?” Ethan said with absolute certainty. “Isn’t your best friend in that exact line of work?” The unwavering conviction in his eyes stabbed me right in the chest. My entire body was trembling. I couldn’t hold it back a second longer. I raised my hand— Smack! A vicious slap landed squarely across Ethan’s cheek. He froze. The left side of his face rapidly turned an angry red. “Ethan!” Chloe immediately stepped up to check on him. Hearing the commotion, several executives flooded into the room, all talking over each other: “Serena, how could you hit him?” “You’re the one in the wrong, and you’re acting this arrogant!” “Chloe is willing to let it slide, what more do you want?” I looked at their united front against me and laughed out of pure rage. “You say I hacked your website? Where’s the proof?” “A room full of supposedly educated professionals, and you’re just going to baselessly frame someone?” Seeing the situation escalate, Chloe played the peacemaker: “Everyone, please stop. Serena just acted on impulse.” “She’s probably just feeling a little neglected by Ethan and isn’t thinking straight.” Her words sounded like she was defending me, but they were actually hammering the nails into my coffin. She spoke with faux earnestness: “But Serena, whatever issues you have in your relationship, why make it so ugly for everyone else?” In the chaos, someone bumped my purse off the table. A small velvet box rolled out and popped open— It was the diamond engagement ring he had bought with his very first funding bonus. Crunch— A crisp, sickening sound of something shattering. Chloe’s high heel had “accidentally” stepped right on it. The diamond popped out of the setting, and the band was bent out of shape. The world instantly went quiet. “Oh, sorry,” Chloe said, stepping back. Her tone was airy. “I didn’t notice.” I bent down and picked up the crushed ring. My hands were shaking. Six years of love, crushed just like that. Ethan looked stunned too. He reached out to grab me. “Serena…” Before he could finish, I looked up, my eyes blazing. Breathing heavily, I swung my hand back and slapped Chloe. Smack! It was even louder than the first one. She stumbled backward, clutching her face, and crashed into the coffee table. A glass of red wine tipped over, splashing all over her. “You…” Her eyes were wide, her perfect makeup smeared. “That,” I said, taking a step toward her, “was for your calculated scheming.” The executives around us gasped. Chloe leaned against the table, struggling to stand upright. “Doing this will only humiliate Ethan…” “Shut up!” I cut her off. Ethan softened his voice. “Serena, let’s sit down and talk this out.” “Talk about what?” I sneered. “Talk about how you two were practically joined at the lips?” My heart hurt so much it felt like it was going to explode. Every suppressed emotion erupted in that single moment. I raised my hand and delivered another ringing slap to her other cheek. “And that is for willingly being the other woman!” Chloe shrieked and fell to the floor. The red wine stains bloomed across her pristine white suit. She looked utterly pathetic. She finally dropped her act. “Serena, you’re psychotic!” I didn’t even look at her again. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Dad,” my voice was as cold as liquid nitrogen. “Short Vance Tech immediately. Buy up the entire public float.” Chapter 2 5 The moment the words “Short Vance Tech” left my mouth, the room went dead silent. Then, snickers broke out across the room. One of the executives pointed at me. “Serena, did the anger fry your brain? Do you even know what our market cap is right now?” Another voice piped up, shrill and mocking: “She’s just a regular broke girl who moved to the city. She dated Ethan for six years and actually thinks she’s somebody important!” “Short the stock? Does she even know what shorting means?” Chloe, clutching her swollen cheeks, started to laugh. “Serena, I know you’re mad, but there’s no need to make up such ridiculous lies.” She turned to Ethan, her tone dripping with pity. “Ethan, take her somewhere to rest. She really needs to calm down.” The woman who was just on the floor had suddenly reclaimed the high ground. She even straightened her spine. Ethan’s brows were locked together. He looked at me, his eyes full of exhaustion and disappointment: “Serena, stop saying these childish things. Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” He tried to grab my hand again. I slapped it away fiercely. My heart was completely frozen over, leaving me feeling strangely, unnervingly calm. “Who told you I was just a regular broke girl?” I swept my gaze across their faces, memorizing every sneer and look of contempt. Snobs. That was the only word for them. “Six years. Aside from knowing I was the girl keeping him company, did a single one of you ever ask what my family does for a living?” The room fell silent for a heartbeat. Ethan froze, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes. Chloe scoffed. “What, is Serena going to tell us she’s the long-lost heiress of some billionaire dynasty?” She dragged out her words mockingly. “Or maybe your hacker best friend is going to invent a shiny new identity for you online?” The crowd obligingly chuckled. “Where’s the proof?” an executive shouted. “Talk is cheap!” “Exactly! No proof means you’re just full of hot air!” Ethan took a deep breath, utilizing the very last shred of his patience. “Serena, stop spinning tales and come back to the city with me. We will handle today’s mess privately.” He looked at Chloe. “Apologize to Chloe, and we can put this behind us.” I looked at him and felt nothing but absolute absurdity. Right then, a new call came through on my phone. It was Secretary Arthur. I put it on speaker. Arthur’s voice was impeccably respectful: “Miss Sterling. The directive has been confirmed and executed. Furthermore, Mr. Carter and I will be arriving shortly to pick you up. Mr. Sterling asks if you are finished playing pretend and are finally ready to come home?” The voice on the other end paused before continuing: “Mr. Sterling also said: You are the heiress to the Sterling family. There is a long line of brilliant young men waiting for your attention. There is no need to hang yourself on a third-rate, unrefined tree.” Unrefined. Hearing that word, Ethan’s face drained of color. He stared at me, his expression twisting. I met his gaze and enunciated every word: “Yes. Tell him I’m officially coming back to the Sterling family.” Silence. Chloe’s face was stiff, but she was still stubbornly clinging to her narrative. “Serena, do you honestly think hiring some actors to make a phone call is going to fool anyone?” But a younger executive suddenly turned pale, as if he had just connected the dots. He pointed at me in sheer terror. “The Sterling family? Are you… are you from Sterling Capital?!” Hearing that name, Ethan whipped his head toward me, his eyes filled with an unprecedented horror. “Serena, are you…” “Impossible!” Chloe shrieked, cutting him off, desperately trying to maintain her composure. “Serena, who is this performance for? Everyone knows you come from a totally average family! We know exactly how you lived with Ethan for the last six years!” She sounded like she was clutching at straws, her voice growing increasingly frantic: “If you were really the heiress to Sterling Capital, why didn’t you say anything when Ethan was begging for seed money? Why did you watch him grovel to investors? Why did you watch us almost go bankrupt?” Her words reignited the doubts in the room. “Yeah! That makes no sense.” “Sterling Capital… they’re institutional apex predators…” “If she was a billionaire heiress, why would she suffer like a peasant with us?” The shock in Ethan’s eyes slowly settled, replaced by the furious indignation of someone who felt they were being played. “Serena, you hired people to put on a show just because you’re throwing a tantrum? Do you think this is funny?” I looked at him, and the barren wasteland in my chest froze over completely. “Ethan, in the six years we’ve been together, aside from knowing my mother passed away when I was young, did you ever ask me what my dad does? Did you ever ask what my life was like before I met you?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395312”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I handle hundreds of death certificates every month. I’ve never seen one this fake. With red-rimmed eyes, Chloe Bennett handed the piece of paper to Dr. Liam Sterling. “Dr. Sterling, before my mom passed… her only wish was to see me marry you.” She was sobbing, her body trembling, clutching a handwritten letter in her other hand. Liam took it, his brows furrowing in deep concern. I stood right behind him, my gaze landing on that death certificate. Thirty seconds. That was all I needed. The immediate cause of death was listed simply as “Sudden Cardiac Arrest,” with no underlying conditions noted beneath it. The certifying physician’s signature was entirely too perfect—neat block letters, as if it had been carefully traced over a template. The date of death: three months ago. I’ve worked as a mortician at the city funeral home for six years. I remember every single body that passed through my hands during that specific week three months ago. She wasn’t one of them. Free Chapters Chapter 1 I handle hundreds of death certificates every month. I’ve never seen one this fake. With red-rimmed eyes, Chloe Bennett handed the piece of paper to Dr. Liam Sterling. “Dr. Sterling, before my mom passed… her only wish was to see me marry you.” She was sobbing, her body trembling, clutching a handwritten letter in her other hand. Liam took it, his brows furrowing in deep concern. I stood right behind him, my gaze landing on that death certificate. Thirty seconds. That was all I needed. The immediate cause of death was listed simply as “Sudden Cardiac Arrest,” with no underlying conditions noted beneath it. The certifying physician’s signature was entirely too perfect—neat block letters, as if it had been carefully traced over a template. The date of death: three months ago. I’ve worked as a mortician at the city funeral home for six years. I remember every single body that passed through my hands during that specific week three months ago. She wasn’t one of them. 01 Liam read through the handwritten final letter three times. The paper was yellowed, the handwriting shaky and uneven. It was signed “Sarah Bennett” at the bottom, complete with a messy smudge of an ink thumbprint. “Chloe, your mom… when exactly did she pass?” Liam asked softly. Chloe covered her face. “Three months ago. Sudden heart attack. The paramedics couldn’t bring her back.” “Her last few days, she just kept saying your name over and over.” “Said you were the best doctor she’d ever met, the kindest man.” Liam was silent for a long time. He turned to look at me, his eyes slightly misted over. “Harper, Chloe is…” “I saw.” My voice was flat. Liam pulled me into the hallway, lowering his voice. “How do you think we should help her?” “Help her with what?” “Her mom just died. She’s alone in this city, and you know she doesn’t have any other family here.” “I’m asking you how you see that death certificate,” I said coldly. Liam paused, confused. “What do you mean?” “The causal chain is incomplete,” I said. “According to CDC guidelines, ‘Sudden Cardiac Arrest’ is a mechanism of death, not a cause. You have to note the underlying disease—whether it was coronary artery disease, cardiomyopathy, or arrhythmia. A real doctor wouldn’t just write three words and call it a day.” “You’re a… mortician. You actually understand that side of medicine?” That didn’t come from Liam. Chloe had somehow followed us out, standing at the corner of the hallway, tears still clinging to her lashes. But the way she was looking at me now was very different from how she looked when she was crying seconds ago. “Ms. Avery, my mom passed away at the county hospital back in my hometown.” “A small-town clinic might not have the same strict standards as the big city hospitals you’re used to.” Liam nodded immediately. “Right. Rural hospitals do sometimes have inconsistencies in their paperwork. Harper, don’t be so rigid.” I looked at him. He didn’t even know that the format for the United States Standard Certificate of Death is mandated nationwide. Even in small-town hospitals. “And what about the certifying doctor’s signature?” “What about the signature?” “It’s too neat,” I said. “I’ve seen thousands of doctors’ signatures. Not one of them uses perfect block letters.” Chloe’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. It was a tiny flinch, but I saw it. “Ms. Avery, do you really think every doctor in the world is exactly like the ones you deal with at the funeral home?” She wiped her tears, her voice trembling with aggrieved insult. “My mother just died, and you’re here questioning her death certificate… Do you have any idea what this means to me?” Liam’s expression shifted. Not toward Chloe. Toward me. “Harper, the girl just lost her mother. Is this really necessary?” “You deal with dead bodies every day. Have you become completely numb to this?” I tightened my grip on my purse strap. Occupational hazard. Numb. Cold-blooded. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. “I just think there are inconsistencies.” “What inconsistencies?” Liam’s tone carried a hint of impatience. “A grieving girl brings a final letter from her mother, looking for some support from a colleague, and you immediately jump on her paperwork?” “If your mom had just passed, and someone treated you like this, how would you feel?” Right on cue, Chloe let out a few more silent tears. Liam gently patted her shoulder. “Chloe, don’t listen to her. It’s just her job talking. She didn’t mean anything by it.” I stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall. The harsh fluorescent lights seemed exceptionally bright. The way he patted her shoulder was so natural. Natural as if he had practiced it many times. 02 When we got home that night, Liam did something unprecedented: he didn’t wash his hands first. The very first thing he always did when he came home from the hospital was wash his hands. Three scrubs with soap, one full minute under running water. A six-year habit from being a surgical resident, ironclad. But that day, he sat directly on the sofa, staring at his phone screen. “Chloe posted a photo of her mom in the department group chat.” He handed me the phone. A portrait of an older woman, taken in a backyard somewhere in the suburbs. She was wearing a thick flannel jacket, smiling warmly. Under the photo, Chloe had written: “Mom, I’m going to work hard to live a good life. Don’t worry about me.” The group chat exploded. Colleagues left messages of consolation, sending virtual hugs and typing “Rest in Peace” and “So sorry for your loss.” “See,” Liam said. “She really is heartbroken.” I didn’t respond. I was looking at the background of the photo. There was a pumpkin vine in the yard, and hanging from it were tiny, unripe green pumpkins. Green pumpkins. She claimed her mother passed three months ago. That would be September. Pumpkins are fully orange and ready for harvest in September. Green, unripe pumpkins belong to the peak of summer—July or August. Unless that photo wasn’t taken in September. Unless that photo was taken when her mother was still very much alive in the middle of summer. “Liam.” “Yeah?” “There are unripe green pumpkins in that photo.” “…And your point?” “Three months ago was September.” He looked at me for several seconds. “Harper, can you please stop analyzing living people like you’re performing an autopsy?” “Maybe it was taken earlier in the year? Maybe it’s a weirdly late-blooming vine?” “Do you really have to pick a grieving girl apart? What are you trying to gain from this?” He stood up and walked into the bathroom. I heard the harsh spray of the shower start. I sat on the sofa, zooming in on the photo. The growing season for pumpkins is undeniable. The latest this “final photo” could have been taken was August. But Chloe insisted her mom died in September. When this “memorial photo” was taken, her mom was doing just fine. I didn’t bring this up to Liam again. Some words are a warning when said once. When said twice, they are nagging. When said three times, they become an unreasonable persecution complex. 03 Over the next week, the atmosphere in the department shifted. Chloe’s “tragedy” had spread throughout the entire hospital wing. Everyone knew that Nurse Bennett’s mother had left a final wish for her daughter to marry Dr. Sterling. “It’s so incredibly sad, like a movie.” “Dr. Sterling is such a good guy, always supporting Nurse Bennett.” “Doesn’t Dr. Sterling have a girlfriend? The one who… works at the funeral home?” The person who said that last part lowered their voice significantly. But no matter how low the voice was, the disgust in the pause couldn’t be hidden. On Wednesday at lunch, I went to the hospital cafeteria to find Liam for lunch. He wasn’t there. I called his phone. It rang six times before he picked up. “Where are you?” “Uh… in the cafeteria, with some colleagues.” The background noise was chaotic, with the sound of clattering trays and women’s laughter. “I’m in the cafeteria too. I don’t see you.” The other end went silent for two seconds. “Sorry, I’m actually grabbing a bite at the deli down the street. Chloe… she hasn’t been able to eat anything, so I wanted to get her something decent.” The cafeteria had everything the deli had. “Liam, directly telling the truth isn’t that hard.” I hung up. My fingers were ice cold. Not because he was eating lunch with Chloe Bennett. But because he had lied. As a surgeon, he had dissected countless grand lies on the operating table—patients who swore they hadn’t been drinking but had a BAC over the limit, family members who denied any allergies but had irregular liver enzymes. He knew better than anyone the cost of a lie. And yet, he lied anyway. For a “colleague who just lost her mother.” At 2:00 PM, Chloe Bennett sent me a text. “Ms. Avery, thank you for your understanding. Dr. Sterling is just showing collegial concern. Please don’t overthink it.” Followed by a smiley face emoji. I took a screenshot of that message. Not because I was angry. But because that message revealed one thing—Liam had told her about my dissatisfaction. He chose to explain himself to her, rather than apologize to me. When we got home that night, Liam brought a bouquet of white chrysanthemums. “Chloe said she wanted to visit her mother’s grave. I promised I’d drive her back to her hometown this weekend.” “Where’s she from?” “Oakhaven. A small town a few hours north.” I put down my fork. “Which funeral home handled her mother’s cremation?” “Harper!” Liam slammed his fork down onto the table. “Her mother has already been cremated, and you’re still pushing to know where?” “Do you have an ounce of empathy in you?” “Are you so cold from dealing with dead bodies all day that you’re like this to living people, too?” His voice was loud. So loud that the water droplets on the window panes seemed to shudder. I didn’t argue back. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was that I suddenly felt very, very tired. I’ve been in this industry for six years. In the first year, no one at friend gatherings wanted to sit next to me. In the second year, my blind dates turned around the second they heard “funeral home.” In the third year, my landlord raised the rent after finding out my profession. Liam Sterling appeared in the fourth year. He said he didn’t care. He said that a doctor and a mortician are just two ends of the same life cycle. He made it sound so beautiful. So beautiful that I believed him for three years. Until today. I cleared the dishes into the sink and turned on the faucet. The sound of the rushing water drowned everything else out. 04 Saturday morning at 6:00 AM, Liam left the apartment. He said he was picking Chloe up, and they were going to drive up to Oakhaven together. “I’ll go with her to visit the grave, and we’ll be back by tonight.” When he left, I was on the balcony watering my plants. A potted asparagus fern I’d kept alive for two years, its leaves a vibrant, glossy green. The sound of the front door closing was very soft. As soft as his current attitude toward our relationship. At 10:00 AM, I made a phone call to my mentor, Brenda. Brenda had been in the business eight years longer than me. She now worked at the State Department of Vital Statistics, overseeing the state’s Electronic Death Registration System (EDRS). “Brenda, can you run a name for me?” “Who?” “Sarah Bennett. Resident of Oakhaven County. I don’t have her Social Security Number. Date of death would be roughly three months ago, around September.” “Why? Suspect foul play?” “Suspect she’s not dead.” Brenda paused, then let out a sharp laugh. “Alright. Give me a minute.” Forty minutes later, Brenda called back. “Checked it. There isn’t a single death certificate registered for a Sarah Bennett in the entire state system for the last six months.” “None?” “None. No death registration, no transport logs, no cremation permits, and no burial transit permits.” “I even checked the Oakhaven County Coroner’s logs specifically. They handled 37 bodies in September. Sarah Bennett wasn’t one of them.” My hand holding the phone was completely steady. But my heart skipped a beat. “Brenda, can you check one more thing for me?” “Her Social Security benefits status.” “I can’t pull that on my end, you’ll have to figure that out yourself.” “But there’s a foolproof way to know—Social Security retirement benefits are linked directly to their bank. When someone dies, the family or the funeral director reports it to the SSA to stop the payments.” “If her retirement checks are still being disbursed…” “It means the Social Security Administration never received a death certificate.” “It means that as far as the federal government is concerned, this woman is still alive.” I thanked her and hung up the phone. The sun outside the window was incredibly bright. The shadows of the fern leaves fell across the hardwood floor in fine, delicate lines. I brewed a cup of tea, sat down at my desk, and opened the funeral director’s portal for the SSA’s Death Master File. Some things didn’t require Liam to believe me. I could verify them myself.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395311”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband’s “ghost of Christmas past” is back in town. Becca is the quintessential “cool girl.” The kind who thrives on being the only woman in a room full of men, playing poker until dawn and knocking back whiskey like one of the guys. She’s built her entire personality around having no boundaries, especially when it comes to my husband, Harrison, and his circle of friends. I’ve spent years biting my tongue, swallowing my pride. Until tonight. Until I watched her drape herself over Harrison, pouting her lips with that fake, booze-fogged innocence, claiming she wanted to test their “brotherly bond.” “Come on, Harrison,” she cooed, her voice a sticky sweet syrup. “We literally shared a sandbox. We’ve known each other since we were in diapers. You’re really going to deny your best bro a little hug after all these years?” I watched Harrison’s face. He didn’t look annoyed. He looked flushed, bashful—charmed. In that moment, something snapped. I reached deep into a corner of my mind I hadn’t visited in seven years and pulled the trigger on the Fatal Attraction System. I’d forgotten that reboots take time. While the progress bar crawled in the back of my consciousness, Becca took it further. My five-year-old son, Toby, suddenly walked out of his bedroom and looked at me. “Mom,” he whispered, his eyes unnervingly steady. “Let me handle this.” “I’ve read the script.” 01. Becca was currently nestled against Harrison’s chest. Sensing my icy stare, she playfully punched Harrison’s arm. “Don’t mind me, Valerie,” she said, flashing me a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Harrison and I are brothers. We grew up together. I’ve seen him at his worst—and his most naked—so just think of me as one of the guys.” Harrison jumped in faster than I could. “Becca, stop! Val, don’t listen to her. That was a lifetime ago. I never let her see… anything.” But even as he spoke, he didn’t move her. He didn’t push her away. Becca leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Oh, please. You forgot that night in college? You were wasted, I walked you home… I didn’t just see it, Harrison. I played with it.” She tapped her lips, feigning a “whoops” expression. “My bad, Valerie! Seriously, don’t be mad. It’s a guy thing. Friends look out for each other.” Harrison laughed nervously, putting a hand over her mouth to “silence” her. The two of them were so physically entwined they looked like a single creature. I felt like a ghost haunting my own living room. I couldn’t take it anymore. I closed my eyes and summoned the interface. {System.} {Online.} {Reboot. Now.} I hadn’t touched this power in seven years. I thought I wouldn’t need it. I thought a stable marriage and a beautiful life were enough to keep a man’s heart. I was wrong. The “seven-year itch” isn’t a myth; it’s a rot. I waited for the surge of power, but a notification popped up: [REBOOTING: 1%]. I’d have to handle this bitch the old-fashioned way. Becca, sensing the shift in the air, shifted her weight, angling herself so she looked like she was about to slip off the sofa. Before I could move, Toby stepped in front of me. His small hand pressed against my knee. “Mom,” he whispered, so low only I could hear. “I’ve seen how this story ends.” Before I could ask what the hell that meant, he let out a piercing scream. “AHH! A COCKROACH!” He hurled a brown, lumpy object straight at Becca’s chest. For a “cool girl” who claimed to be one of the guys, Becca had the reflexes of a frightened kitten. She shrieked, scrambling backward, lost her balance, and slammed hard onto the hardwood floor. The “cockroach” was pinned beneath her. Becca felt something sticky and let out a wail of disgust. “Harrison! Fix your kid! He’s throwing bugs at me! I think I broke my skin!” She grabbed Harrison’s arm, hauling herself up. “You need to take me to the ER right now. And you’re paying the bill!” Harrison turned on Toby, his face darkening. “Toby! What is wrong with—” “The only person allowed to yell at my son is me,” I snapped, stepping between them. Harrison flinched, but Becca wasn’t done. “Valerie, I get that you love him, but this is spoiled. He made me bleed. He needs to learn a lesson.” Harrison nodded, his voice tight. “She’s right, Val. He’s out of control.” I opened my mouth to tear into him, but Toby was faster. He darted over to Becca and, before anyone could stop him, flipped her white skirt up. The fabric covered her face, exposing her legs to the room. Toby pointed at her thigh. “Liar. There’s no blood. There’s not even a scratch.” Then, he looked Harrison dead in the eye. “Dad, Mom hates it when you touch dirty, lying women.” 02. The room went deathly silent. Harrison’s face went from red to a sickly, bruised purple. Under the watchful eye of his “first love,” he made a choice. He swung his hand. Slap. “Enough!” I wasn’t fast enough. Toby was on the floor, his small hand clutched to his red cheek. “What the hell are you doing?!” I shoved Harrison back, pulling Toby into my arms. Harrison looked away, jaw set. It was Becca who spoke up, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Valerie, don’t blame Harrison. The kid needs boundaries. If you won’t give them to him, someone has to.” “Exactly,” Harrison muttered. “He needs to learn what not to say. Forget it. I’m taking Becca to the clinic. You stay here and deal with him.” They left. Just like that. The heavy front door slammed, leaving me alone in the foyer with my son. I checked Toby’s face; Harrison hadn’t held back. The swelling was already starting. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. I hated myself for waiting so long to wake the System. If I had been “The Muse” earlier, no one would have dared touch us. Toby shook his head. He leaned into my ear. “Mom, remember what I said? I know the script.” “I provoked him on purpose. If he hadn’t hit me, he would have hit you.” On the way to the pediatric urgent care, Toby explained. In the “script” he knew, Becca was a woman who had burned through her life abroad and came back to systematically destroy the lives of the four men who had worshipped her in college. In that version of the story, Harrison was her favorite trophy. And the story ended with Becca driving me to a bridge and watching me jump. “I love you, Mom. I love Dad too. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” I stroked his hair in silence. I decided I would talk to Harrison tonight. One last chance for our family. I waited until midnight. Then one a.m. Harrison didn’t come home. Instead, my phone buzzed with a notification. Becca had posted on Instagram. Becca: A real ‘bestie’ is the guy who feeds you your favorite street tacos when you’re feeling down. The photo: Her leaning into Harrison’s side, him holding a taco to her mouth. They both looked radiant. I “liked” the photo. Seconds later, a second post appeared. This one was “Close Friends” only—she must have added me just to twist the knife. Becca: As a ‘thank you,’ I let my bro have a little taste. The photo was a close-up of her hand guiding Harrison’s hand onto her chest. Her smile was pure malice. Harrison was compromised. He was “dirty.” Toby leaned over my shoulder. I covered his eyes with my hand. “Go to sleep, honey.” [SYSTEM REBOOT: 35%] Harrison didn’t crawl back until the next morning. He had a fresh, angry hickey on his neck. I was sitting on the sofa. I didn’t offer him coffee. “What’s on your neck, Harrison?” Without Becca there to perform for, he tried to play the “Good Husband” again. He covered the mark with his hand. “Mosquito bite.” “That’s one hell of a mosquito.” He gave me a sheepish, manipulative grin and knelt by my feet. “Val, come on. Don’t be like this. Look, I went all the way across town to get those lemon tarts you like. Let’s just move past yesterday. Toby was out of line.” “My son was telling the truth.” Harrison’s face chilled. I didn’t give him a chance to speak; I grabbed him by the ear and shoved him toward the stairs. “Go wash. Use the strongest soap we have. Scrub until you bleed.” While he was in the shower, I did what Toby suggested. I broke into his phone. I found the group chat: “The Queen’s Court.” It was new. The first message was from Becca. Becca: @Everyone, I’m still an ‘invalid’ from my fall yesterday. I want a spa day at the Hot Springs Resort tomorrow. No excuses. The replies from Harrison’s three best friends—Nate, Tyler, and Wes—were instantaneous. All they were waiting for was Harrison. I opened the camera. I was wearing a silk slip that left very little to the imagination. I crawled into our bed, took a shot that highlighted every curve, and hit send from Harrison’s account. Harrison: Sorry guys. Spending the day with the wife. Have fun. The chat exploded. Nate: Damn, Harrison. Lucky bastard. Tyler: Valerie is still the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. Wes: Can’t blame a man for staying home for that. It was working. But Becca wasn’t going down without a fight. Becca: Oh, so Harrison’s a ‘wife guy’ now? Cute. But anything she can give you, I can give you better. Or have you forgotten how I taste after seven years? Then, she sent a photo. She was wearing nothing but a strategically placed towel. Becca: If you guys have forgotten, I think it’s time for a private reunion. Who’s in? The men in the chat scrambled like dogs over a bone. I felt a wave of nausea. Then, a private message popped up from Becca to Harrison. Becca: Valerie might say no, Harrison, but we both know what you want. I blocked her. [SYSTEM REBOOT: 65%] 03. I expected Harrison to be guilty. I didn’t expect him to be murderous. He snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it against the wall. A shard of glass flew up, slicing my cheek. Blood trickled down my face. He didn’t even blink. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch my phone, Valerie?” He raised his hand again, but Toby threw himself in front of me. “Dad, don’t! Please don’t hurt her!” I pulled Toby back, laughing coldly. “So the mask is off, Harrison? You’re willing to trash seven years of marriage and your son for a woman who treats men like a buffet line?” “I asked you a question,” he hissed. “Don’t touch my things.” “I’ll touch whatever I want.” He stormed out. Minutes later, the front door opened. It wasn’t just Harrison leaving; it was Becca and the three “best bros” arriving. Becca was in a bikini that was basically three strings. She saw the tension in the room and smirked, throwing herself into Harrison’s arms. “Trouble in paradise, bro?” She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding against him right there in my living room. I shielded Toby’s eyes, my blood boiling. “Valerie, I told you,” Becca purred. “Men need their space. You’re just making him miserable. Why don’t you go be a ‘good mom’ somewhere else while the adults play?” Harrison gripped her hips, his hands wandering shamelessly. “Why are you here?” his voice was a low growl, completely different from the tone he used with me. “I figured the resort was too far. Why not just use your giant pool? I want to learn how to swim, Harrison. You’re going to teach me, right?” The other three men—Nate, Tyler, and Wes—crowded around, their eyes full of lust and jealousy. “I can teach you too, Becca,” Nate muttered. “My turn for a hug,” Wes added. Harrison’s possessiveness flared. He carried her out toward the pool deck, the other men following like a pack of hounds. I sat on the floor with Toby. He was crying quietly, wiping the blood from my cheek. “Mom, this isn’t how it was in the script. It’s getting worse.” I hugged him tight. Hang on, Toby. [SYSTEM REBOOT: 85%] 04. Toby was terrified. He still had a sliver of hope that his father was being “brainwashed.” I knew better, but for Toby’s sake, I walked out to the pool for one last confrontation. The sight made me want to retch. The pool water, which I’d spent thousands to have specially treated, was covered in a film of… something. Becca was naked, clinging to the edge of the pool. Harrison was behind her, his movements unmistakable. He didn’t even stop when he saw me. “Just teaching her to tread water, Val,” he mocked. The three friends stood guard, their own bodies reacting visibly. “Harrison,” I said, my voice dead. “I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.” I turned to walk away. Toby, who had followed me, didn’t understand the mechanics of what was happening, but he understood the betrayal. He ran toward the edge of the pool. “You’re a liar!” he screamed at Becca. “You know how to swim! I saw your pictures from the beach! Stop touching my dad!” Becca let out a sharp, theatrical moan. “Harrison, look at your kid. He’s calling me a liar.” She shifted her hips provocatively. Toby grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away from Harrison. “Get away from him! Get out of my house!” I ran to grab Toby, to get him away from the filth. But the three friends stepped in, shoving me back, grabbing Toby by his small shoulders to protect Becca’s “lesson.” In the chaos, Harrison pulled away from Becca. Becca’s eyes flashed with a cruel, sudden inspiration. She let go of the ledge and sank. “Help! I can’t swim! He’s drowning me! Murder!” Harrison panicked. He grabbed Toby and me, and with a surge of strength, shoved us both into the deep end. “If anything happens to her, Valerie, I’ll make sure you rot in a cell!” He hauled Becca out of the water. The three friends swarmed around her, while Toby and I struggled to surface. Nate reached down, not to help, but to shove my head back under by my hair. “You really crossed a line this time, Val,” Nate sneered. “Becca’s precious.” I fought upward, gasping for air, holding Toby’s limp body. He had swallowed water. He was turning blue. On the deck, Becca was coughing delicately into Harrison’s chest. The four men looked at her like she was a dying saint. “Push them back down,” Harrison said, his voice cold as ice. “They need to cool off.” I felt hands on my shoulders, pushing us back into the dark. I held Toby to my chest, praying, screaming internally. “Harrison,” Becca yawned. “I’m bored of this. Let’s play something else.” The hands vanished. I broke the surface, coughing violently, and dragged Toby onto the tiles. He was unconscious. I pumped his chest, sobbing, until he coughed up a lungful of pool water. “Harrison,” I rasped, my eyes burning red. “You’re a dead man.” Harrison didn’t even look back as he carried Becca into our house. “What do you want to play, baby?” I dug my nails into my palms until I drew blood. [SYSTEM REBOOT: 100%] [PROTOCOL: IRRESISTIBILITY ACTIVE. COMMENCE?] {Commence.}

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395310”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

There was a trending thread on Reddit’s r/AskMen the other day: “Guys who married a 10/10, what’s it actually like?” The top-voted comment belonged to a user named ApexPredator88. “Nothing special, honestly. It’s mostly just good for the ego when we go out.” “My wife isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’s undeniably gorgeous.” Below his comment, a chorus of internet bros chimed in with unsolicited warnings. “Looks don’t pay the bills, man. Women like that are spoiled rotten. Bet she can’t keep a house clean and bleeds your bank account dry.” “Bro, listen to me. The second she pushes out a kid, her market value tanks. You’re gonna be left holding the bag.” ApexPredator88 was quick to reply. “Oh, I know. I’m not an idiot. The second she hits the wall and loses her looks, I’m finding an excuse to divorce her. You can hold me to that.” The replies erupted into a digital frat party of cheers. Dozens of users dropped the “Following for updates” or “RemindMe!” tags. Someone called his bluff, demanding photo proof that his wife was actually as hot as he claimed. A few minutes later, he smugly uploaded a picture. I froze, the blood draining from my face until my fingertips turned to ice. Because the woman in the photo—smiling softly at the camera, completely unaware—was me. 1 I had barely locked my phone screen when my husband walked out of the kitchen, holding a plate of neatly sliced apples. His voice dripped with practiced, performative care. “Here you go, babe. Have some fruit.” “The doctor said you need to keep your nutrients up in the first trimester.” I was six weeks pregnant, and the hyperemesis gravidarum was tearing me apart. My morning sickness was brutal, unrelenting. Especially the smell of anything sweet. It made my stomach violently revolt. “I don’t want it. Take it away.” I forced the words through clenched teeth, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, and coldly pushed the plate back. Connor paused, the corners of his mouth tightening. The supportive-husband smile fractured on his face. But he didn’t pull the plate back. Instead, he speared a slice with a fork and thrust it directly into my personal space. “Come on. I already cut it up. Just eat one piece. Do it for the baby.” The cloying, sugary scent of the apple hit my nose. Every nerve ending in my body flared with an uncontrollable, primal irritation. I shoved his hand away, harder this time. “I told you yesterday I can’t stomach anything sweet. Even the smell makes me want to throw up.” His eyes darkened. He looked down at me, his voice dropping into that condescending, paternal register I’d come to loathe. “Madeline, you’re about to be a mother.” “The baby needs nutrients. If you don’t eat, what’s he supposed to do in there?” “When did you become so selfish?” The fork lunged toward me again. This time, he didn’t give me a choice, practically shoving the cold, wet fruit against my lips. The nausea I had been wrestling with instantly overpowered me. A wave of absolute repulsion crashed through my system. “Connor, are you deaf?!” “I’ve told you a thousand times! I don’t want it! I don’t want it! I don’t want it!” I screamed at him, my vision blurring with rage. I slapped the plate out of his hands. It shattered against the hardwood floor. Pale, sticky apple slices scattered like debris across the room. He stood there, perfectly still, a terrifying flash of malice passing behind his eyes. 2 I didn’t care what he was thinking. The sticky, sweet residue of the juice on my lips was making my skin crawl. All I wanted was to get to the bathroom, scrub my face, and brush my teeth. I barely made it over the threshold. Before I could even squeeze the toothpaste onto the bristles, I collapsed over the toilet and wretched until my vision went dark at the edges. Connor followed me in. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, staring down at me with absolute, clinical detachment. He didn’t offer to hold my hair. He didn’t say a word. He just watched me dry-heave for a long, suffocating minute. Then, I heard the sound of him walking down the hall, putting on his shoes, and the heavy thud of the front door slamming shut. When my stomach was finally empty, I wiped my mouth, cleaned the porcelain bowl, and slumped against the cold bathroom tiles. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. ApexPredator88 had updated his thread. “The bros were right. Pretty women are impossible to please.” “I cut up an apple for her, literally tried to feed it to her, and she lost her mind. Threw the whole plate on the floor.” He attached a photo of the shattered ceramic and the apples scattered across our living room rug. The comment section was a cesspool of mockery. “Serves you right, bro. You created that monster by simping for her.” “For real. Why the hell are you cutting her apples?” One user chimed in, asking: “So what’s the play now?” Connor replied with the chilling confidence of a man performing for an audience: “I stepped out for a smoke. Gonna let her sit in her own mess and cool off.” “If I stayed and argued with her, I swear to God I would’ve backhanded her.” The comment racked up upvotes in seconds. 99+. “You’re a saint, man.” “Yeah, you’re stepping up more than 90% of guys out there. You just gotta grit your teeth and endure it for now.” “Exactly. Just survive these next few months. Once that kid drops, she’s lost her leverage. Then you hold all the cards.” I stared at the screen, a bizarre, hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest. It was so absurd it didn’t even feel real. Looking down, I logged into an old burner account and typed out a single, quiet reply. “Is it really that deep? Maybe the pregnant woman just genuinely didn’t want to eat fruit?” 3 The moment I hit reply, I was completely dogpiled. “LMAO, she has a mouth, she can use her words. Next.” “Yeah, if she doesn’t want to eat, fine. But smashing the plate? What kind of psychotic behavior is that?” “Give me a break. Stop making excuses for these females. She’s just weaponizing her pregnancy to throw tantrums and assert dominance over her husband.” Asserting dominance? Throwing tantrums? When Connor had brought the apples home from Whole Foods yesterday, I specifically told him I couldn’t eat them. And what had he said? “If you don’t eat them, I will. If I don’t, my parents will. If they don’t, the stray dogs in the neighborhood will.” “Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean apples are banished from the house, Madeline. Stop being so self-centered.” It sounded reasonable enough at the time. So, he brought the massive bag of fruit inside, and I didn’t say another word. But the reality? He hated apples. He never ate them. He just liked the power trip of trying to force me to eat them. I said no, and he just kept pushing, pushing, pushing, like a machine incapable of processing the word no. Suddenly, a user with a verified flair as a medical professional spoke up in the thread. “Wait, can we back up a second?” “This guy left his pregnant wife alone with a floor full of broken glass and slippery fruit?” “What if she slips and falls? What if there’s an accident?” In a sea of men violently venting their resentments, she was the only one pointing out the actual physical danger. And yet, even this verified nurse was immediately torn to shreds by the mob. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. She made the mess, she should clean it. If he cleans it this time, next time she’ll smash the TV.” “Stop fear-mongering. It’s not that dangerous. Women always overexaggerate how fragile they are to extract more resources from men. We all know how this works.” “Truth. When my mom was pregnant with me, my dad beat the brakes off her a few times, and I came out just fine.” I scrolled down, comment by comment. With every swipe, the chill in my bathroom seemed to seep deeper into my bones, freezing the marrow. If the algorithm hadn’t randomly pushed my husband’s viral post onto my feed, I never would have known this dark, twisted corner of the internet existed. I never would have known these men walked among us. A long time passed. The bathroom grew dark as the sun set outside. I heard the lock click. Connor was back. His face was flushed, and the sour scent of bourbon drifted through the hallway. He walked into the living room, saw the apples still on the floor, and stopped. The anger flared instantly. “Madeline, you’ve been lying in bed scrolling on your phone all afternoon, and you couldn’t be bothered to clean up the house?” 4 I didn’t even have the energy to point out that he had also been out all afternoon, doing absolutely nothing to clean the house. He didn’t need my response to launch into a tirade. “You’re barely showing! It’s not like you’re incapacitated and need round-the-clock care.” “You’ve been pregnant for five minutes, and you’re already trying to play the queen? Trying to establish dominance, is that it?” “Well, let me tell you right now, Madeline—it’s not gonna work!” I stared at him. Really stared at him. He looked like a complete stranger. He had swallowed the internet’s poison whole. He genuinely believed that my nausea, my exhaustion, my very existence right now was some calculated chess move to manipulate him. I didn’t want to argue. The fight had drained right out of me. I walked past him, my face entirely blank, and pulled a weekender bag from the closet. I started throwing sweaters and underwear into it. I couldn’t think anymore. I didn’t want to analyze this. I just wanted to go home. Back to my parents’ house. Back to somewhere safe. But the moment he saw the bag, Connor snapped. He lunged into the bedroom and grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging painfully into my skin. “Where do you think you’re going? Your temper is getting out of control. One little disagreement and you’re running back to mommy and daddy?” He leaned in closer. The stench of cheap liquor and stale sweat hit the back of my throat. “Let go of me.” I tried to yank my arm away, my voice icy. Instead of letting go, his grip tightened like a vise. “Are you done throwing this little tantrum yet, Madeline?” “You smash plates, you throw food, I tolerate all of it. What more do you want from me?” “Do you have any idea how suffocating you are?” “You’re pregnant, congratulations. Does that mean our entire lives have to revolve around your psychotic mood swings?” The smell of the bourbon was pushing me right back to the edge of vomiting. I couldn’t form a sentence to defend myself, nor did I want to. I just shook my head. “Fine. I’ll stop suffocating you.” “Connor, I want a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395309”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day of my wedding, the groom, Carter Sinclair, was nowhere to be found. What he left behind in the bridal suite was a baby with a congenital heart defect, and a letter written on hotel stationery. Maddie, I love you, but I’ve fallen in love with Brie, too. I can’t give her the title of a wife, so to make it up to her, I’m taking her on a trip around the world. I’m leaving you with a gift, too. You can raise the child Brie and I had together. While we’re traveling, let our baby keep you company. I stared at the paper until the ink blurred. No ring, no vows, no respect—why on earth would I raise their mistake? Six years later, I was at the airport concourse, holding my son’s hand after dropping my husband off for a business trip. When I turned around, I bumped right into a man pushing a sleek silver luggage cart. Carter Sinclair. His eyes dropped to the little boy clinging to my leg, and a look of absolute elation washed over his face. “Maddie? My god, is this… is this the baby Brie and I left you? You’ve raised him so well.” Before I could speak, he puffed out his chest, looking agonizingly self-righteous. “Look, Brie and I officially tied the knot in Europe, so I can’t marry you now. But don’t worry. In my heart, you’ve always been my first wife.” I looked at the sharp jawline and the dark eyes that my son had unfortunately inherited from the Sinclair gene pool, and a harsh, genuine laugh slipped from my throat. “Careful, Carter. Don’t go claiming children that aren’t yours. This is your little cousin.” 1 The smug delight on Carter’s face shattered, replaced instantly by a dark, condescending scowl. “Maddie, stop throwing a tantrum,” he snapped, lowering his voice. “We didn’t get to walk down the aisle, but your family kept the Sinclair trust shares. As far as society is concerned, you married into my family. Watch your mouth.” He glanced around the bustling terminal, leaning in closer. “Besides, my uncle is the only other Sinclair man, and he’s a confirmed bachelor. If he hears you spreading rumors about having his kid, he’s going to ruin you.” The sheer, unadulterated audacity of the man left me momentarily breathless. Our engagement had been nothing but a corporate merger engineered by our grandfathers. I had played the part of the dutiful fiancée, right up until he vanished. When Carter abandoned the altar, the Sinclair family, desperate to save the merger and their public image, had to offer a replacement. That replacement was Harrison Sinclair. Carter’s uncle. Harrison hadn’t just matched the trust shares; he had doubled them. But more than that, over the last six years, he had loved me with a fierce, quiet devotion that I hadn’t known existed in the world. I wasn’t some abandoned bride. I was the wife of the CEO of Sinclair Enterprises. I was the matriarch of the family Carter thought he belonged to. Even Carter’s own parents treated me with deferential respect. Noah tugged at the hem of my cashmere coat. He tilted his head, his wide eyes darting nervously toward the stranger. “Mommy?” he whispered. “Who is that man? I don’t know him.” I smoothed a hand over Noah’s soft hair, letting the grounding weight of my child anchor me. I didn’t even dignify Carter with a response. I just turned toward the parking garage. “You’re not walking away from me!” Carter lunged, grabbing my arm. From behind him, Brianna suddenly materialized. She wore oversized sunglasses and a manicured smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She practically shoved past Carter, her acrylic nails outstretched as she reached to pinch Noah’s cheek. “Hi, sweetie!” she cooed, her voice artificially high. “I’m your mommy. Do you want to come home with Mommy? We can get ice cream.” “Don’t touch him!” I yanked Noah back, stepping between him and Brianna. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Noah buried his face in my thigh, trembling. A bright red crescent mark was already blooming on his cheek where Brianna’s nails had caught his skin. “Mommy, I’m scared,” Noah whimpered. Tears instantly welled in Brianna’s eyes. Her bottom lip quivered perfectly on cue. “Baby, I’m your real mommy,” she sobbed, turning to Carter. “Carter, is Maddie mad at me? Did she brainwash our baby to hate me?” Carter’s jaw tightened. He reached past me, trying to grab Noah’s jacket. “Maddie, don’t be a bitch,” Carter hissed. “Brie is his biological mother. If she wants to hold him, she gets to hold him. Stop acting crazy!” He straightened up, looking down his nose at me with a sickeningly magnanimous expression. “Just give him to Brie. If you like playing mom so much, you and I can always have another one later.” Bile rose in my throat. I looked at the two of them—two ghosts from a past I had long buried—and felt nothing but profound disgust. “Carter, you need to get your eyes checked,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calm. “Noah is my son. He has absolutely nothing to do with you or your wife.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air before delivering the final blow. “That nameless infant you dumped in a hotel room six years ago? Your parents sent him to the state ward a week after you left.” 2 “Enough!” Carter’s voice cracked like a whip, echoing through the terminal. “Maddie, I get it. You’re pissed that Brie and I took off to see the world and left you with the kid. But she is his mother. Give him to her!” Before I could react, Carter shoved his shoulder hard against mine. The impact threw me off balance. In that split second, he reached down and ripped Noah out of my grip. “No!” I screamed. Noah thrashed wildly in Carter’s arms, his small face turning a mottled red. “Bad man! Let me go! Mommy!” Carter ignored him entirely, shoving the flailing child into Brianna’s waiting arms. Brianna locked her arms around Noah. Her long, sharp nails dug directly into the soft, bare skin of Noah’s forearms, leaving angry red scratches in their wake. She didn’t seem to care that the child was hyperventilating. She just kept squeezing him. “Baby, it’s Mommy. It’s Mommy.” My chest seized. I watched my son sobbing, twisting in terror, but Carter stepped directly in front of me, a physical wall between me and my child. He leaned in, his cologne thick and suffocating, his tone suddenly dropping into a repulsive, arrogant purr. “Come on, Maddie. Tell the truth. Haven’t you missed me?” Missed him? I wanted him dead. “Get out of my way right now, or I’m calling airport security!” I yelled, my hand diving into my purse for my phone. Just then, Noah stopped thrashing. He went perfectly still, dipped his chin, and clamped his teeth down hard onto Brianna’s wrist. Brianna shrieked, her grip faltering. Noah dropped to the linoleum floor and shot back to me like a bullet. Instead of hiding behind me, my brave, tiny six-year-old threw his arms out wide, standing firmly between me and Carter. “You’re a bad man! Don’t you bully my mommy!” Noah yelled, his voice shaking but fierce. Brianna was clutching her wrist, tears streaming down her face—real ones this time. “Carter!” she wailed. “I know Maddie hates me for taking you away. But the baby is innocent! She must have spent the last six years teaching him to hate us, otherwise, why would he act like this?” That was the match in the powder barrel. Carter’s eyes darkened with explosive rage. He lunged forward, grabbed Noah by the collar of his silk jacket, and hoisted him off the ground. “You little brat!” Carter roared. “You dare lay hands on your own mother? I’m going to teach you a lesson right now!” Noah was suspended in mid-air, his face draining of color. His little legs kicked empty air, and a high, breathless wail tore from his throat. My blood ran cold. The silk collar was digging into Noah’s throat. “Carter! Put him down! Put him down right now, we can talk!” I pleaded, pure panic stripping away my pride. A crowd was forming, the murmur of strangers growing louder, phones starting to lift. But I couldn’t hear the crowd. My entire universe was reduced to the straining seams of my son’s collar and the lack of oxygen in his face. Brianna suddenly dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around my legs, anchoring me in place. “Maddie, hit me, curse at me, do whatever you want!” she sobbed loudly, playing to the gallery of onlookers. “But how could you ruin my baby? How could you teach him to hate his own father? Carter has thought about you and this boy every single day…” Carter glared at me over Noah’s struggling body, his expression a mask of self-righteous fury. “When I left him with you, I trusted you to be a decent person, Maddie. But to poison him against his own flesh and blood? You’re sick. Now that we’re back, he’s coming with us. You’re done.” The irony was suffocating. He had abandoned a dying child without a second glance. If Harrison hadn’t stepped in, I would have been a societal laughingstock, tied to a sick baby that wasn’t mine. And the actual baby they had left behind? The one they were supposedly so desperate to reclaim? They hadn’t even bothered to check if he was alive. But Carter had my son. I had to play the game. I had to defuse the bomb. I forced my hands to unball from fists, raising them in a gesture of surrender. “Carter. Please. Just put the boy down, and we will get in the car and talk.” 3 Taking my surrender as a victory, Carter ushered us into the back of his rented SUV, keeping a vice grip on Noah. As he drove, he stared at me through the rearview mirror, his voice dripping with condescension. “Look, I get it. You played house for five years. It’s hard to let go. But you’ve ruined him. Brie and I will just have to try again, and this time, I’ll raise the next one myself.” I didn’t hear a word he said. My eyes were glued to Noah, who sat rigid beside Brianna, his face pale and tear-stained. I noticed Brianna’s reflection in the glass—when Carter mentioned having another baby, her features contorted into a flash of pure, venomous hatred before smoothing back into victimhood. The moment Carter parked in the driveway of his leased townhouse, I reached for the door handle. I unbuckled Noah and reached to pull him into my arms, but Brianna snatched him by the arm, dragging him out her side of the car. I bolted after her, but Carter intercepted me on the front walkway, his hand flat against my chest. “Maddie, listen to me. I’m back to take over Sinclair Enterprises,” Carter stated, puffing up his chest. “If you behave yourself for the next few days, and stop spreading these ridiculous lies about you and my uncle, I’ll give you the wedding you never had. You can be Mrs. Sinclair again. Deal?” I stared at him, caught between nausea and utter bewilderment. “Sinclair Enterprises belongs to Harrison. What does it have to do with you?” Carter scoffed, shaking his head as if I were a slow child. “My uncle doesn’t have an heir. I’m the only nephew. The company is mine eventually anyway. Plus, he’s out of the country. I’ve already talked to my parents and a few key board members. It’s a done deal.” A memory clicked into place. Right before Harrison left for the airport this morning, he had kissed my forehead and muttered something about needing to fly out to “handle a minor pest problem on the board.” I had wondered what he meant—Harrison ran his empire with an iron fist. Now I knew. The “pest” was the delusional, arrogant man standing in front of me. Before I could process it, a blood-curdling scream erupted from inside the house. Noah. My heart plummeted into my stomach. I shoved past Carter, nearly taking the door off its hinges as I sprinted inside. In the dining room, Brianna was holding a screaming Noah down in a chair, forcing a spoonful of steaming oatmeal into his mouth. When he clamped his jaw shut, she reached down and viciously pinched the soft flesh of his inner arm. The same arm that was already covered in red scratches. “Stop!” I shrieked, lunging across the room and ripping Noah away from her. The second I pulled him against my chest, his skin felt like a furnace. It was burning up. I frantically pulled down the collar of his shirt. His chest and neck were erupting in angry, raised hives. “What did you feed him?!” I screamed at Brianna. “He’s deathly allergic to oats, you psycho!” Noah buried his face in my neck, his breathing turning into a ragged, wet wheeze. “Mommy…” he gasped out. “It hurts…” I spun around, cradling his weight, heading straight for the front door. Brianna sidestepped, physically blocking the entryway. “Where do you think you’re taking my kid?” she demanded. “Carter and I aren’t allergic to oats. How could our baby be allergic? What have you been feeding him to make him so weak?” Noah’s back arched against me. His airway was closing. The wheezing was getting louder, more desperate. “Move!” I roared, my voice breaking with sheer terror. “He is going into anaphylaxis! He needs a hospital now!” 4 Brianna threw her arms wide, bracing her hands against the doorframe. Her eyes were red, playing the abused martyr perfectly. “I called you my sister, Maddie. I let you walk all over me because I was grateful you watched him for five years,” she cried, her voice rising in pitch. “But I never thought you’d be so evil… teaching him to hate his own parents, feeding him things to make him sick just to scare us. What kind of monster are you?” Carter strode into the foyer just in time to catch the end of her performance. His face darkened into a storm of fury. “Maddie, did I not just tell you to drop the act?” Carter barked. “Taking back the company is at a critical stage. I do not have time for your hysterical female theatrics right now.” In my arms, Noah’s body went rigid. He let out a horrible, barking cough, and his small frame began to convulse. I was out of time. I was out of patience. “The uncle you keep talking about—Harrison Sinclair—is my husband!” I screamed, the truth tearing out of me. “He is the father of this boy! If you don’t let me out of this house right now, he will bury you both!” Brianna offered a weak, trembling sigh. “Maddie, please. You can say those crazy things in front of us, but don’t say them in public. Carter has worked so hard to secure his place at the company. If Harrison hears you’re using his name to play pretend… what if he takes it out on Carter?” Carter’s expression shifted from annoyance to absolute rage. He took a menacing step toward me. “It seems I’ve let you get away with too much, Maddie. You need a harsh reminder of your place.” He reached out and tore Noah from my arms. “Give the boy to Brie,” Carter ordered, violently shoving my gasping, convulsing child toward Brianna. It happened in slow motion. Brianna didn’t catch him. She let him slip through her hands. With a sickening thud, Noah’s temple cracked against the sharp corner of the glass coffee table. He crumpled to the hardwood floor like a broken doll, entirely motionless. “NOAH!” My voice tore my throat raw. I threw myself to the floor, crawling frantically toward him. Brianna dropped down just ahead of me, scooping Noah up and turning her back, intentionally blocking my view of his face. She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “I’ve known since the airport he wasn’t my son,” she whispered, her voice a dead, chilling monotone. Before the horror of her words could fully register, she looked up over her shoulder at Carter, her eyes wide and innocent. “Carter, you talk to Maddie. I’ll take care of the baby.” Ice flooded my veins. She knew. She knew he wasn’t hers, which meant she had fed him the oatmeal on purpose. She had let him fall on purpose. Noah’s lips were turning a terrifying shade of blue. Yet, as Carter grabbed me by the hair to haul me backward, my beautiful, broken boy forced his eyes open. “Bad man…” Noah breathed out, a tiny, raspy whisper. “Let go… of my mommy…” Carter looked down at the boy bleeding on his rug, his ego bruised by a dying child. He drew his leg back and delivered a brutal, sweeping kick right into Noah’s small ribs. “You little bastard!” Carter spat. “I’m your father!” Noah rolled across the floor from the impact. A small cough wrecked his frame, and a splash of bright red blood spilled from his lips onto the wood. Then, his eyes rolled back, and he went completely still. Carter sneered, pulling his leg back for a second kick. “No!” I shrieked, throwing my body over Carter’s leg, clinging to his shin with everything I had. “Please, God, no! Stop!” Carter kicked his leg, trying to shake me off like a dog. “Get off me, you crazy bitch! He needs to learn who his real father is!” As Carter brought his heavy boot down, the front door didn’t just open—it exploded inward, the deadbolt shattering the wood frame. A shadow filled the doorway. A voice, dark, lethal, and colder than the grave, echoed through the foyer. “His father is right here.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395308”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When the power went out at my house, one of my older brother’s friends kissed me in the pitch black. The problem? I had no idea which one of them did it. So, being the strategic mastermind that I am, I sent all three of them the exact same text message, packed with baseless accusations and a direct hit to their egos: “I know it was you. And just so you know, the mint gum didn’t hide your breath at all. Also? Your technique is garbage.” The results were instantaneous. And completely unhinged. The slick, cynical playboy: “If you hated it that much, I’ll never touch a cigarette again.” The hyper-athletic, golden retriever of a college jock: “Technique takes practice. Care to help me work on it?” The repressed, ultra-domestic CEO: “???” Who the hell was the culprit? But before I could even begin to cross-reference their alibis, my bedroom door nearly rattled off its hinges, and the real explosion happened. “Harper, who the f–k did you just send that text to?” 1 With our parents summering in Europe, my older brother Connor did what he always did: turned our house into a crash pad for his inner circle. The bass from the living room was rattling my teeth, and my eyes were practically crossing as I tried to study for my finals. Finally, I slammed my textbook shut. I marched down the stairs, fully prepared to channel my inner banshee and demand they turn the volume down. Right as my foot hit the bottom step, the power cut out. The entire estate was plunged into a suffocating, ink-black darkness. Connor, in his infinite wisdom, had drawn all the blackout curtains earlier to set a “vibe,” meaning I couldn’t even see my own hand waving in front of my face. “Harper, don’t panic,” Connor’s voice boomed from somewhere to my left. “I’m right here.” “I’m not panicking,” I muttered, pressing my back into the corner of the hallway, perfectly still. The space was suddenly cramped, bodies bumping into each other in the blind confusion. It was impossible to tell who was who. I’m vertically challenged on a good day, and every single one of Connor’s friends hovered around the six-foot-two mark. If I started flailing around, I was bound to grab something entirely inappropriate. I reached blindly into my pocket for my phone’s flashlight, but my knuckles brushed against the solid muscle of someone’s thigh. “Sorry,” I breathed. Before the word fully left my mouth, I felt a hand—warm and calloused—brush deliberately against mine. I didn’t think much of it. In the pitch black, accidental contact was inevitable. But then, the air shifted. Someone was stepping into my personal space. A tall silhouette loomed in front of me, the sheer physical presence of him radiating a heavy, undeniable heat. Before my brain could fire a single warning signal to my muscles, he moved. With lightning speed, he stole a kiss against my cheek. It was fleeting. A butterfly landing and taking off in the span of a heartbeat. A mistake, my brain rationalized. It’s dark. People are tripping over each other. But as soon as that shadow retreated, another presence stepped up. Or maybe it was the same one, emboldened. This time, whoever it was leaned down, the scent of something sharp and clean washing over me. And then, he had the absolute audacity to press his mouth directly over mine. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a good kiss. His lips were incredibly soft, carrying the faint, cooling trace of peppermint. But the sheer, brazen nerve of it sent a jolt of electricity straight down my spine. I shoved him back, my hands hitting a solid chest. Thankfully, the phantom kisser didn’t push his luck. He stepped away instantly, melting back into the darkness as if the moment had been nothing more than a fever dream. Ten seconds later, the backup generator kicked in. The house flooded with blinding, halogen light. I blinked against the glare, subtly wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. I stood in the corner, my eyes scanning the living room where three ridiculously gorgeous men were suddenly looking incredibly innocent. Which one of you sons of bitches was it? 2 Connor was the first one to jog over, looking at me like I was a frightened toddler. “You good?” I stared at him, my internal monologue screaming. I just got robbed of my peace of mind in the dark, and I don’t even know who to sue! Should I blow the whistle? Telling Connor would be a nuclear option. Knowing my brother, he’d flip the nearest piece of furniture and start throwing punches. It would be the end of this tight-knit circle forever. I hesitated. If I was being entirely honest with myself… I wasn’t disgusted. In fact, a quiet, rebellious part of me found the whole thing exhilarating. It was the thrill of the unknown, the quiet danger of the dark. Misinterpreting my silence, Connor assumed I was shell-shocked from the blackout. He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the massive sectional sofa. “Relax. You’ve got four guys in here to protect you. Even if a ghost showed up, we’d beat its ass.” The problem was, the sofa was currently occupied by an absurd amount of long legs. As I approached, the three of them shifted in perfect, silent unison, carving out a space for me right in the middle. I sank into the cushions, instantly surrounded by an overwhelming wave of expensive cologne and raw, masculine energy. I won’t deny it: my brother’s friends were objectively beautiful men. I just never expected to be on the menu. Who was the good- Samaritan who took matters into his own hands? I rested my chin in my hand, watching them casually set up a poker game on the coffee table. My mind went to work. First: Connor. We are biological siblings. Disgusting. Eliminated. Second: These guys weren’t strangers. They were essentially my childhood friends. We had grown up in each other’s backyards. The fact that one of them had been secretly harboring feelings—and acting on them in the dark like a feral animal—was wild. Desperate, but with excellent taste, I decided. I began my second round of deductions. Clue number one: He was tall. Helpful. That eliminated exactly one person in the room: me. Clue number two: Soft lips. Clue number three: Peppermint. I stood up and began pacing the room, stopping in front of Suspect Number One: Dean. Six-foot-two, devastatingly handsome, with a smirk that usually meant he was about to ruin someone’s life. He ran an upscale art gallery in the city and treated the world like it was his personal playground. As I stepped directly into his line of sight, he looked up. Our eyes locked, and for a split second, I saw a flash of genuine surprise—maybe even awe—cross his face before his mask slipped back into place. He shifted his posture, leaning back into the leather sofa and raising a perfectly arched brow. “What’s wrong, Harper? Want to learn how to play? Sit on my lap, I’ll deal you in.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared at him. Unblinking. Dean looked like a golden boy, but I knew his aesthetic was a lie. He was chaotic, cunning, and completely morally ambiguous. “Look into my eyes,” I whispered, leaning in closer. Dean’s hand actually twitched. He dropped a poker chip. A faint, treacherous flush crept up the back of his neck. Guilty. Extremely guilty. Especially considering he was currently chewing a piece of mint gum. My glare intensified. “Want one?” Dean asked smoothly, recovering his composure and offering me the pack of gum. I scoffed and turned away. The other guys didn’t even blink at our weird exchange. They were used to me being a nuisance. I could have called it a day right then and there. Dean was clearly the wolf. But a good detective leaves no stone unturned. Better to interrogate them all than let a guilty man walk free. I moved on to Suspect Number Two: Harry. Harry was a few years older than the rest of us. He wore tailored shirts, had the quiet, lethal build of a former rower, and had recently taken over his family’s hedge fund. He was the “adult” of the group. He hated when we ordered greasy takeout, so on weekends, he would quietly take over our kitchen and cook us restaurant-quality meals. He was steady, reliable, and deeply composed. I sat next to him, pretending to look at his cards, but my eyes were locked on his mouth. Nice shape. A little flushed. Definitely look like they’d be soft. Wait. Focus, Harper. Harry was rhythmically flicking a silver Zippo lighter open and shut. His gaze was anchored to his cards. He didn’t even glance in my direction. Probably not him. Harry was far too disciplined to pull a stunt like that. He was a gentleman, not a prowler. Feeling a strange, hollow twinge of disappointment, I walked over to Suspect Number Three. Cole. Connor’s best friend since high school, currently attending a D1 university on a track scholarship. He was built like a brick wall—broad shoulders, narrow waist, a ridiculous eight-pack that he found every excuse to show off. He loved antagonizing me, but he was also the guy who always brought me my favorite iced coffee without asking. If it was him, I was going to banish him to the friend-zone for at least a week. “What’s with the face, Harp?” Cole asked as I hovered over his shoulder. He tilted his head back, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Someone annoying you? Point ’em out. I’ll put ’em through a wall.” “No one,” I said, not ready to drop the bomb. It was too embarrassing. Then, I caught a whiff of something familiar. “Are you chewing gum too?” Cole hummed in agreement. He unceremoniously reached across the table, grabbed the plastic container of mints sitting in front of Harry, and shoved it into my hands. “Harry brought them. We all had some. They’re not bad. You can have the rest.” I frowned, gripping the little plastic box. I looked back over at Harry. He was still staring down at the table, running his thumb over his lighter so aggressively I thought he might spark a fire on his jeans. Dammit. Suddenly, Harry looked incredibly suspicious. Why wouldn’t he look at me? I was back to square one. It was like taking a multiple-choice test where every single answer looked like “C.” That night, I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling until the early hours of the morning. Who was it? I was losing my mind trying to put the pieces together. Finally, tossing the duvet aside, I decided to go nuclear. I opened iMessage, copied a single, loaded paragraph, and pasted it into three separate chat windows. “I know it was you. And just so you know, the mint gum didn’t hide your breath at all. Also? Your technique is garbage.” 3 After pressing send, I dropped my phone on my chest and booted up a few rounds of Call of Duty to distract myself. Without Connor’s friends there to carry my squad, I got absolutely slaughtered. Five straight losses. Fuming, I backed out to the lobby and checked my phone. My notifications were blowing up. Cole: Wait, what? Does the smoke smell really bother you that much? (Ten minutes later) If you hate it, I swear I’ll never touch a cigarette again. (Sends a meme of a sad, wet golden retriever) I stared at the screen, my blood pressure spiking. Him?! Cole? Who gave that overgrown puppy the nerve to kiss me? I was halfway through typing a scathing reply when another banner dropped down from the top of my screen. Dean: Technique takes practice. Care to help me work on it? (Venmo notification: Dean paid you $1,000.00 for “Consulting fees. Text me back.”) Harry: ??? We need to talk. In person. I furrowed my brow, dissecting every single word. Wait. Their reactions were completely chaotic. Did I just throw a fake grenade and flush out three different snipers? Before I could reply and press the advantage, the wall vibrating next to my bed practically shattered. “Harper! Who the f–k did you just send that text to?” Connor burst into my room, his hair sticking up in every direction, his face flushed red with murderous rage. He was clutching his phone like he wanted to crush it to dust. “Which one of these degenerates put their hands on you?!” 4 I froze. I had been moving too fast. In my haste to text the three suspects, I had accidentally included my brother in the mass blast. Connor towered over my bed, a terrifying mix of protective brother and unhinged frat boy. “What do you mean technique? Explain. Now.” I swallowed hard, forcing my face into a mask of pure annoyance. I tilted my phone screen toward him, showing the DEFEAT screen from my game. “My gaming technique! Look at this. Five losses in a row.” Connor blinked, the murder slowly draining from his eyes as he processed the screen. He let out a massive sigh of relief, though his forehead remained creased. “Then what was that about their breath? Jesus, Harp, I thought one of my guys cornered you.” “No!” I doubled down on the lie, crossing my arms defensively. “I was playing with some random guy online who had a massive ego. He was talking so much trash, saying he’d carry me to a win, and he totally choked. I was just telling him he’s all talk.” Connor exhaled, his chest deflating. He tossed my phone back onto the mattress, a smug grin replacing his anger. “See? That’s what you get for trusting randoms. You need your brother’s squad if you want to rank up.” Before I could stop him, he was already opening their group chat. “Boys. Get online. We’re carrying my sister.” The replies rolled in within seconds. Cole: Your sister? Harry: Now? She’s not asleep yet? Dean: We’re playing with Harper? Connor: No shit, who else? She got screwed over by some trash-talking random who couldn’t back it up. Five straight losses. Let’s show her how it’s done. I rubbed my temples as I read the screen over his shoulder. Great. None of my suspects were asleep. And now I had to sit in a voice lobby with them. Fine. Two could play at this game. Let’s get on the mics. 5 Sitting in the pre-game lobby, I stared at the five avatars lined up on my monitor. It felt less like a squad and more like a police lineup. Time to push their buttons. “Mic check, don’t pretend you’re muted,” Connor barked into his headset, sprawling in the gaming chair he’d dragged into my room. A chorus of deep, static-laced yeahs and I’m heres filtered through my headphones. But Harry’s icon wasn’t lighting up. “Harry?” I called out, making my voice deliberately soft. “Are you there?” “…I’m here,” his voice crackled through the headset. It was lower than usual, tight, like he was forcing the words out through a clenched jaw. “Why aren’t you calling me ‘Dom’ tonight?” Dean’s voice slid through the audio mix, dripping with his usual, insufferable charm. “Because I don’t feel like it. Plus, I don’t know if your technique is even worth it,” I shot back, leaning into the double meaning. For the first time in his life, Dean didn’t have a comeback. Silence. The match started. “Connor, I’m following the sniper,” I said, ditching my brother immediately. “Come to my sector,” Cole said quickly. “I’ll cover you.” “Aww, thanks Cole,” I purred, using a sickeningly sweet voice I usually reserved for mocking him. Someone coughed violently over the mic. It sounded like Harry. Cole went dead silent for a full five seconds before managing a choked, “…No problem.” A few minutes later, Dean’s voice came over the comms. “Harper. Come grab this armor.” “Wait, what?” I stopped my character in her tracks. Dean never shared loot. Ever. Connor instantly noticed. “Dom, did you hit your head? Since when do you drop legendary gear for a support player?” “Because I want to,” Dean drawled, his tone lazy but deliberate. “Our Harper deserves the best.” Connor scoffed loudly into his mic. “Back off, man. You can flirt with half the city, but keep my sister out of it. Anyone tries to make themselves my brother-in-law, they’re dead to me. Friendship over.” The silence on the voice channel became absolute, heavy, and terrifying. 6 “Help! I’m pinned!” I shrieked a few minutes later, my character sprinting backward under heavy fire. Instantly, three heavily armed avatars converged on my location from entirely different sectors of the map. The poor enemy player, realizing he had just kicked a hornet’s nest, turned and bolted in the opposite direction. I stood still in the game as Dean, Harry, and Cole formed a protective circle around my character. “You guys are the best,” I said, dragging out the syllables to make it sound as overly affectionate as possible. “I feel sosafe with you.” “Harper,” Connor snapped, annoyed. “Stop talking like that. You’re giving me the creeps.” On my screen, Harry’s character suddenly strafed sideways and ran full speed into a brick wall. Dean laughed, a low, rasping sound. “Fingers slipping there, Harry?” “…Lag,” Harry replied, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “Harper, come take this kill,” Cole said. What the hell? Did someone spike the water supply? These guys were fiercely competitive, and suddenly they were treating me like fragile glass. I happily took the points, then hit the button for the all-match voice chat. “Watch out, guys,” I broadcasted to the enemy team. “My protectors are vicious. And they’re such gentlemen. They would never take advantage of a girl in the dark, right?” The sound of sharp intakes of breath echoed through my headset. Except for Connor cursing at a sniper, my three suspects went deathly, incriminatingly quiet. 7 I slept through the morning, waking up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. My bed had essentially taken me hostage, but my stomach was staging a violent rebellion. I was starving. I refused to walk down the stairs, so I called Connor. “I’m so hungry I’m hallucinating,” I groaned. “I’m already plating the food. I cooked,” Connor said. “You? Cooked? If Mom and Dad find out you’ve been feeding me garbage takeout and claiming it’s homemade, they’ll cut off your trust fund.” “I didn’t order out, shut up.” Twenty minutes later, I dragged myself downstairs in my pajamas. Connor was suspiciously crumpling up a brown paper delivery bag and hastily shoving it deep into the trash can. “Breakfast is served,” he announced, gesturing to a plate. I sat at the kitchen island, squinting at the food. “You made this.” “From scratch.” “Connor, did the family go bankrupt overnight?” “Don’t be dramatic. Even if we lost everything, I wouldn’t let you starve.” “Then why,” I asked, picking up a fork and pointing at a very suspect piece of meat on the plate, “does this sausage look exactly like a rat’s tail?” Connor didn’t miss a beat. He smoothly took the plate from under my nose and dumped the entire thing into the garbage disposal. “You’ve been staring at screens too long. Your eyes are playing tricks on you. That was artisanal organic pork. If you don’t appreciate the culinary arts, I’ll go make you eggs.” He walked away, leaving me staring at the sink. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” I muttered. “Economy must be rough if the rats are getting ground up into the breakfast links.” Connor paused at the fridge. “I’ll Venmo you two grand if you never tell Mom about this.” “Deal.” Principles are nice, but cash is better. Remembering there was leftover steak and vegetables from yesterday’s barbecue, I wandered out to the patio to dig through the outdoor mini-fridge. I was bent over, rummaging through the bottom shelf, when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I stood up and turned around. Dean. He was standing right behind me. He looked exhausted, shadows bruising the skin under his sharp eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept. I took a subconscious step back. He matched my movement, stepping closer until I was backed against the stone counter. His eyes—dark, calculating, and dangerously magnetic—dropped to my lips. “Why didn’t you text me back last night?” he asked, his voice a low thrum. “Do you actually think my technique is bad, Harper? Or were you just trying to get a rise out of me?” Classic. Of course his ego couldn’t handle the critique. It was him, I realized. The sly bastard. Anger flared in my chest. I raised my hand to shove him away, but his fingers wrapped cleanly around my wrist, pinning it lightly against his chest. He smiled, a devastating, ruinous curve of his mouth. “Do you want to try again? See if I can change your mind?” My breath hitched. Okay, yes, the man belonged on a billboard, but I wasn’t going to roll over that easily. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his technique, when a voice sliced through the tension like cold steel. “Try what again?” 8 Harry. He stood in the doorway, wearing a crisp white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing the faint shadow of a collarbone. He looked like an executive who was a second away from a hostile takeover. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. Dean didn’t flinch. He slowly released my wrist, never breaking eye contact with Harry. “We were just talking about trying out Harper’s new gaming headset,” Dean lied smoothly. “You look tense, Harry. Bad morning at the market?” Harry ignored him. He walked over and handed me a sleek, matte-black garment bag. He shot Dean a look that could have frozen a lake. I practically lunged for Harry, grabbing the bag like it was a lifeline. If Dean was the wolf, Harry was the sturdy brick house I could hide inside. “You didn’t have to bring me anything,” I said, trying to diffuse the testosterone thickening the air. I unzipped the bag. My jaw dropped. It was a Dior dress. Custom. The fabric felt like spun water, and the embroidery was breathtaking. I stared at it, confused. “Harry… it’s not my birthday. Why did you buy me a dress that costs more than my car?” They usually brought me keychains from trips or bought my coffee. This was a statement piece. This was a declaration. Dean let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “Since when did you become a sugar daddy, Harry? Haute couture? Feeling a little guilty about something? Trying to buy her silence?” Harry turned his head slowly, his voice dropping to a lethal calm. “Watch your mouth, Dean.” Now I was completely lost again. If Dean was the one who kissed me… why was Harry acting like a man fighting for his life? “It’s beautiful, Harry, but I can’t,” I said gently, zipping the bag back up and holding it out to him. “It’s way too much. Not without a reason.” Harry stared at me, his eyes dark and incredibly sad. “Are you sure?” I nodded. Harry took the bag back, his shoulders slumping the slightest bit. He let out a quiet sigh. “Alright. I understand.” Dean smirked, unable to help himself. “How does the rejection feel, man?” Harry shot him a look of pure venom before turning back to me, his expression softening instantly. “Where’s Connor?” “Kitchen. Pretending to know how to use a stove. You better get in there before he burns the house down. You’re the only one who actually knows how to feed us.” I put my hands on Harry’s back and shoved him toward the glass doors. I felt the muscles in his back go rigid at my touch, his breath hitching slightly. Dean stood up straight, his competitive streak flaring. “I can cook.” I snorted. “You? Your cooking relies on aesthetic over survival. The last time you tried to make an omelet, it looked like a crime scene. It was a tragedy of modern biology.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but— “Harper.” A third voice. Dear god, is there a revolving door on my patio? 9 Cole was leaning against the doorframe. But something was glaringly different. His usually dark, sweat-tousled hair had been bleached into a brilliant, striking platinum silver. All three of us stared at him in stunned silence. “You bleached your hair?” Dean asked, genuinely baffled. “Why do you look like an anime villain?” I blurted out. Cole rubbed the back of his neck, flashing his trademark, dimpled smile. He looked directly at me. “Do you like it?” I swallowed hard. Honestly? It looked incredible. It made his jawline look sharper, made his brown eyes pop. But more importantly, my brain flashed back to a conversation from high school. We had been sitting in the bleachers, and I, in a fit of absolute teenage delusion, had declared that my future boyfriend had to dye his hair silver for me. Not blonde. Silver. Why was he suddenly fulfilling a five-year-old teenage fantasy? Was it Cole? “Also,” Cole continued, stepping onto the patio, “I threw out my vape. I’m done. Smell me, there’s no smoke. But Harper… what did you mean last night when you said my technique was bad?” The air was sucked out of the space. The entire patio went dead silent. Dean shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing into slits. Harry adjusted his glasses, a slow, dark realization creeping over his features. Cole just looked at me, his eyes wide and earnest like a puppy waiting for a treat. Oh my god. They all thought they were the only one who got the text. And now, the golden retriever had just outed the entire operation. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. I was small, helpless, and completely out of my depth. So, I did the only logical thing. I screamed. “CONNOR! IS THE FOOD READY?!” I shrieked, sprinting past all three of them and bolting into the house. 10 Breakfast was an agonizing affair. I kept my head down, shoveling whatever Connor had managed to fry directly into my mouth, praying if I didn’t make eye contact, they would let it go. They did not let it go. Dean leaned back in his chair, spinning his fork between his fingers. He kicked me lightly under the table. “So. A mass text. You really had me sweating, Harper. I thought I’d actually done something wrong.” “Yeah, me too,” Cole chimed in, leaning across the table. “I literally woke up and checked my breath in the mirror for ten minutes. I smell great. Check.” He leaned his face toward mine, but Harry reached out and shoved Cole’s face away by the forehead. “Keep your germs to yourself,” Harry muttered. “I wasn’t doing anything, you’re just paranoid,” Cole snapped back. Connor, completely oblivious to the warfare happening at his own dining table, looked up with a mouthful of toast. “What mass text?” Cole paused, looking at me. “The one Harper sent last night. Saying someone had bad breath and terrible technique.” Connor rolled his eyes, waving his fork. “Oh, that. Yeah, Harper got matched with some toxic gamer online who choked a match. It was a whole misunderstanding.” Dammit. I couldn’t take it anymore. The idea that the actual culprit was sitting here, smugly eating my eggs and getting away with it, made my blood boil. The universe was playing a joke on me, and I was the punchline. I dropped my fork. It clattered loudly against the ceramic plate. I looked up, making eye contact with all three of them. “No,” I said, my voice ringing out clear as a bell. “When the power went out last night, someone kissed me in the dark.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395307”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I rented a beautiful loft right across from the university campus for my daughter, Piper, so she could focus entirely on her finals. I thought I was giving her a sanctuary. But only seven days into my business trip, my phone erupted. It was a call from her roommate’s mother. “Hello? Are you Piper’s mother? Your daughter is a total tramp. She leaves the bathroom door unlocked while she showers—who exactly is she trying to lure in?” The woman didn’t wait for me to speak. Her voice was a serrated blade of vitriol. “She’s skin and bones, looks like she couldn’t carry a child to term if her life depended on it. My son wouldn’t look twice at a girl like that.” “And she had the nerve to call the cops? Just wait until I spread this around. Let’s see who’ll want to marry her once I’m done.” My brain stalled, struggling to process the insanity, until a piercing, broken scream tore through the background of the call. It was Piper. “He was spying on me! He was watching me through the crack!” “Mom! Mom, please—” Piper was sobbing, her voice thick with a terror I had never heard before. My heart didn’t just break; it shattered into jagged shards of pure rage. … By the time I roared into the parking lot and sprinted up to the loft, the small, stylish space was swarming with people. “Officers, you can’t believe a word this little brat says! This is my daughter’s apartment too. As her mother and her brother, we have every right to stay here!” “Exactly! We paid our share. You can’t just kick us out into the street. Not happening!” A woman in her fifties—weathered, aggressive, and wearing a cheap tracksuit—was barking at two uniformed officers. I looked past her and saw Piper. Her face was a mess of tears, and there was a distinct, red handprint blooming across her cheek. “That’s not true,” Piper choked out, her voice trembling. “Kaitlyn was just staying here as a guest. I never took a dime from them.” “You little liar! You need to be taught a lesson!” The woman lunged, her hand raised to strike Piper again. One of the officers caught her arm mid-air. “That’s enough! Back off, now!” “Mom, just stop,” a girl about Piper’s age whispered, pulling the woman back. I recognized her: Kaitlyn. Piper’s “best friend.” According to Piper, Kaitlyn came from a struggling family—the kind where the parents prioritized the son and treated the daughter like an unpaid servant. Piper had told me Kaitlyn’s parents only gave her a two-hundred-dollar monthly allowance, and even that was framed as a “loan” she had to sign for. Piper, with her bleeding heart, had practically adopted her. She shared her meals, bought her groceries, and covered the cost of everything from shampoo to laundry detergent. Kaitlyn had seemed so grateful, running errands for Piper and defending her in petty campus squabbles. Even I had been fooled. I thought she was a good girl, a survivor. But looking at the wreckage of the apartment now, the only thing I felt was white-hot fury. “Did you touch my daughter?” I ignored the mother and daughter for a moment. My eyes locked onto the “brother”—a scrawny guy with bleached-blonde hair and a predatory, greasy gaze that was still lingering on Piper’s body. Before anyone could move, I acted. I didn’t wait for an explanation. I didn’t wait for justice. I lunged and planted a solid fist right into the center of his nose. As he doubled over with a howl of pain, I rained down a flurry of slaps and strikes across his pathetic face. “You disgusting creep! You think you can touch her? You think you can look at her?” I grabbed a handful of his fried hair, shoved him to the floor, and started kicking with every ounce of strength I had. “My son! My baby!” the mother shrieked, slapping her thighs in distress. “You hit my son? I’ll kill you!” She charged at me. I pivoted, caught her by the hair just like I had her son, and delivered a sharp kick to her midsection. “Mom!” Piper cried out, her voice a mix of shock and relief. “You’re a lunatic! Oh god, my stomach… it hurts!” the woman wailed, clutching her belly. “Kaitlyn, don’t just stand there! Help us!” Kaitlyn stood frozen, her eyes wide with terror. She didn’t move an inch. But I wasn’t done. I stepped toward Kaitlyn and delivered a stinging slap that sent her reeling. “That’s for letting this happen.” “Mrs. Bennett…” Kaitlyn sobbed, covering her face. “I didn’t have anything to do with this!” The officers finally moved in to separate us. “Alright, that’s enough! Everyone, sit down and shut up!” The older officer looked at me and the other woman with weary frustration. “Finals are in two weeks. Do you really want to spend them in a jail cell? If this escalates and someone ends up with a criminal record, say goodbye to any chance of a decent career. You want that for your kids?” The mother was still clutching her head. “I don’t care about college! I want money! This bitch is going to pay for hitting us!” The more she acted like a feral animal, the more I forced myself to look like the rational victim. I smoothed my hair and took a deep breath. “Officer, I’m sorry. I acted out of pure motherly instinct. My daughter is seventeen. She’s a child. These people invaded her home and harassed her.” I pulled Piper into my arms. We both played the part—the traumatized mother and the broken daughter. “Seventeen?” the woman spat. “She’s old enough to know how to flirt. She’s not some innocent lamb. Forget college, she should just start popping out kids already.” I gritted my teeth, my eyes turning cold. I had planned to just kick them out and be done with it. But she wouldn’t stop insulting us. “Enough,” the officer snapped. “I’ve heard enough. Look, there’s no serious injury here. If you have a dispute, settle it now while we’re here to witness it. If anyone starts swinging again, I’m taking everyone to the station.” The woman launched into a long, rambling sob story about how her son was a “good boy” and how Piper was “hyper-sensitive” and “obsessed with boys.” I cut her off. “I’m not arguing about ‘feelings’ or ‘he-said-she-said.’” I looked at the officer. “My daughter needs to study. I don’t have time for this drama. They’ve trashed the place and broken my property. I want them out, and I want them to pay for the damages.” The woman’s face contorted. “Pay? With what? The stuff was already broken! You’re just trying to scam us!” I scanned the room. It was a disaster. There were stains on the white rug, cigarette burns on the curtains, and the faint, sour smell of unwashed bodies. A pair of dirty socks lay on the velvet sofa. The washing machine was running, half-stuffed with cheap clothes that definitely didn’t belong to Piper. “If it was broken, why were you using it?” I countered. “Mom, he used my things,” Piper whispered, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I can’t stay here. I want to go home.” My heart sank. I realized that if I let this go, if I let them walk away with a win, Piper would lose her nerve. She’d grow up believing that when people hurt you, the only option is to run. I couldn’t let her believe that. “Mrs. Bennett, please,” Kaitlyn suddenly dropped to her knees. She was sobbing, looking up at me with desperate eyes. “My mom doesn’t have any money. I’ll pay you back, I swear. Once I get a job after graduation, I’ll give you every cent.” She turned to Piper. “Piper, I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again. Please, please forgive me.” She started bowing, her forehead hitting the floor. Piper stepped back, horrified. “Kaitlyn, stop! Get up!” I watched the mother. She wasn’t moved by her daughter’s humiliation. She looked at Kaitlyn with nothing but disgust. “Worthless girl. This is about all you’re good for.” “We won’t leave until you forgive us!” Kaitlyn sobbed. The officers looked at me, their expressions softening. “Look, you clearly have money if you’re renting a place like this. They clearly don’t. You’re never going to see a dime of that money.” I refused to be guilt-tripped. I knew the washing machine—a four-thousand-dollar high-end model—was likely ruined. If I let them walk, they’d just find another victim. “Piper,” I said, my voice cold. “Look at her. This is the girl you called your best friend. She ate your food, used your home, brought her toxic family into your safe space, and let her brother treat you like prey. Do you still think she’s your friend?” Piper’s eyes filled with fresh tears as she looked at Kaitlyn. “Just go. Take your things and go. We’re done. I never want to see you again.” “Fine by us! You think we actually like you?” the mother sneered, finally standing up. Kaitlyn lowered her head in shame. The officers signaled that the matter was settled. The mother started throwing their belongings into mismatched suitcases, cursing Kaitlyn under her breath the entire time. The brother, Tyler, didn’t look at the cops. He looked at me—a cold, menacing stare that promised this wasn’t over. “Officers,” I said, “Since they can’t pay, I want a written confession. A statement of what they did and an apology. Surely that’s not too much to ask?” “That seems fair,” the officer agreed. Kaitlyn froze. A verbal apology is air; it disappears. But words on paper? That’s evidence. “If you won’t write it, I assume you don’t think you did anything wrong?” I challenged. “Or maybe your mother would rather find the four grand for the repairs?” The mother shoved Kaitlyn toward the table. “Write it! Just don’t mention me or Cody. If this ruins his chances of getting a job, I’ll skin you alive.” Kaitlyn wrote the letter, her hand shaking. I checked it, made sure it was signed and dated, and then watched them leave. As she walked out, Kaitlyn bit her lip and threw one last look of pure resentment over her shoulder. “Tell me exactly what happened,” I said, looking at the trashed apartment. Piper broke down. “I didn’t think she was like this, Mom. I thought we were friends. She started coming over to study, then she’d stay late on Saturdays. I didn’t want her walking back to the dorms alone, so I let her sleep over.” “Then she told me her roommates were bullying her. She said she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t study, and that getting into a good college was her only way out of that house.” She wiped her eyes. “I had no idea she’d brought them here. I was in the shower this morning, and I heard a man’s voice. I thought I was dreaming until I saw him through the door.” The memory of the brother’s eyes made her shudder. I felt a chill of my own. I couldn’t tell her my fears yet—she was too fragile. I just held her. “This is a hard lesson, Piper. Your home is your fortress. You never, ever let someone in unless you’re certain they’ll protect it as much as you do. We took a hit today, but we’re going to be okay.” I helped her pack her essentials. I wasn’t letting her stay here another night. Back at our house, watching her sleep, I finally allowed myself to think. For the next few days, I drove her to and from school myself. I also called her advisor. I was polite, but firm. “I’m worried about Kaitlyn’s family situation. There was an incident at the apartment I rented for Piper. The police were involved. I’m concerned it’s going to affect Piper’s focus.” The advisor sighed. “To be honest, Mrs. Bennett, I was going to call you. Piper is… she’s very sweet. Almost too sweet.” She told me that Kaitlyn’s grades were mediocre at best. She tried, but she just didn’t have the aptitude. Between her and Piper, there was a vast gap in natural ability. “Piper gets things on the first try. I have to explain things to Kaitlyn four or five times, and she still looks lost. But she’s persistent. She’s been hounding Piper to tutor her constantly. I told her to come to me with questions, but she always goes back to Piper.” I realized then that Kaitlyn wasn’t just a “poor friend.” she was a parasite who resented the very host she was feeding on. I warned Piper to stay away from her at school. Don’t eat anything she offers. Don’t go anywhere alone with her. I thought the school environment would be enough of a shield. Until I checked the drawer in the entryway. The ten thousand dollars in emergency cash I kept there was gone, replaced by a few lonely twenty-dollar bills. Then, the midterm results came out. Piper’s scores had plummeted. When she came home after her meeting with the advisor, she locked herself in her room and refused to speak. Something had gone horribly wrong.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “395306”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel