After Liam Harrison and I broke up, I found out I was three months pregnant. I raised our daughter, Ellie, alone for five years. But working three jobs took its toll, and a sudden stroke claimed my life. I floated in the air, a voiceless spirit. And then, I saw him. Liam Harrison, now a celebrated, award-winning actor, was knocking on the door of my small apartment. 01 It took a while for the door to open. “Who are you?” The one who opened it was my daughter, Ellie. She had to stand on her tiptoes just to reach the door latch. Her eyes, usually so bright, were wary as she looked up at my ex-boyfriend—her biological father, Liam Harrison. Seeing it wasn’t me, Ellie immediately tried to close the door. Liam wedged his foot in the gap. He frowned. “Where’s Serena Vance?” Ellie paused for a moment, then looked up, a bright, disarming smile lighting her face. “Oh, you’re looking for Mommy? She’s not home right now.” “She’s at work.” Liam’s expression darkened. He asked another question: “Where’s your dad?” [It’s you! You are her father, Liam!] I yelled desperately in the air, but he couldn’t hear me. Ellie thought for a moment. “My daddy is far away, making a lot of money. Mommy said once he makes enough, he’ll come back to pick us up.” Liam’s brow furrowed tighter. Suddenly, he gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. He muttered to himself, low enough for only him to hear. “God, I must be crazy. I actually thought she might still be waiting for me.” With that, he turned to leave. But he stopped abruptly. He asked Ellie for her full name. “Eleanor Vance.” “Mommy says I’m her little treasure, so she calls me Ellie.” Ellie said this with immense pride. Liam’s gaze searched her face, lingering, as if seeking some undeniable proof. But in the end, he said nothing. He stepped into his long, black sedan. I watched the car retreat into the distance, screaming silently. [Don’t go, Liam! If you leave, what will happen to our Ellie?] [She’s only five! How is she supposed to survive alone?] I gently pleaded with my daughter, who was blinking innocently at the dust of the departing car. [Ellie, sweetheart, chase after him! Mommy isn’t here anymore. He’s the only one who can take care of you now.] But Ellie couldn’t hear me either. She simply mumbled, “What a strange man,” and closed the door. In that moment, I wished I could slap myself. Why didn’t I tell Ellie who her father was sooner? Why didn’t I ever show her a picture of him? All of this was my fault. My death didn’t matter. But what about my daughter? 02 Ellie sat inside, swinging her short legs, waiting for me to come home. The last streaks of twilight faded. The sky grew heavy and dark. By all accounts, I should have been back hours ago. Ellie was terrified of the dark. But I was dead. My colleagues had just received the notification from the hospital: I had succumbed to my illness despite all efforts. They needed to notify my next of kin. But when they opened my phone, the ‘Family’ section in my contact list was empty. However, they knew I had a child. That evening, the home phone rang. Ellie, with her little legs pumping, rushed to answer it. “Hello?” Her small, childish voice brought tears to my colleague’s eyes. She didn’t know how to tell a little girl that her mother was dead. And wasn’t ever coming back. “Is that Mommy?” Ellie’s voice was excited. “Are you working late again? It’s okay, Ellie’s fine. I’m not hungry at all. I just ate the bread Mommy bought me.” She patted her round tummy proudly. “Ellie, your mother… she passed away a little while ago.” Ellie asked, confused: “Passed away? Where did she go? That’s okay, Mommy always takes Ellie with her when she goes far away.” Once, due to a work assignment, I had to travel to a neighboring state. I didn’t feel safe leaving Ellie alone. So, I brought her along. It was Ellie’s first time on a train, and she was ecstatic, pointing at the scenery outside the window. So now, Ellie thought I was just away on another business trip. My colleague sighed, unsure how to proceed. She simply hung up. Later, she represented the company and arranged for my cremation. All that was left of me was an urn of ashes. 03 That night dragged on, interminably long. It was the first night I hadn’t come home. Every so often, Ellie would run to the door, checking for a glimpse of me. But the darkness would quickly frighten her back inside. She ran back and forth countless times. Overcome by exhaustion, she finally fell asleep clutching the teddy bear I had bought her. The sun rose. A rooster crowed somewhere nearby. She woke up with a start. And rushed to the door again. Seeing I still hadn’t returned, a flicker of disappointment crossed Ellie’s face. But she quickly comforted herself. “It’s okay. Mommy is just very busy. She’ll be home soon.” Having eaten little all night, Ellie’s tummy rumbled. She had no choice but to snack on the remaining bread. Then, she unwrapped the carton of milk I had purchased. Mimicking my actions, she tried to heat the milk on the stove. “Mommy said cold drinks are bad, or I’ll get a tummy ache.” Ellie talked to herself as she carried the small pot, filled with water. But her hands were tiny. How could she manage? I watched, frantic, pleading with her to stop. But I was powerless. Ellie stood on a stool, just about to place the pot on the stove. But she lost her grip. Water splashed everywhere. The heavy pot crashed down onto her small foot, instantly swelling the tender skin. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart by blades. Yet, I was also relieved it hadn’t been boiling water. Ellie began to sob quietly. Then, she quickly hugged her foot and started blowing on it. “Mommy’s not here, so Ellie will blow on it herself. It won’t hurt then.” She wiped her tears. She dragged the stool back. She sat in the living room, her eyes fixed on the door. “Don’t cry, Ellie. When Mommy comes back, she’ll say I was very brave.” Ellie was so good. So sensible. Sensible enough to break my heart. I desperately wished she would resent me, curse me for being an unfit mother. Instead, she waited, so patiently, so sweetly, for my return. 04 Two hours later. A car stopped outside the apartment door. My former colleague knocked. Ellie was ecstatic, thinking it was me. She ran so fast she stumbled. Her leg scraped against a sharp stone. But she only winced, quickly scrambled up, and rushed to open the door. When she saw it wasn’t me, her composure shattered. She burst into heart-wrenching sobs. “Mommy, why haven’t you come home yet?” “Ellie’s foot is swollen, and my leg hurts, but Ellie was brave!” “But Mommy still isn’t here. Mommy doesn’t love Ellie anymore!” “Does Mommy hate me?” Ellie’s cries were tearing my heart to shreds. My colleague rushed to comfort her. She found the first-aid kit and gently cleaned Ellie’s leg with antiseptic, applying a plaster. Once everything was calm. My colleague brought in my urn and the box of personal effects from the company. Ellie looked confused. But then she saw a framed photo we’d taken recently at the fair. In the picture, I was hugging Ellie, and we were both smiling widely. She recognized me. She asked my colleague, “Miss, are these all my mommy’s things? Then where is my mommy?” The colleague held back her tears. She pointed to the urn. “Your mommy is right here, sweetheart. If you miss her, you can hug this and talk to her.” Ellie shook her head vigorously. “My mommy can’t be a jar! She’s not like those characters in storybooks who can change shape! You’re lying!” She hugged the photograph tightly. “This is my mommy.” She pressed a sweet kiss to the photo, smiling softly. My colleague sighed, placing the urn on a high shelf. She looked around the tiny, dilapidated apartment. “Where is your father? Are you all alone here?” Ellie lowered her head. “Mommy said Daddy went far away to make money. I’ve never met my daddy.” The colleague was shocked. “Do you have any other family? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?” Ellie shook her head. The woman couldn’t hold back her tears any longer and pulled Ellie into a hug. “You poor, poor child.” “You’re so young. How could your mother bear to leave you alone?” Ellie argued fiercely. “Mommy would never leave me! Mommy loves Ellie the most.” The colleague slipped a card into Ellie’s hand. “This is the compensation money from the company after your mother’s death. There’s twenty thousand dollars on this card. The pin is six eights. Keep it safe, don’t lose it.” Ellie nodded seriously. She clutched the card tightly. Because of our poverty, I had taught Ellie from a young age that money was precious and must be protected. She remembered. After careful consideration. The colleague called the local Child Protective Services. It was the institution designated for children without guardians. I was immensely grateful, bowing repeatedly in the air before the woman. [Thank you so much.] If Ellie could be placed in an orphanage, at least she would survive. 05 When the Child Protective Services came to pick Ellie up, she refused to go. She clung to the door, screaming and wailing. “You’re kidnappers! Don’t take Ellie! Ellie isn’t worth anything!” The CPS workers tried to smile through their distress. The lead social worker, a kindly woman, knelt down. She spoke gently. “I’m not a kidnapper, dear. We’re taking Ellie to a new place where she can stay.” Ellie frowned. She told them seriously. “This is my home! If you take me away, Mommy won’t see me when she comes home, and she’ll be worried!” I covered my mouth, tears streaming down my incorporeal face. The social workers exchanged glances, their eyes moist. They gently coaxed her. “Ellie, sweetie, your mommy asked us to bring you here. Your mommy has to travel for a while and won’t be back immediately, so she wants us to take care of you.” “Besides, there are lots of kids like you there, so you won’t be lonely.” Ellie listened carefully. She blinked her big eyes, staring at them. “Really?” “Of course.” Only then did Ellie slowly release the door. But before getting into the car. Ellie ran back inside. She grabbed the teddy bear I had bought her and the photograph. She hugged them tightly to her chest. The car started moving. It was Ellie’s first time traveling with strangers. The calm she had forced earlier vanished. Fear and panic rushed in. She finally burst into tears. “Mommy, Ellie will be very good and very obedient.” “Please hurry and come get Ellie, okay?” I followed the car, floating behind. Wherever Ellie went, I followed. But she couldn’t see me. And I couldn’t touch her. 06 On her first day at the St. Jude’s Children’s Home, Ellie was strangely silent. She just stared blankly out the window. Every time someone passed, she would widen her eyes, scrutinizing them, searching for me. When she realized it wasn’t me. Her face held only disappointment. A curious boy approached her, trying to start a conversation. “Why did you come to the Home?” Ellie answered seriously: “My mommy had to go away, so she sent me here. But she’s coming to pick me up soon.” The boy seemed to mock her innocence. He suddenly snatched the teddy bear from her hands. “Your mommy abandoned you.” “She’s not coming back for you.” “What’s this? Let me play with it.” Ellie was furious. She rushed forward, shoving the boy to the ground. “You’re lying!” “My mommy would never abandon me!” “That’s the teddy bear my mommy gave me! Give it back!” The boy was equally aggressive, quickly climbing back up. He pushed my Ellie to the ground. He was a year or two older than Ellie. His strength was naturally greater. He straddled Ellie. He yanked at her hair and clothes. He even tore the teddy bear, and white cotton stuffing burst out of its broken seam. “I’m not lying! Your mom doesn’t want you! All the kids here were abandoned by their parents!” “It’s just a broken toy, I don’t even want it.” Ellie hugged the damaged bear. Fighting back hard. “You’re a liar! I don’t believe you!” “Don’t rip my bear! Mommy gave it to me!” The noise alerted a staff member. She hurried over. She separated the two children. After learning what happened, she severely scolded the boy. But the boy didn’t think he had done anything wrong. “I just told the truth! Her mom is never coming back!” “She’s the one who pushed me!” He made a face and ran off. Ellie stood there. Her hair was a mess, her clothes stained with dirt from the floor. She looked like a defeated fighter. But she still insisted, “My mommy would never abandon me.” “Don’t try to fool me.” From then on. Ellie became even quieter. The other children stopped interacting with her. They whispered privately that she had been abandoned but was too stubborn to admit it. Whenever Ellie heard the whispers. She would quickly walk away. But I saw her retreat to a deserted spot, hugging her damaged teddy bear, and secretly wiping away tears. “Mommy, is what they said true? Did you really abandon me?” I gently wrapped my arms around Ellie. Just like I used to hug her to sleep. [Ellie, Mommy is always here. Mommy would never abandon you.] [Mommy is with you forever.] 计费点 07 A month passed. Ellie ate very little. And slept even less. Her once round, cherubic cheeks had grown sharp and thin. The laughter in her eyes had faded. She no longer looked out the window or at the door. She stopped nagging the staff, asking: “Did my mommy come for me today?” Today, the Children’s Home was unusually bustling. I heard the director talking and learned the reason: Liam Harrison was coming to visit the children today. Apparently, after becoming a major star, he donated a lot of money to the Home. And he visited this specific Home every year. I knew why. We had both grown up in this Home. I felt a surge of hope. If he saw Ellie. He would surely realize I was gone. And surely, he wouldn’t be heartless enough to let our Ellie stay here. After all, we had once loved each other so very much. A crowd of people gathered at the entrance, waiting for the philanthropist, Liam Harrison. Even the children flocked towards the door. Only Ellie watched the excitement with cold indifference. [Ellie, sweetheart, go to the door! Your daddy is coming soon!] [If he sees you, maybe you won’t have to stay here anymore.] [You could have a good life. Then Mommy could rest easy.] She couldn’t hear my words. But she picked up a crayon, and in clumsy, childish handwriting, she wrote a note. [Ellie is going to find Mommy. Don’t look for me.] She placed the note next to her pillow. Then, she started running. But she didn’t join the group at the entrance. She ran in the opposite direction. I was shocked and frantic. [Ellie, what are you doing? Where are you going!] She ran faster and faster. I had thought she had accepted the Home. Accepted the reality that I wouldn’t come for her. It wasn’t until I saw the note that I understood. She was leaving the Home. If I wouldn’t come for her. She would find me herself. … A Maybach pulled up to the entrance of the Home. His manager, Ryan Lee, shielded Liam as he stepped out. A swarm of people greeted him. No one noticed that Ellie had slipped away. Just moments ago. Just that close. Liam would have seen Ellie. Now, she was alone outside. How would she survive?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394435”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On our fifth wedding anniversary, Simon promised me a grand wedding. He said he regretted that we never had a proper ceremony when we first got married. He said I would be the most beautiful bride. Then, on the day of the wedding, he got a text message and bolted. I chased after him in my heavy, cumbersome gown. “Karen,” he said, trying to soothe me, “something really important came up at the office. I have to go.” His lies were so clumsy, but I no longer had the energy to call him out on them. Because I had cancer. I didn’t have much time left. 1 Simon didn’t know that I had received the message first. I was sitting at the vanity, the chime of a notification breaking the silence. I opened my phone and saw the words: “Karen Grant, I will never bother you again. Are you satisfied now?” My heart hammered against my ribs. Before I could even process it, I saw Simon glance down at his own phone, and then, with a look of pure panic, he rushed out of the room. He was always so calm, so composed. I had never seen him like that before. I stood up to follow him, nearly tripping over the hem of my dress. I stumbled, my knee slamming into the doorframe with a searing pain. He didn’t even look at me. He just slammed the car door shut, leaving me with those words hanging in the air. For this wedding, I had chosen a strapless, mermaid-style gown, even in the cool autumn air. I had hoped, just once, for a beautiful moment in my life. Just one. And he left me there, alone, in front of all our friends and family. For a split second, I wanted to run. I was so tired. I didn’t want to clean up the mess he had left for me. He was the one who had promised me a surprise. He was the one who had filled me with hope. And he was the one who abandoned me. But I looked at the expectant faces in the crowd. We weren’t a young couple, going through the motions of a wedding. We were a married couple, five years in, who had carefully considered who to invite. These were our closest friends, our family—less than six tables in total. My college roommates were there, friends from work, people who had traveled from far away to be a part of my “silly, romantic dream.” My body felt stiff as I turned back. I changed into something simpler and then went from table to table, playing the gracious host. Simon’s best friend joked, “You two really know how to keep things interesting! A wedding after five years of marriage. Make sure you invite us to your golden and silver anniversaries too!” I smiled and said of course. But I knew in my heart, there would be no more anniversaries. Even if I lived that long, our marriage wouldn’t. My best friend, Zoe, rubbed my hands. “Your hands are freezing! And where’s Simon?” I forced a smile. “Oh, you know him. Workaholic. The office called him in for an emergency.” She squeezed my hand tightly. We had known each other for over a decade; we could read each other’s minds. I met her worried gaze and almost broke down right there. I tried to act normal, but a storm of frustration was raging inside me. Finally, after everyone was settled, I collapsed into a chair, completely drained. Then my mother called. “Do you have a heart?” she screamed into the phone. “Your cousin is dying, and you’re throwing a wedding?” I didn’t even have the strength to stand. I just listened to her tirade, my body numb. It took me a moment to understand. My cousin, Savannah, had a history of depression. She had tried to kill herself, slitting her wrists on the roof of her university dorm. I finally found my voice. “The groom has already gone to save her, hasn’t he? What more do you want from me? Should I kill myself to appease her? Will that cure her illness?” There was one more thing I didn’t say. I don’t have long to live. You’ll all be satisfied soon enough. But I didn’t want them to know. I didn’t want to see any of them in my final days. “What are you talking about? Even your husband couldn’t stand by and do nothing! The cousin you grew up with is dying, and you have no reaction at all? How can you be so cold-blooded?” My mother’s voice continued to grate on my ears. She didn’t know that just saying those few words had made my throat burn with a raw, searing pain. I held back a cough, hung up the phone, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a ghost. When it came to Savannah, I always lost. She had a way of effortlessly taking everything that was mine. Savannah was my uncle’s daughter. After my aunt and uncle died in a car crash, she came to live with us. From that day on, I heard the same thing every day: “Savannah has already been through so much! Why do you have to compete with her? Can’t you just let her have it?” 2 Simon came home late that night, looking exhausted. I was tending to the gash on my knee. I hadn’t wanted to bother, but it looked serious, and even the smallest infection caused me immense pain now. It would trigger a cascade of inflammation throughout my body. I treated it numbly. I’ve always been afraid of pain, and sleep had become a nightly struggle. Ever since college, I’ve suffered from severe anxiety. When it flares up, I vomit and can’t sleep. I’d throw up until my mouth was filled with the bitter taste of acid. Simon glanced at me. He was heading for the shower but stopped when he saw the raw, bloody wound on my knee. “What happened? How did you manage that? Why weren’t you more careful?” I didn’t answer, just continued to clean the wound. I didn’t have the energy to talk to him anymore. He slowly sat down beside me and reached for the gauze. I looked up, my eyes cold and hard. “Karen, I’m sorry,” he pleaded, his gaze full of a practiced sincerity. “Today was an accident. Please don’t be angry with me.” If I hadn’t known the truth, I might have fallen for that look again. “Simon, let’s get a divorce. I’m so tired.” I looked back down at my knee. I finished wrapping the bandage, and he suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace. It felt desperate, the panicked gesture of a guilty man. He held me so tightly it hurt my wound. I hissed in pain, and he finally loosened his grip, sinking to his knees in front of me. “Karen, we’ll have so many more anniversaries. Please don’t say that word. It’s so hurtful.” “Simon,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “This afternoon was the last shred of dignity I was willing to give you.” He froze, his expression crumbling into one of pure panic. “Karen, it’s not what you think. It was an emergency, I had to go. I didn’t want to tell you the truth because I was afraid you’d misunderstand. I—” For the first time in his life, Simon stammered. “What are you afraid of, Simon?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Am I that terrifying? Or are you all just afraid I’ll bully Savannah, and now you’re afraid I’ll bully you too?” “Karen, you’re too emotional right now. I don’t want to fight with you.” He dodged the question and retreated into the bathroom. I didn’t say another word. I went into the study and closed the door. My hands were shaking. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a luxury I could rarely afford, usually managing only three or four hours a night. I should have woken up to the truth a long time ago. Savannah was the vibrant red rose, the permanent mark on Simon’s heart. When I met Simon, he and Savannah had already broken up. He never showed me a picture of his ex-girlfriend; I only knew that the relationship had left him heartbroken. I never knew his ex was Savannah. We had an unspoken agreement not to talk about our pasts. It wasn’t until after we were legally married, during a New Year’s visit to my parents, that Savannah was also there. That day, I saw a flicker of panic in Simon’s eyes for the first time. A woman’s intuition is a powerful thing. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I wanted to ask him about it, but every time I brought it up, he would shut me down, saying it was in the past and dredging it up would only make us unhappy. And then, after the holidays, Savannah went abroad to study the violin, her lifelong passion. To support her, my parents sold their house and moved back to their hometown. I couldn’t describe the feeling then. It was the same as it had always been. Savannah got to take expensive music lessons while I couldn’t even afford tutoring. I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face when she found out Savannah was continuing her studies. She was beaming with pride, saying she never thought our family would produce a musician. Simon was with me then. He squeezed my hand and whispered, “In my eyes, my wife is the best.” He was good to me. He let me look at his phone whenever I wanted, gave me his bank cards to manage. He was the perfect husband, by all online standards. My appetite was poor, so he learned to cook, coming home every night after work to make me dinner. We would go for walks in the evening, holding hands. Life was simple, pure. I thought it would always be like that. Then Savannah came back. She hadn’t become a famous musician. She had developed severe depression. Her arms were covered in a latticework of scars from a brow razor. My mother held her and sobbed. She came to me, her face gaunt. “Karen, I regret it. Can you give Simon back to me?” The absurdity of it was staggering. She spoke as if Simon were a dress, a toy, a room, a snack—all the things she had taken from me in the past. She was used to getting what she wanted, simply by asking. I ignored her, treating her like a madwoman. She was the one who told me they had been together. I remember it was New Year’s Eve, fireworks exploding in the sky. She was unusually friendly, insisting we go watch them together. Simon was inside, playing cards with the elders. Savannah led me on a long, winding walk. 3 We ended up at a park bench, far from the house. She sat down and started reminiscing. “Karen, it’s hard to believe the little girl I knew is married now.” I didn’t know what to say. Then her tone shifted. “Karen, you’ve always hated me, haven’t you?” “Say something!” I was still at a loss for words. “You hate me so much that you married Simon, just because he was my boyfriend.” As she spoke, she burst into tears. The fireworks bloomed in the sky at that exact moment, illuminating the tears streaming down her face. I had never seen Savannah cry like that before. A chill ran through me. Simon was her ex-boyfriend. We had been married for less than a month. God as my witness, if I had known they were together, I would have stayed as far away as possible. But I didn’t know! Simon had burst into my life, telling me how much he liked me, helping me through the toughest of times. “I didn’t know you were together,” I finally managed to say. She glanced at me, then turned and walked away without another word. A few days later, she left to pursue her musical dreams. Before she left, she sent me a text: “You’ve let me have my way so many times. This time, I’ll let you have him.” I showed the text to Simon, furious. What did she mean, “let me have him”? If he couldn’t get over her, he should just get back together with her. I would admit I’d made a mistake. Simon threw his hands up in the air, claiming he was an innocent victim. He showed me his phone. “Karen, you can’t do this to me. I don’t even have her on WeChat. I didn’t know about your relationship.” “And if you had known?” “I would have gotten together with you sooner, and I would have run in the opposite direction every time I saw her. I would have closed my eyes and pretended she didn’t exist.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he said it. He made me laugh, and he immediately pulled me into a tight hug. For the next few years, Savannah really did disappear from our lives. I had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Until she came back, her studies finished, her body and spirit broken. She was like a wilting rose, even more pitiful and heart-wrenching. It was winter when she returned, and she was always cold. My mother was so worried she developed gray hairs. I even gave her the numbers of a few doctors I knew. Then I saw the way Simon looked at her. I couldn’t fool myself. You can’t hide the look of pity in your eyes. A steel needle seemed to pierce my heart, making it hard to breathe. I confronted him. For the first time, he got angry. “Enough! Karen, she’s already in this state. What more do you want?” Tears streamed down my face. He quickly tried to comfort me. “I’m sorry, Karen. I didn’t mean to snap at you. We’ve been together for so long. Don’t you trust me?” I tried to push the incident out of my mind. The years of love and companionship we had shared became a comforting dream I clung to. Later, he went on a business trip to Tibet. He came back right on New Year’s Day, and we went to my parents’ house with gifts. Without my knowledge, he pulled out a bag of saffron and handed it to Savannah. “The locals say this helps with the cold.” Then, under her surprised and grateful gaze, he took out a protective amulet. “They also say this can keep you safe.” I was silent, in a daze. It was like being a child again, watching my parents come home with piles of gifts for Savannah while I could only watch, a pathetic dog begging for scraps. On the way home, Simon tried to take my hand. I pulled away, and that’s when I noticed a large gemstone ring on my ring finger. I was stunned. He pinched my cheek. “Are you a little jealous? Your mother asked me to buy the saffron. The amulet was just something I picked up. They think your cousin might be cursed.” “But the ring,” he said, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, “I spent a long time choosing this for you. As long as I’m with you, you’ll always be safe.” He was always so good with words. I stared at the pigeon-egg-sized ruby, mesmerized. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Karen, let’s have a wedding. I’ve always felt bad about not giving you one.” Our eyes met. In that moment, I truly believed that everything before had been a misunderstanding. He loved me. Tears welled in my eyes. He panicked, wiping them away, asking me what was wrong, looking like a guilty child. In that moment, I wanted so badly to tell him. While he was away, my insomnia had gotten worse. I was throwing up constantly. At first, I thought I might be pregnant. I went to the hospital, overjoyed. But the doctor, seeing how sick I was, recommended a full check-up. When I got the diagnosis, I couldn’t believe it. How could this be happening? I was so young. I went to several other hospitals. The result was the same. I wanted to call him, to tell him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even face it myself. I didn’t know who to tell, how to say it. The doctor asked me why I hadn’t come in sooner. I told him I’d been like this since college, throwing up whenever I was anxious. He sighed. “Young people are under too much pressure these days.” In college, my mother, who was paying for Savannah’s expensive education, couldn’t afford to give me much. She paid my tuition and then bombarded me with messages and calls, telling me to work hard, to remember our family’s financial situation. Sometimes, at six or seven in the morning, I’d wake up to a text from her, asking if I’d found a part-time job, if I was earning any money, if I was going to get a scholarship. She said she was anxious, that the family could never save any money. What would they do when they got old? I asked her why she was still paying for Savannah’s expensive music lessons. She flew into a rage. “Why are you always so petty? Why can’t you just let it go? Savannah finally has a dream. Shouldn’t I support her?” “What about me?” “What more do you want? I’m already putting you through college! Are you trying to kill me?” She was determined to give Savannah the life she wanted, at the expense of my own survival. But she never saw it as a problem. She would just say, “I gave birth to you, I raised you. What more do you want?” I worried constantly about living expenses, about how to earn money, how to make my resume look better, how to find a better-paying job. That’s when I met Simon. He comforted me, understood me. Later, when he started his own business, I was by his side, traveling all over the country. To save money, we would buy standing-room-only tickets for twenty-hour train rides. He would buy two small stools, and we would huddle together, him shielding me from the crowds. He would whisper in my ear, “I will give you a good life.” But now, I had no life left. 4 Simon didn’t know that on the way home from the “wedding,” we passed by a jewelry store, and the name sounded familiar. On a whim, I went inside and asked the salesperson about the ruby ring on my finger. She was a young girl, and she blushed as she told me, “Oh, this ring? Just last Sunday night, right before we closed, a gentleman who had just gotten off a plane rushed in to buy it for his wife.” “He must love her very much, to be in such a hurry.” “Or maybe he did something wrong?” I whispered, to no one in particular. The girl stared at me, embarrassed. I turned and left. So that’s why he had suddenly bought me a ring. He had bought gifts for everyone on his trip, but had forgotten about me. To assuage his guilt, he had bought me an expensive ring. My gratitude now seemed so ridiculous. All those nights, I had been so scared, wanting to tell him about my illness, wanting to grasp at some non-existent warmth. It was all just my own wishful thinking. I lay in bed, numbly crying. The door suddenly opened. Simon pinned me down, kissing away my tears. “Karen, what do I have to do to make you stop overthinking things?” A wave of nausea rose in my throat. With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed him off me and ran to the bathroom, retching violently. He looked humiliated. “Karen Grant! What are you doing? I can’t even touch you anymore? How could you do this to me?” I ignored him, slumping to the floor. When I finally found the strength to stand, I splashed cold water on my face. “Let’s get a divorce. I’m serious.” He threw a towel at me and turned away. “In your dreams!” I watched his retreating back. You will, I thought. 5 I went to the hospital for a painkiller shot. I couldn’t even swallow pills anymore. Then I went directly to Savannah’s hospital room. I just sat there. She became incredibly agitated, yanking the IV needle from her arm. Blood spurted everywhere. “Karen Grant, what do you want? Can’t you just leave me alone?” I didn’t say anything, just quietly peeled an orange. When I was done, I realized I couldn’t eat it. I was on a liquid diet now. There were so many things I wanted to taste, but I couldn’t even do that. I held out the orange to her. “Want an orange? It should be sweet.” I wanted so badly to taste it, even if it was sour. But Savannah only became more agitated. She slapped the orange out of my hand and burst into tears. My mother rushed in, carrying a container of food for Savannah. The dishes looked familiar, but I didn’t have time to think about it. She slapped me across the face. “What did Savannah ever do to you? Why can’t you just leave her alone?” The slap made my nose bleed. I stared at the blood on the floor, then turned and left the room. My mother followed me out, wanting to say something. Finally, she grabbed my arm. “Karen, what’s wrong with you? Do you have a fever? You’ve lost so much weight recently.” “What’s it to you?” “I’m your mother!” she shrieked. “Really? I don’t believe you.” I smiled at her, and then the tears came. She cried even louder than I did. “I’m your mother! What do you want me to do? Can’t you try to understand me?” “I named you Karen, which means understanding. You were such a considerate child. How did you become like this?” I couldn’t listen anymore. Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten, but my head was spinning. I ran away. But as long as Simon refused to sign the divorce papers, I would keep coming back. We would all suffer together. 6 Simon rushed home. I was staring at a bowl of mushy porridge, trying to swallow a few spoonfuls, but I threw it all up. I managed to choke down some sugar water. “Karen, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and tight, trying to control his anger. “Can you make me a bowl of noodles?” Simon was an excellent cook, and his noodles were especially delicious. But he hadn’t cooked in a long time. I couldn’t remember if it was because of work or something else. I had been on a liquid diet for so long, sucking my meals through a straw. I suddenly craved noodles, the kind Simon made. I had been to so many restaurants, but I could never find anything like them. I knew I couldn’t swallow them, but just smelling them would be enough. “She’s already in such a bad state. Please, just leave her alone,” he begged. His words were like a knife, twisting in my heart. I remembered a time when we were madly in love, and I had told him he was the person I was closest to in the world. I had meant it then. But the intimacy had been so fleeting. “Then divorce me. If you divorce me, I’ll leave her alone,” I said stubbornly. “You’re being irrational!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Simon had once promised that he would never make me regret marrying him. But I did. I didn’t understand why I wanted a divorce so badly. I only had a few days left. But when I thought about those days, the pain was unbearable. Do people change? How could it happen so suddenly? How could he do this to me? Why did I offer up my heart to be trampled on? They all liked to trample on me. All I wanted now was to get away, but even that wasn’t allowed. I went to see Savannah every day. Anyone who didn’t know would have thought we were the closest of sisters. And then I finally understood who had been cooking her meals. Savannah saw me looking at her food and said, mockingly, “Want some? Simon made it. It’s the only thing I can eat right now.” For the first time, I almost broke down in front of her. I hadn’t even left the hospital when Simon called, his voice full of frustration. “Karen, can you just stop? Savannah is sick.” “Then divorce me! If you divorce me, I’ll stop,” I repeated. I stood at a crosswalk, wanting to step out into traffic. But then I thought, it wouldn’t be fair to the driver. Everyone has their own struggles. I couldn’t add to someone else’s by dying. I stepped back, watching the endless stream of people and cars. All I could think about was Simon, cooking for Savannah. The irony was suffocating. He always looked so tired, and I, trying to be considerate, had been learning to cook his favorite dishes, waiting for him to come home, even though I couldn’t eat a thing myself. I was trying to be considerate of his hard work, but he was spending his energy cooking nutritious meals for Savannah. Simon, how could you? If I had the time, I would have taken him to court, fought him, torn him apart. But I only had a few days left. Maybe God heard my prayers, or maybe Savannah just couldn’t take it anymore. That day, I went to see her as usual. We were arguing on the stairs. I envied her, that she could yell and still have enough breath and energy. My mother had called Simon. Savannah was crying, her face streaked with tears. “I don’t want to see you! Just die!” I was silent. She grabbed my arm, shaking me violently. “What do you want?” I looked at Simon. The message was clear. Savannah was hysterical. She was pulling at me, lost her footing, and almost fell. And then I saw Simon rush over, grabbing her to steady her. I tumbled down the stairs. There were some glass panels at the landing. I put my arms up to protect myself. CRASH! The glass shattered. My arm, in its white sweater, was embedded with shards of glass. My face was cut too. I must have looked a mess, so ugly. It had been so long since I had looked beautiful. I couldn’t even stand to look in the mirror anymore. I was so ugly. Simon rushed down, his voice panicked. “What happened? How did it get this bad?” Blood stained my sweater red. He tried to pick me up, but I pushed against his chest, fighting back tears. “Divorce me. Please? If you divorce me, I won’t come back.” “I promise I won’t bother you.” “Please, just divorce me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394434”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the woman Christopher Pierce chose for himself. But after all his friends married women from their own world, from families of equal standing, I could feel it. A shadow of regret had begun to creep into his eyes. His parents never approved of me. I couldn’t keep up with their conversations about art auctions and European politics. I didn’t have the right pedigree. One by one, these became his reasons to resent me. The day he praised another woman in front of me for the third time that week, I finally untied the apron that had become a second skin. I put on my makeup again. I slipped into my favorite dress. This marriage—I was done fighting for it. 1 I was dropping off lunch at Christopher’s office when I saw his friends were already inside with him. The door was slightly ajar. I hesitated. A voice drifted out from within. “Christopher, you seem on edge lately. Trouble with the wife?” A cigarette was wedged between his fingers as he sat hunched over a stack of documents. He paused for a moment at the question. Then he shook his head. “No. It’s just… I’m irritated.” He paused again. “I can’t explain it. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but I find myself getting inexplicably annoyed by her.” The lunchbox in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy, its weight pulling my arm down. The real reason, the one he couldn’t bring himself to say… I think I already knew. When a life together is no longer sustained by love alone, every other difference becomes a chasm. To put it plainly, he was tired of me. I had just turned to leave when his childhood friend—and newly appointed personal assistant—Victoria Vance, blocked my path. I didn’t miss the playful, mocking glint in her eyes. With a light push, the door swung open. “Christopher, darling, your wife is here with your lunch.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “I’m so jealous. You get to enjoy her amazing cooking every single day.” He rose from his chair. I am certain of this: his eyes never once met mine. He simply walked past me, took the container from my hands, and placed it on his desk. “You little brat,” he said, his voice softening as he turned to Victoria. “I’ve given you my lunch almost every day this week. Still not satisfied?” Victoria gave a delicate shrug, a playful pout on her lips. “Hmph. You were the one who said Becca’s only good at cooking and that I should order whatever I wanted. Now you’re blaming me!” She shot me a triumphant glance before sinking into the plush leather of Christopher’s executive chair. She opened the container and began to eat, slow and deliberate. My fingernails dug into my palms. The sting was sharp, but Christopher’s hand gently pried my fingers open as he came to stand before me. His eyes, when they finally looked at me, were still filled with that deep, practiced affection. Not a trace of the annoyance he’d just confessed to. “Becca, Victoria’s been having some stomach issues lately. I’m sure you can understand.” I pulled my hand away without a word. He caught it again, his grip firm this time, refusing to let me go. He stroked the back of my hand, a gesture that felt more like a restraint than a comfort. Victoria, having finished her meal, turned her head. “Let’s all go for drinks tonight! It’s been ages since we all got together.” A chorus of agreement filled the room. Christopher nodded. “Sounds good.” He stood and handed the now-empty lunchbox back to me. “You head home. Don’t wait up for me tonight.” I should have been angry. But I felt hollowed out, the capacity for anger gone. I turned and walked out. Behind me, Victoria’s voice, artificially high and cloying, chased me down the hall. “Christopher, why not ask Becca to come along? It would be fun!” His reply was flat, devoid of emotion. “She doesn’t get any of it. She can’t contribute. It’s awkward for her, and it’s awkward for us.” My feet froze to the floor. I stood there for a long time before I found the strength to walk away. 2 That night, I didn’t wait for Christopher. But deep in the night, my phone rang. It was Victoria. “Becca? Christopher’s had a bit too much to drink. He refused to go home, so I brought him back to my place.” A small laugh. “Now, don’t get the wrong idea,” she explained. “I just kicked him out of my bed. He’s sharing a room with my brother now.” The room was pitch-black. I hadn’t turned on any lights. The silence was absolute. On the other end of the line, she was waiting for my response. Was she trying to provoke me? I didn’t have the energy to play her game. “Let me talk to Christopher,” I said. Less than three seconds later, a man’s voice, thick with feigned drunkenness, came through the speaker. “Becca… they kept pushing drinks on me. My head’s killing me, can’t drive. I’m not coming home tonight.” There was an undercurrent of resistance in his voice. This house, our home, had me in it. Had that become a source of irritation for him, too? “Christopher, do you regret it?” He gave a noncommittal “Hmm?” and I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard me. Before I could say another word, the phone seemed to move away from his mouth. But he didn’t hang up. I heard Victoria’s soft, feminine laughter. “Christopher, being so dismissive of Miss Thorne… aren’t you afraid you’ll hurt her feelings? What if she starts to suspect there’s something going on between us? You’ll ruin my reputation.” The drunken slur was completely gone from his voice now. In its place, a hint of amusement. “You were my fiancée to begin with. She’s always been bothered by it. What’s one more night?” It was true. Before he married me, he and Victoria had been engaged. I only found out after we were married, from one of his friends. For me, Christopher had rejected the arranged marriage his family had planned for him since birth. Back then, he must have loved me. But three years can change so many things. Just as, back then, he had loved me so deeply. And just as, now, he didn’t want to come home. 3 Christopher didn’t come home until dinnertime the next day. Usually, when he knew he’d done something to upset me, he’d bring a small gift to smooth things over. A bouquet of flowers, or a pastry from that bakery I loved with the ridiculously long line. But today, his hands were empty. He mumbled a greeting and sat down across from me. After only a few bites, he slammed his chopsticks on the table. He directed his anger at me. “Why is this dish so salty? Becca, you’ve been married to me for three years. Don’t you know how to taste your own food?” I don’t know where his rage came from, but he was unleashing it all on me. But for the first time, I felt something shift between us. Our housekeeper, hearing the commotion, hurried out from the kitchen. She apologized timidly. “I’m so sorry, sir. Ma’am wasn’t feeling well today, so I prepared the meal. I’ll take these dishes away and remake them for you right away.” Christopher looked as if he’d swallowed something sharp. His expression turned ugly. After a long, tense silence, he waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t bother. This is fine.” Even after his outburst, even after he’d wrongly accused me, Christopher said nothing to me. No apology. No acknowledgment. It was as if it was my duty to absorb his anger. I put down my own chopsticks, letting them clatter against the bowl. “Christopher, do you hate me?” His head, which had been bowed, seemed to flinch. When he looked up, his face was a blank mask, scrubbed of all emotion. “Becca, why would you say that? I raised my voice, and if that made you uncomfortable, I apologize. But since you’re home all day, maybe you could handle small things like cooking yourself, instead of always troubling the staff.” I stared into his eyes, searching for something, anything. “I am your wife, Christopher. Not your maid. And I am certainly not Victoria Vance’s private chef. I will not be setting foot in the kitchen again.” As expected, the mention of her name lit a fire in his eyes. He shot to his feet. “This is about us. Why do you always have to bring her into it? You’re being irrational.” 4 That night, for the first time, Christopher and I slept in separate rooms. I sat on the vast, empty bed. I suddenly remembered something he had told me on our wedding day. He said that even if we fought, we would never sleep apart. Because a conflict that lasts overnight creates a crack in a relationship that can never be repaired. He wouldn’t allow it. I turned off the light. In the middle of the night, I felt a hand reach for me. A man’s warm breath ghosted across my neck, his voice laced with a placating tone. “Honey, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you. Can you forgive me?” I lay still, letting him hold me, my gaze fixed on the window. “Why did you come here?” Christopher snuggled closer, his words muffled. “Can’t let a fight last overnight. I haven’t forgotten.” A single tear hit the pillowcase. I had made up my mind. So why was I hesitating now, just because of those few words? Behind me, Christopher started to explain. “Becca, I was in a terrible mood when I left work. That silly girl Victoria really got under my skin. That’s why I forgot to buy you a gift.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I tried to sound casual. “What did Victoria do?” Maybe it was my imagination, but his voice suddenly sounded more animated. “She printed an important document with a dozen typos. I said a few words to her, and she had the nerve to get upset with me. Started crying and throwing a fit. In the end, I was the one who had to calm her down. God, it’s exhausting.” He seemed to realize halfway through that he was saying too much. He added, lamely, “You know there’s nothing between Victoria and me, honey.” I turned over onto my back. “I know. Otherwise, you never would have married me.” The hand resting on my waist slowly pulled away. He whispered, as if to himself, his voice tinged with regret. “Yes. In the end, I married you.” 5 From that day on, the dynamic between us shifted into something fragile and strange. He started making excuses, finding reasons not to come home for dinner. And I, true to my word, never stepped into the kitchen for his sake again. One afternoon, while cleaning, I found a stack of dozens of brand-new, unopened aprons in my closet. They were piled on top of my own clothes, a thick, suffocating layer that had buried the last three years of my life. I thought back. What had turned me into a woman who only revolved around a kitchen? After we were married, Christopher said: “Becca, I’m a picky eater, but I love your cooking more than anything. You don’t need to work.” His mother said: “Our family can’t afford the embarrassment of you working. Just take good care of my son.” I knew being the daughter-in-law of a wealthy family would be difficult. So I tried my best to please them. I gave up my budding career as an illustrator, a passion I had loved, and dedicated myself to managing every detail of Christopher’s life. And in the end, all I got for it was a dismissive comment. “Becca? Oh, she’s only good at cooking.” So, from now on, I was done. I threw every single apron into the trash. Then I went to the mall and bought a new wardrobe. I put on a beautiful dress and did my makeup. I took dozens of selfies, all of them flattering. On my professional art account, which still had a small but loyal following, I posted a single message announcing my return. I was going back to what I loved. I no longer cared if Christopher came home at night. I no longer cared who he was with. And I no longer cared when he would finally get completely tired of me. None of it mattered anymore. 6 One evening, Christopher, with whom I hadn’t had a proper conversation in what felt like weeks, came home to pack a bag. He didn’t even tell me he was back. I only ran into him by chance when I went downstairs for a glass of water. He looked startled to see me. His lips moved for a moment, as if he were wrestling with what to say. Finally, he spoke, his tone cautious. “A few friends and I are going camping this weekend. Becca… do you want to come with us?” As he asked the question, his entire body was tense. Was it anticipation, or resistance? I couldn’t help but laugh. At the sound, the tension in his eyes grew even more pronounced. A mischievous impulse took hold of me. “Sure,” I said brightly. “It’s been years since I’ve been camping!” He just stood there, stunned. Christopher knew I didn’t fit in with his friends. The invitation had been a mere formality. He crouched down and began unpacking the clothes he had just folded. He didn’t look at me, but it was clear he was annoyed. “You know, I just remembered I have some urgent work to deal with at the office. I’m not going to go. You shouldn’t either.” “Oh.” I didn’t say another word, just turned and went back downstairs. I drank a full glass of water, feeling strangely light. A few minutes later, I heard a car start. To avoid me, Christopher had tiptoed down the stairs, carrying his suitcase. In the past, he might have been afraid I would embarrass him. But now, he was probably just afraid I’d interrupt his good time. I stared at the spot where his car had disappeared. Christopher, when are you finally going to ask for a divorce? I’m ready. 7 Victoria updated her social media story. It had zero likes or comments, which meant she’d made it visible only to me. I watched it carefully. It was a video from the campsite. Two-person tents. Everyone else was there with their wives. Only Christopher and Victoria were single. Someone in the video joked, “Christopher, you two should just share a tent. Victoria’s a scaredy-cat, she’ll be terrified on her own tonight.” Victoria’s brother shot a meaningful look at the two of them, who had been silent until now. “Christopher, if you’re sharing, keep your hands to yourself.” Christopher laughed. “Get lost. Am I that kind of guy?” The next second, he held open the flap of a tent, his gaze on Victoria heated and intense. “Alright, Your Highness, get in. I’ll keep you company tonight.” I saved the video. Then I liked it. It was clear from the footage. Christopher had crossed a line. It was no longer just an emotional affair. He had taken action. A man like that. Was there any point in continuing this entanglement? I spent the entire night wrestling with that question. By dawn, I had my answer. Without hesitation, I packed my bags. I moved into the small apartment I had bought with my own hard work before the wedding. It was two full days and nights later that Christopher finally called me. His first words were, “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.” I gave him the address and sat on my sofa. Waiting. 8 When I opened the door, his eyes were clouded with exhaustion. He sighed, a look of weary resignation on his face. “Becca, I’m sorry. I was wrong to hide the trip from you. If you still want to go, I can take time off work right away and we can go together.” I let him in and poured him a glass of water. Then I spoke. “Christopher, I don’t want to anymore.” He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He clearly wasn’t taking my “tantrum” seriously. As he was talking, he even pulled out his phone and sent Victoria a quick text, telling her to get some rest. Then, he glanced at me casually. “Alright, then. Let’s go home.” He took a few steps toward the door and realized I hadn’t moved. He looked back, confused. “I said, I don’t want to be with you anymore.” The look of impatience on Christopher’s face flickered into one of brief, sharp panic. I showed him the video on my phone. After he watched it, he started to stammer, trying desperately to explain. I cut him off. “We’re not right for each other anymore. I know you’ve realized it, too. That’s why you regret it. You regret not choosing the marriage with Victoria, and now you’re trying to correct that mistake.” A look of shame, of being seen too clearly, crossed his face. Under my calm, steady gaze, he finally nodded. “Yes. I have thought about what might have been if we hadn’t gotten married. But Becca, we are married, and I will be responsible for this marriage. What you saw in the video is real, but nothing happened between us. I can promise you that, and I can promise that I will have no further relationship with her.” Fearing what I might say next, Christopher stumbled to his feet. He fled like a coward. I couldn’t understand it. He was clearly tired of me and already planning a divorce. So why, the moment I called him out on it, did he suddenly start playing the part of the devoted husband? Over the next few days, I kept asking Christopher when we could file for divorce. But he remained resolute, refusing. I didn’t know what he was clinging to. We lived separately, at a stalemate. Until his grandfather’s birthday banquet. Christopher called me in advance. “Becca, I hope you’ll come with me tomorrow. If not for me, then for Grandfather, who has always treated you like his own granddaughter.” I couldn’t refuse. In the entire Pierce family, his grandfather was the only one who had never looked down on me because of my background. This meeting would be a farewell.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394432”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I flew back home, my husband, who was supposed to pick me up, sent someone else, claiming a last-minute emergency. That “someone else” blocked my path at the arrivals gate, her chin tilted in arrogant challenge. “So you’re Adrian’s so-called ‘best friend.’” I was frantic. “Crestwood Estates in Kingsbridge. I need to get there now.” The butler had called that morning. My grandfather had collapsed. I’d caught the first flight out. But she and her friends didn’t move. They formed a wall, their eyes burning with a raw, ugly hostility. “You home-wrecking, backstabbing bitch. I’m going to kill you today.” A sharp slap cracked across my face, stunning me. Then the fists and feet started flying. Thankfully, I knew enough self-defense to react, twisting and using their momentum to throw a few of them to the ground. “Are you insane? Is this how my husband told you to welcome me home?” 1 Thrown to the polished airport floor, Scarlett scrambled back up, her face contorted with rage. “You’re just the shameless friend who doesn’t know her place! How dare you call him your husband?” she spat. “Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson about boundaries with married men!” She was prepared. Her friends produced steel batons from their bags, advancing on me. I grabbed Scarlett’s arm, twisting it behind her back, my patience wearing thin. “We can’t be talking about the same person,” I ground out. “I despise infidelity. I would never, ever wreck someone’s home.” A crowd was gathering, their phones already out. The exit was becoming impassable. Panicked that I wouldn’t make it home in time, I tried to reason with her. “Ma’am, whatever your issue is, you can take it up with my lawyer. Right now, I have a family emergency. I don’t have time for this drama.” I tried to push through the gawking onlookers, but she held up a photo. It was a professional shot of me and Adrian, smiling. My first instinct was to confirm it. “Yes, that’s my husband and me.” That was the spark that lit the fuse. Scarlett exploded. “Adrian has always told me you were just his childhood friend, practically his sister! And you have the nerve to call him your husband in public?” she shrieked. “I knew it! You’ve been using the ‘best friend’ excuse to sleep with my husband behind my back, you pathetic slut!” The crowd, which had started to disperse, surged back in, their curious glances turning to judgmental stares. I felt like a criminal on display. Scarlett, reveling in her victory, swung the baton. Pinned by the crowd, I couldn’t dodge in time. The blow landed hard on my arm. A flash of white-hot pain was followed by a spreading numbness. “My grandfather is dying,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous. “I am not playing games with you. Get out of my way, or you’ll be hearing from my legal team.” I was his only grandchild. He had always doted on me, even entrusting me with the company he built from the ground up. I couldn’t be late. I just couldn’t. Scarlett’s face was a mask of righteous fury. “Let me make things crystal clear for you,” she yelled for everyone to hear. “My name is Scarlett Pierce, and I am the legally wedded wife of the man you call your husband!” “You shameless home-wrecker! Using your ‘friend’ status to fly around the world with him, taking wedding photos, meeting his family! I swear, if I don’t beat you to a pulp today, I’ll take your last name!” As she screamed, the batons rained down on my back and shoulders. I sucked in a sharp breath against the pain. I was a woman. I could understand the rage of being betrayed. But that didn’t give her the right to do this. I caught the next baton in my hand, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold steel. I met her gaze, my eyes narrowed. “That’s enough. I got married five years ago. My marriage certificate is in my purse. My husband would never cheat on me. You’ve made a mistake.” My voice was shaking, but firm. “If you touch me again, I’m calling the police.” Scarlett just rolled her eyes, her expression curdling with contempt. She rummaged in her designer bag and triumphantly produced her own marriage certificate, a crisp, official document she waved for the crowd to see. “Adrian and I have been married for three years. He took me to the courthouse himself,” she declared. “For three years, he’s been flying overseas for ‘business.’ I saw your texts on his phone. He said you were just friends. Then I found the photos on his social media. There’s no such thing as a platonic friendship between a man and a woman. You are the other woman!” Her entourage chimed in. “She’s just been clinging to Mr. Foster, waiting for him to make it big. Now that he’s successful, she’s back to kick you out and take her place. What a schemer!” “Exactly! In the old days, they’d drown women like you for this!” My mind went blank. I snatched the red-bound certificate from her hand. The man in the photo was undeniably Adrian Foster. Before I could process it, my phone buzzed. A text from the butler. [Miss Vance, the Director is fading fast. He’s asking for you. He just wants to see you one last time.] 2 There was no more time to think. “Miss Pierce,” I said, my voice strained, “my marriage certificate is dated two years before yours. I suggest you look into whether someone impersonated my husband to scam you. My family member is dying. I’m leaving now, but my lawyer will be in touch.” I pushed my way forward, but she grabbed my wrist, her grip like a vise. “Trying to run away?” she sneered. “Afraid your little charade is over?” My patience snapped. The desperation and fear in my chest ignited into pure rage. I told her it was an emergency. Why wouldn’t she listen? Just then, a timid voice spoke up from behind me. “I… I’m an airport official. I can verify the certificate numbers for you, check which one is authentic.” As desperate as I was, refusing now would make me look guilty. I locked eyes with Scarlett. “After this, you let me go. Deal?” My hands trembled as I texted the butler, asking for an update, praying I wasn’t too late. He replied with a video. My grandfather, lying in bed, his eyes wide and unfocused, was gasping my name, a thread of life he was clinging to just for me. My vision blurred with tears. I turned to the official, my voice a choked whisper. “Are you done yet? Please, I’m in a hurry.” Even in my panic, I tried to be decent. “Scarlett, something is very wrong here. You should contact my assistant. This might be a new kind of identity fraud.” Whoever was playing this sick game with my husband’s name, I would make them pay. Adrian was the CEO of Stellar Corp, the company my grandfather had poured his life into. This had to be a setup, a corporate sabotage plot to ruin our reputation. The official examined both documents, her brow furrowed. Then her expression shifted as she looked at me. It was a look of pure disgust. She handed Scarlett’s certificate back with a polite nod. “Yours is valid, ma’am. The number is in the system.” Then she turned to me, her face a mask of scorn, and threw my certificate on the ground. “You were so confident, I almost believed you. But this? Your number doesn’t exist. It’s a fake.” She sneered. “Trying to scam a man like Mr. Foster now that he’s famous? I guess money really does attract all kinds of trash.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. “What? How is that possible?” I cried out. “Adrian and I have known each other for ten years! We’ve been married for five! How can our certificate be fake?” I bent to pick it up, to demand she check again. Scarlett’s stiletto heel slammed down on my hand, pinning it to the floor. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot up my arm. “You see?” she said, her voice dripping with triumph. “Mine is the real one. You filthy bitch, sleeping with my husband and trying to steal my identity. I’ll teach you some manners.” Her friends closed in again, their batons raised. A blow to my back sent me crumpling to the ground, the air knocked from my lungs. “Stop!” I screamed. “You have no right! This isn’t settled! I am a director on the board of Stellar Corp, and I will sue every single person who laid a hand on me today! You will all be held legally accountable!” My threat was met with a moment of silence, followed by a wave of derisive laughter. “First she’s the wife, now she’s a director? Does this woman ever stop lying?” “Stellar Corp is the biggest company in Kingsbridge! You think just any piece of trash can be on their board?” Scarlett raised an eyebrow, emboldening them. “Stellar Corp is my husband’s company, and I’ve never heard of a director named Audrey Vance. Don’t worry,” she announced to the crowd. “As the boss’s wife, I’m giving you all permission. Whoever teaches this home-wrecker the best lesson gets a job at Stellar.” The crowd went wild. “Stellar only hires Ivy League grads and overseas talent! Their starting salaries are in the millions!” “She’s just a mistress anyway. Who cares if she gets roughed up? I hate cheaters.” A hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. Nails dug into my skin. I screamed, bracing for the mob to trample me. Suddenly, a chorus of sharp whistles cut through the noise. A team of airport security guards pushed through the crowd, creating a barrier around me. “What is the meaning of this assembly? We have a VIP from Stellar Corp arriving today! Disperse immediately!” 3 They parted the sea of people, and two guards helped me to my feet. Scarlett stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. “You’re telling me to leave? Do you have any idea who I am?” The security captain stepped forward respectfully. “Ma’am, we’ve received instructions to ensure clear passage for a VIP from Stellar Corp. We need to prevent any blockages.” Scarlett scoffed, poking him in the chest with her baton. “Stellar Corp? You mean me, right? I’m Adrian Foster’s wife.” She flipped open the marriage certificate and shoved it in his face. “Open your eyes. I’m the person you’re supposed to be protecting. This airline is a subsidiary of our company, isn’t it? A dog should at least recognize its master. Be careful, or I’ll have you fired.” The captain flinched back but said nothing, his men still forming a protective circle around me. Scarlett sneered and snapped her fingers. “Fine. If you want to play hero, you can take a few hits for her.” While they were distracted, I frantically tried to call Adrian. If Scarlett’s certificate was real, it meant my entire life was a lie. The line was busy. Over and over again. Scarlett watched me, a cruel smirk on her face. “What’s the matter? Trying to call for backup? Trying to call Adrian?” She kicked my shin lightly, her eyes glittering with malice. “My husband told me he would answer my call, anytime, anywhere. Let me show you just how little you mean to him.” She pulled out her phone and dialed. It rang twice before he picked up. “Hey, babe. What’s up?” That familiar voice. My husband’s voice. And just like that, I understood. All those years I was overseas, they were together. A bitter coldness spread through my chest. I had defied my family, turned down a strategic marriage alliance, all for him. I had personally placed him in the CEO’s chair. And this is how he repaid me. “Adrian Foster,” I snarled into the phone she held out. “You have some nerve. I suggest you get your psycho girlfriend out of here right now, or you’ll regret it.” Maybe it was the venom in my voice, but he didn’t recognize me. There was a pause, then his tone turned harsh and arrogant. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m the CEO of Stellar Corp. I can make sure you never work in this city again. You’re threatening me?” Scarlett pouted into the phone. “See? And this bitch is trying to frame me as the other woman! Everyone knows you only have me!” “Don’t worry, babe,” he cooed. “I’m on my way. I’ll give you some backup.” I clenched my fists, a humorless smile on my lips. No time to pick me up from the airport, but one call from her and he comes running. She hung up, then tapped the baton against my cheek. “I thought you were such an important ‘friend,’” she taunted. “He didn’t even recognize your voice. Hahahaha.” She and her goons moved closer, their expressions hardening. “Alright, everyone. Teach this cheating whore a lesson she’ll never forget.” They all held batons. The security team was outnumbered and surrounded. The crowd surged forward again, and one of Scarlett’s friends even started a live stream, her phone pointed at me. #StellarCorpBossWifeBeatsDownHomewrecker #ExposingTheMistress I made one last desperate attempt, my eyes locked on hers. “I’m warning you, stop now. When Adrian sees what you’ve done to me, he won’t let you get away with it. He owes his entire career to me!” Scarlett just laughed. “Oh, still talking tough when you’re about to die? Let’s see if that mouth of yours still works after we’re done with you.” The baton came down, a precise, brutal strike to the back of my knee. My leg buckled. I collapsed, my face pale, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394430”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The hospital lab exploded with a deafening roar, trapping me and Seraphina King, the golden girl of St. Augustine’s General, in a roaring inferno. My boyfriend, Liam, made his choice in a heartbeat. He abandoned me for her. I didn’t scream for him. I didn’t beg. I just watched as he left me to the mercy of the flames. I knew this would happen. In another life, I’d played my trump card—revealing I was the hospital director’s daughter—and used the threat of his career to force him to save me. Seraphina had died in that fire. And Liam, after inheriting my family’s fortune, had waited until I was nine months pregnant, locked me in that same lab, and burned me and my unborn child alive. As I’d pleaded for our lives, he’d sneered, his face a mask of cruelty. “Phoebe! If you hadn’t blackmailed me with your family’s power, Seraphina would never have died so horribly!” His voice had been a venomous hiss. “I’m going to make you suffer everything she felt, a hundred times over!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day of the fire, trapped with Seraphina King. … CRACK! The sound of splintering wood jolted me back to consciousness as a heavy cabinet crashed down on me. Pain, sharp and blinding, ripped through my body. I fought to see through the thick, acrid smoke that clawed at my lungs, my eyes watering as I doubled over in a fit of violent coughing. A deep, pulling ache radiated from my lower abdomen. Instinctively, my hand went to my stomach. “Baby… just hold on…” But where my swollen, near-term belly should have been, there was only flatness. What… how? Before the thought could fully form, a frantic voice cut through the haze. “Seraphina! Seraphina! Are you okay?” That voice. It was so familiar. From the other side of the room, Seraphina’s weak reply drifted through the smoke. “Liam… help me…” I lifted my head, my heart seizing in my chest. There was Liam, kneeling beside Seraphina, desperately trying to heave a collapsed table off her. The sight of them stole the air from my lungs. Wait… didn’t Liam just lock me in a lab? Didn’t he burn me alive? And my baby… A wave of agony, so profound it was physical, washed over me. I curled into a ball, my body trembling uncontrollably. From the doorway, my colleague Alison’s voice was a desperate shriek. “Liam! Are you insane? Get Phoebe out of there! She’s your girlfriend!” The scene was so terrifyingly real. This wasn’t a nightmare. I had been reborn. Reborn into the day I was trapped in the fire with Seraphina King. With a final, grating screech of metal, Liam wrenched the table free. He didn’t even glance my way as he scooped Seraphina into his arms and bolted for the exit. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Just like last time. I was his girlfriend, but he only had eyes for her. Of course he did. Seraphina was beautiful, the resident goddess of St. Augustine’s. And the rumors were she was the heiress to the King Medical Group. Liam, ever the opportunist, must have fallen for her long ago. I tried to push myself up, but the cabinet pinned my legs. Shards of glass had sliced into my calf, and the floor around me was slick with blood. I couldn’t move. Liam finally seemed to notice me. His eyes held no concern, only a cold, deep-seated annoyance. He scowled. “Seraphina is a King. If anything happens to her, the whole hospital goes under! I’m thinking of the big picture here!” He waved a dismissive hand in my direction. “You’re not hurt that bad. I’ll get her out, then come back for you.” I almost laughed again. If I hadn’t lived this once before, I might have actually believed his noble lie about the “big picture.” I was bleeding out on the floor, and to him, I wasn’t “hurt that bad.” Alison, bless her heart, tried to rush into the inferno, but another colleague grabbed her, holding her back. “Alison, stop! The lab is full of flammable chemicals! It’s too dangerous!” He was right. I remembered. This lab was a ticking time bomb, with maybe fifteen minutes left before a secondary, catastrophic explosion. In my last life, I’d been rescued and immediately screamed for everyone to evacuate, saving their lives. Liam had wanted to go back for Seraphina, but one look at the intensifying blaze had been enough to kill his courage. So how could I possibly believe he’d come back for me this time? I knew he wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t let the people who actually cared about me die for his mistake. Propping myself up on my elbows, I used every ounce of strength I had to yell, “Alison, don’t come in! It’s going to blow! Get everyone out of here! Run!” The word “blow” made Liam freeze in his tracks. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto me with an icy disbelief, as if seeing a stranger. “Phoebe, when did you become so manipulative?” “The fire department will have this contained in thirty minutes! What do you think our colleagues will think of me now that you’ve screamed that?” he seethed. “Why can’t you be more like Seraphina? Why can’t you have a shred of kindness?!” The sheer hypocrisy of it all was so absurd, I actually did laugh. “You didn’t seem to mind my ‘manipulative’ side when you were fucking me, did you?” That struck a nerve. But Seraphina, ever the damsel, tugged weakly at his collar. “Liam, I don’t feel so good…” Instantly, his attention snapped back to her, his expression softening. “Hang on, Seraphina. I won’t let anything happen to you.” With that, he turned and ran, leaving me behind without a second glance. Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I shoved at the heavy cabinet. The agony was immense, but compared to the memory of being burned alive… this was nothing. Alison slumped to the ground in disbelief. “Liam! You bastard!” she screamed after him. “The Director will have your head for this!” Alison was the only one at the hospital who knew my father was the director. Her threat only earned a cruel, mocking laugh from Liam. “The Director?” he called back, his voice dripping with scorn. “Please! Seraphina is the sole heiress to King Medical! He’d have my head if anything happened to her!” I finally managed to squirm out from under the cabinet. The movement tore the wounds on my leg wider, staining my lab coat a deeper crimson, but I didn’t care. I had to live. Time was running out. “Don’t beg him!” I screamed at Alison. “Just run!” I would never forget it. The insane glint in Liam’s eyes as he doused me in gasoline in my last life. There was no love left, only a roaring, consuming hatred. He ignored my screams, ignored the baby in my womb, and lit the match. I finally understood then. He blamed me for Seraphina’s death. He hated me that much. The memory was still burning behind my eyes when Alison, ignoring the flames, plunged back into the lab. “Phoebe! Hang on!” The smoke was a physical thing, choking me, blurring my vision. But through the haze, Alison’s small, determined figure was crystal clear against the backdrop of fire. “Are you fucking crazy? Get out!” I roared. She ignored me, gritting her teeth as she hooked an arm under mine, hauling my dead weight up and dragging me, step by agonizing step, towards the door. The air was scorching, blistering our skin. I saw a lock of her hair catch fire, the ends glowing like embers, but she didn’t even flinch. She just kept pulling me forward. Looking at her soot-stained profile, a storm of emotions churned inside me. I glanced at my watch. We were out of time. Any second now, we’d both be history. Taking a ragged breath, I shouted over the roar of the fire, “Alison, on three, we dive for the door! Don’t look back, just go! You hear me?” “You can count all you want,” she yelled back, her grip tightening. “I’m not letting go!” A warmth spread through my chest. No more words. I fixed my eyes on the doorway. Our only hope. Three! Two! One! “JUMP!” I shrieked, launching myself forward and pulling Alison with me with every last bit of my strength. BOOM! The world exploded behind us. We had barely cleared the threshold when a concussive blastwave threw us across the hallway. My eardrums felt like they’d been shattered. My vision went white, my hearing replaced by a high-pitched, unending shriek. “Phoebe! Phoebe! Can you hear me?” I don’t know how long I was out. Alison’s frantic voice slowly filtered through the ringing in my ears. I forced my eyes open. “I’m… I’m okay… my leg…” Alison’s gaze followed mine down to my leg. Her face went pale. “It’s bad. Don’t look. I’ll… just wait here!” She scrambled away, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Moments later, she returned with a few colleagues and a stretcher. The look on their faces when they saw my leg said it all. A young resident gasped, “My God… how many stitches will that even take?” Every inch of my body felt broken, but I clung to consciousness. As they rushed me through the ER, I saw Liam. He was holding Seraphina, stroking her hair and whispering reassurances, as if he hadn’t just left his girlfriend to die in an explosion. As if he had nothing to do with any of it. A head nurse I was friendly with gently examined my injuries, her face a mask of pity. “Oh, Phoebe, you poor thing… So many fractures. It could take a year for you to fully recover.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Thank God your right hand is okay. You’ll still be able to operate once you heal.” I tried to smile, to say something, but the pain was a gag in my mouth. The nurse leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That Seraphina, you know? I heard she just has a few scratches. The way Dr. Collins was fussing over her, you’d think she was dying…” Alison heard her and finally snapped. She marched over to Liam and jabbed a finger in his face. “You! You are the most disgusting piece of—” Before she could finish, Seraphina let out a delicate little cough. “Liam,” she whispered, “I’m feeling a bit tired.” Liam’s attention was instantly hers. “Just hold on, Seraphina, help is coming,” he murmured softly. Then he looked up, his gaze sweeping over me with utter indifference before landing on Alison. “Phoebe’s fine, isn’t she?” he snapped. “This is between me and her. Why don’t you mind your own business?” I stared at his smug, revolting face, and the words came out, low and clear. “From now on, there is no ‘us.’” “We’re done.” Alison nodded fiercely. “Good. No point trying to reason with an animal.” Liam looked stunned, as if the thought of me leaving him was impossible. “Phoebe, what is this? What game are you playing now?” A cold laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Play you? You aren’t even worth the game.” I fought back the tears that threatened to spill, locking my eyes on Seraphina. “You chose to save another woman over your own girlfriend. Is that what you call being a boyfriend?” Seraphina’s tears came on cue, streaming down her perfect face. “Phoebe… how can you say that to him?” she sobbed. “He just knew you were stronger than me. He had faith in you! He chose to save the person who needed him more…” The hallway devolved into chaos—Liam’s angry accusations, Seraphina’s pathetic weeping, and the murmurs of onlookers drawn by the drama. “Well, the goddess has a point. She’s so fragile, of course she needed help.” “Yeah, Dr. Collins made a tough call for the good of the hospital. Dr. Cattrall is just being dramatic.” “And let’s be real, Miss King is from the King Medical Group… saving her was the smarter move.” Just then, my father rushed in, having just flown back from an overseas conference. Liam’s entire demeanor shifted. He practically beamed as he intercepted him. “Director! The lab exploded… I managed to save Miss King, at great personal risk.” He puffed out his chest. “And she said she can help strengthen the partnership between King Medical and our hospital!” My father’s face hardened. “Where is Phoebe Cattrall?” Liam, assuming my father was about to reprimand me for the accident, quickly threw me under the bus. “Director, she and Miss King were the only ones in the lab. I’m certain Miss King made no mistakes. This accident is entirely Phoebe’s responsibility.” He didn’t stop there. “She’s been rescued and her injuries aren’t severe. But I recommend she be kept away from lab work in the future. Miss King can handle the project on her own.” My father’s expression grew darker with every word. I lay on the gurney, a cold, vengeful smile playing on my lips. Just wait, Liam. Without me to protect you, you’re about to find out what real suffering is. The world tilted, and before I could even register my father’s face, everything went black. … The next time I woke up, it was evening the following day. My limbs were encased in heavy plaster and bandages, immobilizing me completely. But I felt… reborn. “Phoebe!” Alison, her face etched with exhaustion but her eyes bright with relief, rushed to my bedside. I tried to lift a hand to her, but a fresh wave of pain shot through me. Seeing my state, her composure crumbled. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You idiot! Do you have any idea how badly you were hurt?” I managed a weak smile. “At least… I got to keep my life this time.” This time, I owed Liam nothing. And this time, neither my father nor I would die. “You…” Alison sobbed and laughed at the same time, fumbling for a tissue. “I told your dad everything that happened. He was so furious he’s calling a full incident review meeting for tomorrow morning!” At the mention of my father, my own eyes filled with tears. Last time, because of me, he lost everything… “Alison…” I struggled to compose myself. “There’s one more thing I need you to do for me…” “Anything. Just name it.” “The lab… the security footage from before the explosion. Can you… can you get it for me?” Alison gently smoothed my hair back. “Don’t you worry,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I already have it. There was a little… hiccup… trying to get it, but I took care of it.” I looked at her, guilt washing over me. In my last life, Liam had convinced me Alison was just jealous, that she was trying to undermine me. We’d had a massive fight, and I’d cut her out of my life. I died without ever getting the chance to apologize. How could I have been so blind? Trading a diamond for a shard of glass. I was about to close my eyes and rest when Liam walked in. Trailing behind him was Seraphina. She looked completely untouched, not a hair out of place, casually flipping her hair and drawing the gazes of everyone in the ward. And then there was me, a broken doll held together by plaster and gauze. Alison took a deep breath. “Well, look at the goddess,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not a scratch on her.” Liam ignored her, walking over to my bed and reaching for my hand. I flinched away in disgust. He didn’t seem to register his own fault in the slightest. In fact, he smiled. “See, Phoebe? You’re fine.” “Seraphina said she’s going to push for a closer partnership between King Medical and our hospital. My promotion is basically guaranteed. Aren’t you happy for me?” A choked, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. “Happy? I almost died in that lab, and you want me to be happy for you?” Seraphina sighed dramatically, her eyes narrowing. “I never realized how selfish you were, Phoebe. Willing to destroy Liam’s future over a little jealousy… frankly, I find it pathetic.” I fixed her with an icy stare. “You want to talk about destroyed futures? Let me tell you something. The moment Liam chose to leave me in that fire, his future was already over.” Liam pointed a finger at me, his brow furrowed. “Phoebe! Seraphina came here out of the goodness of her heart, she was even going to apologize to you, and this is how you treat her? Don’t forget, I’m your boyfriend! Instead of being grateful, you’re cursing me?” “This dead-end job of yours barely pays the bills! Everything I do is for our future!” The man standing before me was a monster. I fought to keep my voice steady. “Liam, let me remind you, we are broken up. Now get the hell out of my room.” The argument had drawn a crowd. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. “I mean, Dr. Cattrall is okay now, she should just let it go. What’s more important than her boyfriend’s career…” “If it were me, I’d just take the hit. When Dr. Collins gets his promotion, she’ll benefit too.” … Alison spun around, her eyes blazing. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, so shut your mouths!” she roared at the gossiping faces in the doorway. “The Director is holding an incident review tomorrow! We’ll see who’s laughing when the truth comes out!” Liam, who usually treated Alison like she was invisible, finally looked at her. “What are you talking about? What incident review?” Alison planted her hands on her hips, her eyes darting pointedly towards Seraphina. “That’s right! A meeting to determine exactly how the lab accident was caused! I’m sure some people know exactly what happened!” At her words, Seraphina visibly flinched. The color drained from her face, and she swayed as if she might faint, the picture of fragile beauty. Liam immediately wrapped a protective arm around her. “Seraphina, don’t be scared,” he soothed. “It’s okay. I believe you.” She melted into his embrace, her tear-filled eyes gazing up at him. “Liam,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “you won’t believe their lies, will you? I tried to warn Phoebe in the lab, I really did…” She paused, shuddering as if recalling a terrible memory. “I told her… to be careful… but she wouldn’t listen… she said I was being nosy… and then… then it exploded… I tried my best… I really wanted to save her…” The crowd, which had quieted down, now erupted in a fresh wave of condemnation aimed at me. “So it was Dr. Cattrall’s mistake that caused the explosion…” “No wonder Dr. Collins didn’t save her. The goddess was the innocent one…” Seeing Seraphina so helpless and vulnerable ignited Liam’s fury. He rounded on me, his face contorted with rage. “Phoebe! So you were at fault and you refuse to admit it? If you apologize to Seraphina right now, I might put in a good word for you at the meeting tomorrow, save you from—” Alison and I exchanged a knowing glance. I cut him off. “If you two get on your knees and apologize to me right now, I might consider showing you a shred of mercy tomorrow.” Seraphina gave a faint, mocking smile. “Phoebe… I’m only trying to help you. Why must you be so ungrateful?” I was done with them. I pressed the call button for the nurse. The head nurse bustled in, pushing through the crowd. “What’s going on?” I pointed at the two of them. “Last I checked, Dr. Collins and Dr. King don’t work in this department. Why are they so far from their posts?” The nurse, who already disliked Liam, crossed her arms. “Dr. Collins, perhaps you should leave. Dr. Cattrall just came out of a full night of surgery and needs to rest.” Seeing that his intimidation tactics weren’t working, Liam could only point at me, sputtering, before grabbing Seraphina’s hand and storming out. Alison watched me for a long moment. “You’ve changed,” she said quietly. I managed a wry twist of my lips, half bitter, half self-deprecating. “Dying once has a way of helping you see who’s a man and who’s a dog. It’s an expensive lesson, though.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394429”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was raised by my grandmother. When she died, she left behind four houses. In her will, Grandma Rose divided the properties, one for each of her four sons’ sons. One house for each of my cousins. My name wasn’t mentioned once. My uncle, Ben, sobbed uncontrollably, but then his tears dried up as his eyes started sizing up the mahogany furniture around me. “Ava,” he said, his voice suddenly stripped of grief, “this house belongs to your cousin now. I’ll give you two days to pack your things and get out.” He paused, adding as an afterthought, “My mother loved her vintage silk gowns. She had over twenty of them in that wardrobe. You can take those, as a little something to remember her by.” I nodded, tears blurring my vision. That night, I saw my grandmother in a dream. She was smiling, and she asked if I was angry with her for leaving me nothing. I shook my head, crying, and told her I didn’t want the property, I just wanted her back. Grandma Rose stroked my hair, her touch feeling impossibly real. “Oh, my sweet girl, such foolish words,” she murmured. “Now, listen to me. Get up and open that wardrobe. Grandma’s left you a little something special.” 1 The memorial in the living room had just been taken down. Tomorrow, I would have to leave the old house I had called home for fifteen years. My parents died in a car crash when I was three. It was Grandma Rose who pulled me back from death’s door, feeding me warm broth and soft porridge, one spoonful at a time, nursing me back to life. She was a formidable woman, tough as nails with everyone but me. With me, she was always soft. If it hadn’t been for the sudden heart attack, she would have been with me for many more years. I’d spent the last few days weeping until I felt hollowed out. But my four wonderful uncles, upon hearing of her death, had a first reaction that was chillingly uniform. “So… what did Mom leave behind?” I handed them the envelope my grandmother had prepared three years ago. Inside was a single phone number. My third uncle, Frank, his hand trembling, dialed the number. A lawyer arrived shortly after. He was dressed in a crisp black suit, his face an emotionless mask as he opened his briefcase and produced the will. “…The four properties under my name will be inherited by my grandsons: the eldest, Will; the second, Leo; the third, Jake; and the fourth, Finn. Each shall inherit one house.” As the last word was spoken, a collective, audible sigh of relief filled the room. The men deflated as if they, not the woman lying in the cold casket, had been the ones holding their breath. My fifth uncle, David, even patted his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Thank God Mom wasn’t senile. At least she knew better than to leave the family assets to an outsider.” As he spoke, his eyes darted pointedly in my direction. I said nothing. It felt like a hollow cavity had been carved into my chest, and a bitter wind was whistling through it. Grandma Rose used to say, “A woman makes her way in this world with her own two hands and the skills she carries.” She had already given me the greatest gift by raising me; I never once thought to fight for these material things. The lawyer packed up his documents. Before he left, he gave me a long, meaningful look. At the time, I didn’t understand the depth of what he was trying to convey. The crowd dispersed, leaving only Uncle Ben behind. He started by squeezing out a few crocodile tears, pulling me into a theatrical hug. But halfway through his performance, his gaze began to wander, appraising the fine lines of the furniture. “Ava, don’t be too hard on your grandmother,” he said, patting my shoulder. “This house belongs to your cousin now. Business is business, you understand. It’s just not right, a young woman like you living here alone.” He cleared his throat, putting on an air of generosity. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you two days. Pack up and be out.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing. Uncle Ben didn’t notice. His attention was now fixed on the closed doors of my grandmother’s wardrobe. “Oh, right. Mom adored those old silk gowns of hers. There are more than twenty in there. The fabric’s probably a bit dated, but the styles are classic.” “Take them,” he offered magnanimously. “A keepsake.” Tears streamed down my face as I nodded. The old clothes they scorned were the last tangible connection I had to her. After the burial that afternoon, they were all gone. The sprawling house was suddenly, terrifyingly empty, filled with nothing but the echo of my own memories. That night, I slept in my grandmother’s bed, the scent of her favorite sandalwood soap clinging to the sheets. I buried my face in her pillow and cried for hours, finally drifting into an exhausted sleep just before dawn. And then, I dreamed of her. She was wearing a stunning, moon-white gown, sitting right on the edge of the bed, watching me with a gentle smile. “My sweet girl,” she whispered. “Are you angry that Grandma left you nothing?” I threw myself into her arms, the embrace feeling so warm, so real. “I don’t want anything,” I sobbed. “I just want you back.” Grandma Rose stroked my hair and sighed. “We all have our time to arrive, and our time to leave, my dear. I can protect you for a while, but not for a lifetime.” “Now, get up. Go and open that wardrobe.” Her voice held a spark of mischief. “Grandma’s left you a little something special.” 2 I jolted awake. A glance at the digital clock on the bedside table showed 3:00 AM, sharp. My grandmother’s words from the dream were seared into my mind, as clear as if she’d just spoken them. My heart hammered against my ribs. As if moved by an unseen force, I slid out of bed and switched on my phone’s flashlight. The narrow beam cut through the darkness, landing on the enormous rosewood wardrobe in the corner of her room. Everyone knew what was inside. Just twenty old gowns. But for her to come to me in a dream… there had to be more to it. Taking a deep breath, I pulled open the double doors. The next second, the blinding glint of gold nearly seared my eyes. I stumbled back, the phone almost slipping from my grasp. Steeling myself, I crept closer, my heart pounding. Inside, the twenty gowns hung in a neat row. But under the focused beam of my flashlight, every single one of them was shimmering with an impossible light. It wasn’t the sheen of silk. It was… the gleam of gold. My hand trembled as I reached out to touch the nearest gown, a deep emerald green one. The touch was cool, unyielding, with the distinct heft of metal. It was only then that I saw it clearly. This wasn’t silk at all. The entire gown had been woven from threads of pure gold, each as fine as a human hair. And the phoenix embroidered on the chest with colored silk thread… its eyes were two pigeon’s-egg-sized rubies. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I turned the light to the sapphire-blue gown next to it. Its traditional knotted buttons were a row of perfectly round, lustrous black pearls. The silvery-white one beside that had its hem dusted with crushed diamonds that fractured the light into a thousand dazzling stars. Twenty gowns. Twenty masterpieces crafted from gold thread, rubies, diamonds, pearls, and the finest jade. Any single one of them was worth enough to make my four uncles, with their eyes glued to property deeds, tear each other apart. I stared, mesmerized, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest. This wasn’t a wardrobe. It was a vault. A king’s ransom disguised as old clothes. My mind buzzing, I took a step back and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. Click. The room was flooded with bright, even light. And just like that, the golden shimmer from the wardrobe vanished without a trace. I froze, then rushed back to look. They were just twenty gowns, hanging neatly in a row. Under the bright overhead light, they looked like ordinary silk and brocade. Beautifully made, certainly, with intricate stitching and vintage charm, but utterly devoid of their previous otherworldly glow. It was as if I had imagined the whole thing. My hand shaking, I reached out and switched the ceiling light off again, leaving only the weak, narrow beam of my phone. The miracle happened again. The gleam of gold thread, the fire of gemstones, the soft luster of pearls—they all burst forth in the focused light, a treasure trove so brilliant it hurt to look at. I understood everything in that instant. Oh, Grandma. My clever, clever Grandma. She had foreseen it all. Who would ever think to look for a fortune hidden in such an unbelievably clever way? And who, in the dead of night, would examine a rack of “unwanted old clothes” with nothing but a single, narrow beam of light? Only me. Her Ava, who loved her so much that I would be up at all hours, missing her. Grandma Rose used to say, “Never depend on anyone else. Always look one step ahead, think one step ahead, and only then, take your step.” She hadn’t just left me the means to stand on my own two feet; she had meticulously planned how I could secure it safely. An overwhelming wave of love and sorrow washed over me. I pressed my hand to my mouth, choking back silent sobs. But after the tears, a far more practical problem presented itself. How was I going to get all of this out of here without anyone noticing? I was being kicked out tomorrow. These twenty gowns were incredibly heavy. I couldn’t possibly move them all by myself. And if I hired a moving company, my four vultures of an uncle would surely see. Even if they couldn’t tell what the gowns were made of, the sheer weight and secrecy would make them suspicious. If that happened, I feared I wouldn’t make it out of this house, with or without the treasure.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394428”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, my fiancé and I went to get our marriage license. But a strange man suddenly appeared, pointed at me, and shouted, “Honey, I finally found you!” Two children at his side burst into tears and rushed toward me, crying in unison, “Mommy! Mommy!” I had no idea who they were. But my fiancé, without a moment’s hesitation, turned on me, his words like venom. His accusations quickly turned to violence. The strange man, fueled by his own rage, joined in, striking me until I collapsed. Even as I drew my last breath, I couldn’t understand. How could I have two children with a man I’d never met? And why had my fiancé, who had always loved me more than life itself, turned on me so suddenly? When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the day before we were supposed to get our license. 1 “Babe, I can’t wait for tomorrow! Once we get that license, you’ll officially be my wife. Get some sleep tonight, okay? Love you.” The sound of Richard’s voice confirmed it—I had been reborn. But before I could even respond, he’d already hung up. In my past life, Richard had always been a perfect gentleman. Before we were engaged, the most intimate he’d ever been was a soft kiss on the cheek. He’d treated me like a precious treasure, showering me with affection and care. But on the day we went to get our license, when that stranger accused me, he hadn’t even listened to my explanation. He’d just started screaming, his fists flying. The terror of my own death had overshadowed the disappointment, but now, the most important thing was to cancel our appointment for tomorrow. I found my parents in the living room, cuddled together watching a movie. “Mom, Dad,” I began. They looked up, surprised. “Ella, honey, why are you still up?” “Did we wake you?” They exchanged a confused glance. I took a deep breath. “Mom, Dad, I’m not getting the license with Richard tomorrow. I’m not going to marry him.” “What?!” “What?! I won’t allow it!” My mom’s reaction was… odd. She had always been against my marriage to Richard. She thought he was irresponsible, immature, and broke. The only reason she’d consented was because I’d threatened to do something drastic. So why the sudden change of heart? Was it because she thought I was treating marriage like a joke? My dad put a comforting arm around her shoulder and turned to me. “Ella, did Richard do something to upset you? Why the sudden change of heart? You know all our friends and family know you’re getting married. The wedding is in two weeks. Everything’s been booked. You can’t just call it off.” “We’ve spoiled you, that’s the problem,” he continued, his voice hardening. “Letting you think marriage is some kind of game!” My voice was steady and firm. “Richard cheated on me. He slept with another woman.” In my past life, I’d waited at the courthouse for two hours before he finally showed up, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, his clothes a mess, a hickey on his neck he hadn’t even bothered to hide. My mom just frowned, her tone dismissive. “You said he loves you. A man who loves you that much wouldn’t do something like that. You must be mistaken.” I stared at her, a flicker of confusion in my eyes. The old Mom would have been dragging me to Richard’s place to confront him, to defend my honor. But now, she just gave me a cold, detached look, as if I were a stranger, not the daughter she had cherished her whole life. “Well, I’m not marrying him,” I said, my voice resolute. “And I’m not going to the courthouse tomorrow. You can deal with it.” My parents had handled all the wedding arrangements. Richard’s parents had passed away when he was young, and his older brother, who had raised him, had died recently. Now, his only living relative was his sister-in-law. “You can’t just not marry him!” my mother shrieked. “What about our reputation? What will people say?” Her words triggered a flash of memory from my past life. After the stranger had accused me, and everyone was pointing and whispering, my mother had screamed at me, “You’ve brought such shame on this family! How could you be so shameless?” At the time, I had been so focused on defending myself, on trying to explain things to Richard, that I had completely missed how strange my parents were acting. My dad, seeing the confusion in my eyes, quickly tried to placate my mother. I shot them a suspicious glance but said nothing. I just turned and went back to my room. A second chance at life. Nothing was more important than that. And this time, I wouldn’t let that man destroy me. 2 I barely slept that night, the memories of my past life replaying in my mind like a horror film. I was in a daze when I heard my mother’s furious voice from outside my door. “Ella, you get up right now! So that’s why you suddenly didn’t want to marry Richard! You’ve been cheating on him, having kids with some other man!” The door handle rattled. Oh no, I thought. I rushed to the window. A crowd of neighbors had gathered outside, their faces eager with gossip. My heart sank. We lived in a townhouse. My room was on the second floor. There was no way to escape without being seen. While I was desperately trying to think of a plan, my dad kicked open my bedroom door. His face was a thundercloud. “Get downstairs. Now.” My heart pounding, I followed him down. The living room was filled with a gawking crowd. And there, in the middle of it all, was the same man from my past life, with his two children. I thought if I just stayed home, I could avoid him. But he had found me. The two children saw me and rushed forward, clinging to my legs. “Mommy! Mommy!” I frowned, looking down at the two small faces that bore a striking resemblance to my own. No wonder my parents had believed him so easily. Looking at them, a part of me almost believed it too. “I always thought the Miller girl was a good kid,” someone whispered. “Who knew she was so… loose.” “No morals at all! Having kids with one man and then trying to trap another.” “That guy looks old enough to be her father.” “Who cares? Maybe she’s into that.” “In that case, maybe she’d consider me! I’ve never been with a woman, hahaha!” “Me too! Let’s see if I’m her type!” The air was thick with their malicious whispers. I seethed with anger, but my parents just sat on the sofa, their faces impassive, as if they couldn’t hear a thing. “I’m not your mother,” I said, pushing the children away. “Stop calling me that!” They stumbled and fell, their cries adding to the cacophony. The crowd, enjoying the drama, grew louder. “Hey, that’s no way to treat your kids!” the man said, his voice laced with indignation. “You carried them for nine months. You gave birth to them. You’re the one who begged me to have them, and then you just abandoned us.” One of the children looked about eight, the other four. Eight years ago, I was still in high school. It was impossible. Four years ago, I was swamped with grad school applications. I had no time to have a baby. My best friend could vouch for me. In my past life, when Richard was late, I’d asked my best friend, Sarah, to go find him. She’d missed the whole scene with the stranger and the kids. But last night, I had told her I was calling off the wedding. She’d been completely supportive. And when she found out why, she’d vowed to give Richard a piece of her mind today. I pulled out my phone, but the man snatched it from my hand and smashed it on the floor. “Bitch! I heard you were getting married today. Not on my watch!” The screen shattered. My anger flared. “Are you insane?! Look at me! I’m not the person you’re looking for!” He stared at me intently. “Don’t you have a red birthmark on your back? And a black mole on your ass? And another one on your lower back?” He was right. But I didn’t know him. I’d never even seen him before. “If you want to prove I’m wrong, just take off your clothes and show everyone!” Without another word, he lunged at me, tearing at my clothes. I fought back, but he was too strong. The back of my shirt ripped open, exposing the birthmark and the mole to the gawking crowd. A wave of shame washed over me. My face was pale, my lips trembling. “It’s a coincidence,” I stammered, tears streaming down my face. “It’s all a coincidence. I don’t know him…” I looked at my parents, my voice pleading. “Mom, Dad, make him leave…” But they were gone. Seeing that my parents were no longer there, the man grew bolder. He pushed me to the floor. “Let’s see if you’re my woman or not.” His hands were all over me, pulling at my pants. 3 I struggled, but he held me down, his weight pinning me to the floor. Disgust and helplessness threatened to consume me. “Tsk. Still got a good body after two kids. A natural-born whore, aren’t you? It’s been a while. How about you give me a good time right now?” “Get off me!” I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. “Get off! I’ll call the police!” A sharp sting across my cheek. Then another. He’d slapped me, hard. I could taste blood. “The police?” he sneered. “I’m your man. I can do whatever I want with you. I could sell you, and the police wouldn’t do a damn thing. Anyone want a taste? Ten bucks a pop.” “Me! Me!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Me too!” “She’s a hot piece of ass. I’ll pay fifty!” The humiliation was a burning fire in my chest. I wanted to die. But he held me fast. Was this it? Had I been reborn just to die again? “Ella! I waited for you at the courthouse for hours, and you’re here putting on a live show with another man! You fucking slut! You cheated on me!” Richard pushed through the crowd, his eyes filled with disgust as he looked down at me. “Richard, help me…” I pleaded, ignoring the hatred in his eyes. “Help you? You cheated on me, and you want me to help you? Am I a fool?!” He kicked me in the stomach. A sharp pain shot through me, and I cried out. The man loosened his grip. I tried to scramble away, but he grabbed my hair, yanking me back. He then turned to Richard, grabbing him by the collar. “So you’re the one she was marrying. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re no better than her. Can’t even clean up your own mess.” He shoved Richard away and started dragging me by my hair. Just then, the sound of police sirens filled the air. “The police are here!” someone shouted. The man’s face hardened. “Who called the cops?!” “I did!” It was Sarah’s voice. A wave of relief washed over me. I was saved. The police dispersed the crowd. My parents reappeared, their faces a mask of concern as they spoke to the officers. “Officer, our daughter is just… promiscuous. She gets herself into these situations. We can handle this ourselves. You don’t need to get involved.” The officer gave me a strange, pitying look. Richard stood by, his eyes burning with rage. The two children huddled by the man’s side, their faces streaked with tears. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, you know Ella better than anyone!” Sarah’s voice was filled with righteous anger. “You’re just going to believe this man’s lies? She’s your daughter! You’re just going to stand by and let him assault her?!” But they just looked at me with disgust, as if they’d never seen me before. “Who said I was lying?” the man said, pulling out a piece of paper. “I have proof.” It was a paternity test. It clearly stated that Ella Miller was the biological mother of the two children. I demanded another test. Under the watchful eye of the police, a new sample was taken. The result was the same. A 99% probability that I was their biological mother. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?!” Richard sneered. My parents just shook their heads, as if they’d known all along. Only Sarah kept staring at the report, muttering, “This can’t be right… there must be a mistake…” The officer sighed. “Well… this seems like a family matter.” “No!” I grabbed his arm. “Officer, I swear, I don’t know this man! I’m willing to have a medical examination. That will prove I’ve never given birth.” The officer considered this. But then my parents started to make a scene. “A medical examination?! What for? Isn’t the paternity test enough? Ella, are you trying to drag our family’s name through the mud?! Do you want the whole world to know our business?! If that’s the case, I might as well just die!” My mother burst into tears, pretending to be on the verge of collapse. The officer, flustered, tried to calm her down. After a moment, he seemed to agree with her. “Miss Miller,” he said, his voice gentle. “The paternity test is conclusive. You don’t have any siblings. If the children aren’t yours, whose could they be?” His words hit me like a ton of bricks. The pieces of the puzzle, the things I had missed in my past life, started to fall into place. My parents’ sudden change in behavior… it was all starting to make sense. “What if there was a twin?” I blurted out. “Wouldn’t a DNA test have trouble telling us apart?” “Well, there is that possibility, but…” I gripped his arm tighter. “I know who the mother is.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394427”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The boy who tormented me at school became my brother. By day, he’d shove me into a bathroom stall at school, his laughter echoing with my humiliation. By night, he’d sit in front of our parents, ruffling my hair with a gentle, loving smile. My nightmare had followed me home. 1 Caleb Vaughn slipped into my room at one in the morning. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched me cower in the corner. “Good girl,” he murmured. “You didn’t lock the door tonight.” … I’d locked it yesterday. The next morning at school, he cornered me in the girls’ bathroom and cut my bra strap with a pair of scissors. Now, in the suffocating darkness of my room, he sauntered toward me. His face was a study in perfection, but when he smiled, all I saw was a demon crawling up from the abyss. He gripped my chin, his other hand moving with practiced ease to the buttons of my pajama top. His fingers paused, tracing the delicate line of my collarbone. A strange, searing heat bloomed under his touch, and I flinched, an involuntary shudder that only earned a cruel, mocking chuckle. He leaned in, his body pressing close, his breath hot against my ear. “Right here,” he whispered, the alien warmth of his voice seeping through my skin, a poison spreading through my veins. “How about we tattoo my name on you?” Panic, sharp and blinding, ripped through me. I shoved him away with all my might. He straightened up, shrugging with an air of casual indifference. “I’m just kidding.” …But every one of Caleb’s “jokes” had a way of becoming my reality. His eyes scanned my closet, landing on a simple sundress hanging on a hook. He pointed. “Wear that tomorrow.” Yes. After Caleb Vaughn became my stepbrother, he began to control everything. Even what I wore. 2 Caleb Vaughn hated me. I knew this with absolute certainty from the first day I transferred into his class. He was the student council president, a top-ten student, handsome and popular. He had the entire school eating out of the palm of his hand. Which made it terrifyingly easy for him to turn my life into a living hell. It started with social isolation. The moment everyone realized Caleb had it out for me, I became a pariah. No one would even look at me. Then, the violence began. Caleb himself rarely laid a hand on me. He didn’t have to. He had an arsenal of other, more creative ways to grind my dignity into dust, to make sure I could never hold my head high again. He took scissors to the long hair I’d been growing for years, then held my head, forcing me to watch my own shattered reflection in the mirror. He had his cronies scrawl obscene words on my desk in permanent marker, their raucous laughter filling the classroom as I tried in vain to scrub them away. The constant harassment made it impossible to focus on my studies. My grades plummeted. And they were always there, waiting for the teacher to hand back our tests, ready to shout my failing scores to the entire class. So when my dad told me the woman he was marrying had a son—and that son was Caleb Vaughn—I felt my world collapse. 3 “From now on, he’s your brother.” My dad clapped him on the shoulder, pushing him toward me. Caleb’s lips curved into that familiar, charming smile. “Caleb’s a great student,” my dad continued, oblivious. “If you have any trouble with your homework, you can just ask him.” So that night, Caleb “tutored” me. He stood behind me, leaning over the desk, his fingers brushing the edge of my paper in a gesture that was meant to look helpful. A good, caring brother. But under the table, his knuckles were pressing, slowly and deliberately, into the small of my back. “You can tell your dad everything I’ve done to you,” he whispered, his voice a low threat. “But I think you can guess what the consequences will be.” … The next morning, I didn’t wear the dress Caleb had chosen. At the breakfast table, he simply raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. He was a master of disguise, always playing the part of the perfect, well-behaved son in front of our parents. But by the front door, in the blind spot near the shoe rack, his mask slipped. He kicked the toe of my sneaker. “Didn’t I tell you to wear the dress?” “…” I bit my lip and finally looked up at him. “Why do you have to do this to me?” We were complete strangers before my dad met his mom. His hatred for me was so direct, so visceral, and it made no sense. He didn’t deign to answer. Instead, he leaned down, his eyes boring into mine. “You don’t listen?” A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. “You’re screwed.” … 4 I thought if I could just stay in the classroom, surrounded by people, I might be safe. I might escape his games for one day. I underestimated him. After morning exercises, I returned to my desk and reached into my pencil case for a pen. My fingers brushed against something soft and squirming. I peered inside, and a choked scream died in my throat. I flung the case away from me as if it were on fire. The one thing I’m terrified of—bugs. And my pencil case was filled with writhing, hairy caterpillars. Some fears are primal, a revulsion that’s both physical and psychological. For me, the mere sight of a bug is enough to make my skin crawl, my entire body break out in a cold sweat. I scrambled backward, knocking over my chair with a loud crash. I was terrified. Genuinely, gut-wrenchingly terrified. But as I huddled in the back of the room, my fear became everyone else’s entertainment. “Jesus, what was that?” “Dave, what did you put in her pencil case? Look at her, she’s freaking out.” Caleb walked in just then, a stack of papers in his hand. He saw me, and a look of mock concern crossed his face as he crouched in front of me. “Hey, you’re actually crying.” His thumb gently brushed against my eyelid, and I jerked my head away. That, apparently, was the wrong move. His fingers tightened on my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Such a goddamn coward.” “…” For the rest of the afternoon, his friends loitered near my desk, snickering. I kept my head down, terrified they were going to plant more bugs on me. “Hey,” Caleb’s voice came from behind me as school let out. “You mad at us?” He toyed with the keychain on my backpack. “You never used to get mad, no matter what we did.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and stood, turning to face him. “Caleb, do I have some kind of history with you that I don’t know about? Why are you doing this to me?” The setting sun caught in his eyes, creating a sliver of brilliant, beautiful light. He smiled, a look of pure, gentle affection. “You’re so cute.” … Psychopath. 5 My dad raised me on his own. He always said I was too quiet, too withdrawn, that I never told him anything. He was right. I have an incredible capacity for endurance. The fact that I’d survived two years of Caleb’s relentless bullying without a complete mental breakdown was proof of that. For the most part, I had learned to ignore them. But the bugs… that had crossed a line. So when we got home, I gave him the silent treatment. His “good brother” mask started to crack. I expected an explosion, but instead, after his shower, he just walked into my room. “Tch. Still mad?” he asked, his tone laced with something I couldn’t quite decipher. I kept my head down, focusing on the math problem in front of me, and ignored him. “You know, I wasn’t the one who put the bugs in there,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I’d known you were that scared of them…” He leaned closer. “…I would have made sure they appeared in a much more… exciting way. Right?” It was like a whisper from a demon’s lips. And then, to my horror, he ruffled my hair, a grin in his voice. “Problem four is wrong. No wonder you’re so stupid.” … I gritted my teeth and angrily scratched out all my work on the page. His only response was a soft, mocking laugh. 6 The next day, the boy who put the bugs in my pencil case apologized to me in front of the whole class. He stammered through his words, but the fresh bruises on his face told the real story. I kept my eyes on my textbook and didn’t look at him. My desk was still covered in the filthy words they’d written, but they’d taken it a step further. They’d given me the most broken-down desk in the classroom. It wobbled every time I tried to write. Frustrated, I pressed down harder, and it let out a loud squeak. Suddenly, a hand pressed down on the corner, steadying it. Caleb was crouching in front of me. He folded a piece of paper and wedged it under the short leg. “…” He was acting strangely these past few days. I knew better than to think he was showing me mercy. In my experience, when Caleb eased up, it just meant he was planning something much, much worse. He stood, hands in his pockets, and looked down at me. After a long moment, a slow, lazy smile spread across his face. … Today was my birthday. In previous years, it had always been a day I looked forward to. But this year, there was Caleb. That evening, our new family went out to a nice restaurant to celebrate. The cheerful atmosphere couldn’t distract me from the oppressive presence of the boy sitting next to me. Under the table, his leg kept brushing against mine, not by accident. When it was time to blow out the candles, he even reached over, his fingers giving my waist a light, playful tap. … My dad got me an e-reader. His mom gave me a necklace. And Caleb gave me a bottle of perfume. The gift box felt a little heavy, but I didn’t think anything of it at first. I never wanted a second look at anything he gave me. The moment we got home, I tossed it into a corner of my room. Until midnight, when he pushed my door open. He moved through my room with a practiced stealth that was deeply unsettling. I frowned at his smiling face. “Aren’t you going to look at my gift?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. I’d already opened it at the restaurant. He must have seen the confusion on my face because he added with a smirk, “There’s a second layer.” … Caleb always knew exactly how to humiliate me. My dear brother’s birthday gift. The first layer was a bottle of perfume. The second layer was a collar. A dog collar. … I glared at him, but his smile was infuriatingly pleasant. “Custom-made. Took three months. Don’t you like it?” He strolled over, lifted the collar from the box, and held it around my neck. The cool, smooth leather brushed against my skin. He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Perfect fit.” I shoved him away. I knew this was what he wanted. He loved to see this look in my eyes. Humiliated. Furious. Helpless. The more I suffered, the more he thrived. 7 When the results of the next exam came back, I stared at the pathetic scores. I’ve never been good with numbers. Subjects like math and physics have always been a struggle. The paper had already been passed around the entire class. By the time it reached me, it was crumpled and worn. After class, the teacher called me to her office. Someone else was already there. If I was consistently second to last, he was consistently dead last. I’d barely seen his face all semester; he always kept himself hidden in the corner of the classroom. “You two are the worst in my math class,” the teacher said, her sharp gaze piercing through her glasses. “I’ve arranged for someone to help you. I expect you to study hard.” She looked at both of us. “The three of you will be a study group. If you have any questions, you ask Caleb Vaughn. Got it?” … Caleb Vaughn. The ringleader of my tormentors was now my tutor. I watched as he walked into the office, the teacher clapping him on the shoulder, her face full of hope. He just smiled and looked at me. I could already imagine it. This wasn’t a study group. This was the beginning of a new nightmare. … The afternoon sun streamed through the classroom windows. Caleb was sitting on the desk in front of me. “What the hell, man? You’re really gonna tutor these two idiots?” one of his friends joked from behind him. The other boy in our “study group,” the one who always seemed to be curled into a ball, was named Leo Roth. He was huddled in the corner now, trembling. I knew he was a frequent target of the same group of bullies. And I suspected he might have some genuine learning difficulties. “Alright, let’s look at the first problem,” Caleb said, picking up my test paper with a theatrical flourish. My attention, however, was on the boy beside me. He was shaking so badly that his desk was vibrating. “Hey.” I snapped back to reality as Caleb’s foot kicked my desk. He stood over me, long-limbed and arrogant, hands in his pockets. “Are you looking at me or at him?” “…” We locked eyes for a long moment before he broke into a grin. “One of you got a 21, the other got a 12. You two are a perfect match.” … Maybe it was Caleb’s taunts about my grades, but when my dad saw my test scores that night, he blew up. “You used to win gold medals in the math Olympiad in elementary and middle school, remember? What happened to you?!” …It was true. The awards were still hanging on my bedroom wall. But now, the sight of numbers just gave me a headache. I stared at the test paper. I knew it took me longer to understand math than other students. I couldn’t even apply the formulas correctly. Because my dad had insisted, Caleb was now in my room, officially sanctioned to tutor me. He leaned against my desk. I braced myself for another round of insults, but he just said, softly, “Ask me if you don’t understand something.” … I thought the sun must have risen in the west. Then his mom walked in with a plate of fruit. “I’m so glad to see you two getting along so well,” she said, beaming. Caleb’s mom was a kind, elegant woman who had always been incredibly nice to me. She’d told me once that Caleb had a younger sister before… but something happened. She had passed away. Because of that, she was always worried that Caleb and I wouldn’t get along. “Alright, you two study hard. Caleb, make sure you help your sister.” The moment his mother was out the door, Caleb’s face changed. He leaned over me from behind, his fingers slowly, deliberately, pinching my earlobe. “Leo Roth,” he murmured, saying the name of the trembling boy from that afternoon. “How about you seduce him?” … I couldn’t understand the twisted logic of his mind. What was he trying to achieve? “I—” The word “no” was still on my lips when he grabbed my chin. He narrowed his eyes, his thumb stroking my jaw. “If you refuse, I’ll post those pictures from the other day on the school forum.” He was talking about the pictures he took in the bathroom after he cut my bra strap. I shoved him. “Go ahead. I don’t care.” 8 I didn’t care what other people thought of me. And in the end, Caleb never posted the pictures. But he wasn’t the type to give up. A rumor started circulating that Leo and I were a couple. Then one morning, I walked into the classroom to find our names scrawled across the blackboard in huge letters, a giant heart drawn between them. The sight was met with a chorus of jeers and laughter. “Those two? Together?” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Look, the lovebirds.” My name became inextricably linked with Leo’s. When a teacher called on me, someone would yell out Leo’s name. During morning exercises, they would deliberately push me into him. “You know, I think he’s actually starting to like you,” Caleb said that night, crouching by my bed. “I saw him looking at you today. The tips of his ears were red.” His hand closed around my throat, the pressure slowly increasing. “But he probably doesn’t know…” His grip tightened, just enough to make my heart pound. “…that the girl he likes looks like this in front of me.” I stared at him, my eyes burning with hatred. After a long, agonizing moment, his fingers loosened, stroking the side of my neck. Caleb always smiled so gently. But the words that came out of his mouth were pure poison. “You know something, Stella?” he whispered. “You were made for a collar.” … He was using an innocent boy to trample all over my dignity, to grind it into the dirt. I had told myself that if I was already in hell, I couldn’t drag anyone else down with me. But it was too late. … The next day, as I was being shoved against a wall, the contents of my backpack being dumped onto the floor, Leo suddenly rushed in and pulled me away. This was their usual routine. Accuse me of stealing money, then empty my bag to “prove” it. No one expected Leo, the timid, quiet boy, to intervene. Whistles and catcalls erupted behind us. Leo pulled me along, running blindly, as if he had no idea where he was going. I stared at the back of his head. His hair was getting long. He stumbled, and I almost went down with him. His glasses fell to the ground. I bent to pick them up and found myself looking directly into his eyes. … He always hid behind a thick curtain of bangs. It was the first time I’d ever really seen his face. I didn’t know what to say. I had never seen such beautiful eyes. A pale, smoky grey, so light they seemed translucent, but with an unnerving emptiness within. They were so striking that for a moment, I forgot to breathe. “You…” I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper. “You shouldn’t have done that.” I don’t know if he understood what I meant. He just pressed his lips together and said nothing. When we got back to class, the room erupted in a storm of teasing. But after that day, Leo started being… nice to me. He seemed oblivious to the malicious taunts of the other students. He brought me breakfast. He secretly left candy in my desk. Every time he did something kind, every time he looked at me with those innocent, unknowing eyes, a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. Caleb had won again. No matter how I struggled, he always got what he wanted. Now, he was enjoying building me up with a fragile, beautiful illusion, just so he could be the one to shatter it. 9 Our parents were going on a business trip for a week. Which meant I would be alone in the house with Caleb. For seven days. My body trembled at the thought. Caleb, sitting next to me on the sofa, just lowered his eyes and smiled. The first night after they left, he blocked me at my bedroom door. The vast, empty house was unnervingly quiet, and a flicker of fear ignited in my chest. He leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head as he looked at me. “You know why they haven’t been messing with you lately? Because Leo’s been taking the hits for you.” If the devil had a face, it would be Caleb’s. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to see it. The way they kicked him against the lockers.” “If you have a problem, take it out on me!” I lunged forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He simply reached up and slowly, gently, covered my hand with his. He must have felt the tremors running through my fingers, because he let out a low chuckle. “You haven’t fallen for him too, have you?” I stared at him, grinding my teeth so hard I thought they would crack. “Caleb, why are you doing this to me?” With every step he took forward, I took one back, until my back was pressed against the cold, hard wall. “Well,” he whispered, his face inches from mine. “Why don’t you fight back?” His fingers closed around my wrist. He was like a demon, peeling back the layers of my soul, asking the one question I could never answer. Why didn’t I fight back? I knew the reason. I had always known. It was because I… Something was clawing at the edges of my memory, a truth I had buried long ago. But in that instant, Caleb raised his other hand and gently stroked my hair. He leaned in, his smile disarmingly innocent. “Sleep with me,” he murmured, “and I’ll leave him alone. Deal?” Caleb was testing my limits, one by one. And in the end, he would make a shocking discovery. I didn’t have any. … Caleb’s bed was bigger than mine. When he pulled me down onto the mattress beside him, it didn’t feel cramped. And when he said sleep, he actually meant sleep. “You have to keep your promise,” I said, my voice flat, staring at the empty floor. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting fractured, painful slivers of light across the room. “Leave Leo alone.” He was lying behind me, closer than he had ever been. I could feel the heat of his body. His knuckles brushed against my shoulder blade. He let out a soft laugh and pulled me tighter against him. “Why are you so nice to him?” He waited a long time, but I didn’t answer. He must have known I wouldn’t. He toyed with a strand of my hair, then sighed, his breath warm against the back of my neck. His next words were so quiet, they were barely more than a whisper, a dreamlike murmur lost in the darkness. “To be honest, I’m a little jealous of him.” … 10 To his credit, Caleb was a man of his word. As twisted as it was to force his own sister to sleep in his bed, he kept his promise. He never laid a hand on Leo again. The bullying at school, for the most part, stopped. In the dead of night, I listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, then slowly, carefully, I slipped his arm off me. I crept out of bed and made my way to his desk. There was something I needed to confirm. For the past few nights, after he fell asleep, I had been searching his room. I was sure he would have kept it somewhere. Finally, in the back of the third bookshelf, I found a small, wooden box with a combination lock. It looked old. I tried a few different number combinations, but none of them worked. I frowned, considering my options. Maybe I could sneak it out and pry it open. A cool, clear voice broke the silence behind me. “The combination is 0604. Her birthday.” …Caleb was standing right behind me, watching me. When he wasn’t smiling, his face was a mask of cold, severe indifference. The moonlight poured into his eyes, making them look like polished, emotionless stones. I lowered my head and entered the code. The lock clicked open. Inside were a few trinkets, small mementos. I didn’t bother trying to understand their meaning. I was looking for one thing. And then I found it. A photograph. I was right. All those years ago… Caleb’s sister… It was my fault she died.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394426”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my wedding day, I suddenly developed the ability to read minds. I was listening to my husband’s heart as he smiled, gently taking my hand to place the ring on my finger. Lyle Whitman sends over this sacrificial lamb and thinks he can just walk away with the Sterling project? He’s dreaming. My head snapped up, my eyes wide with shock. My hand trembled so violently that the ring slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. Daniel looked at me, his expression a mask of tender apology, as if it were all his fault. Clumsy oaf. Born to be slaughtered. 1 The wedding had been arranged just three days ago, a decision made by my stepfather, Lyle Whitman. His company was teetering on the edge of a cliff, its cash flow frozen solid, bankruptcy breathing down his neck. Desperate to resurrect his failing business, Lyle had been pulling every string he could, trying to marry me off to secure a financial lifeline. He’d used my mother as leverage, forcing me to meet six different men in the span of two weeks. There was a fifty-year-old pig in a suit, greasy and obese; a sadistic trust-fund brat with a violent streak; and a mogul with a wife in New York and mistresses scattered across the country. They were all willing to take me, but none of them offered a price high enough to satisfy Lyle. Until Daniel Thorne appeared. He made Lyle an offer that made his eyes gleam with greed. The one condition: the wedding had to be within three days. Lyle agreed instantly, practically tripping over himself in his haste to deliver me to Daniel’s bed that very night. But Daniel, surprisingly, wasn’t in such a rush. He insisted on following every pre-wedding custom, step by step. He even made sure we were legally married before the ceremony. So, until this very moment, I had seen him as a perfect gentleman—polished, handsome, and deeply respectful. I had even allowed myself to believe in love at first sight, a fairytale I desperately wanted to be true. Until I heard the chilling truth echoing in his mind. He hadn’t married me for love. He’d married me to set a trap, a meticulously planned scheme to ruin my stepfather. This was a war between titans, and I was just a pawn on their board. 2 The ceremony continued, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. Cheerful, romantic music filled the air, and every face in the crowd was wreathed in smiles. Especially Daniel’s. He took my hand, his body bending in a graceful arc as his long, elegant fingers retrieved the fallen ring. As he looked up, his eyes were deep pools of devotion. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “I wasn’t holding it properly. I’ve troubled you, my dear.” This whole charade is dragging on forever. I mechanically straightened my finger, letting the cold metal slide into place. The sound of my own gulp was so loud, I was sure it cut through the music. When it was my turn to place his ring, I was a bundle of nerves, my movements cautious and fawning. “Mr.… Mr. Thorne, if you’re busy, you can leave. I can handle the reception toasts by myself.” My sudden, docile compliance seemed to catch him off guard. A flicker of confusion crossed his features before it was washed away by that practiced, charming smile. “Nothing is more important than our wedding,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Come, let’s go.” He took my hand and led me to face our friends and family, raising a champagne flute in a toast. Playing games with me? We’ll see about that when we get home. My heart sank. 3 My attempt to curry favor had spectacularly backfired. I spent the rest of the reception in a state of terrified silence, moving like a puppet on a string. After the festivities, I was whisked away to our new home, the bridal suite. The room was a cliché of newlywed bliss, dripping with the kind of opulence only serious money can buy. It had everything a lavish wedding demanded. Except people. The five-story mansion was a hollow, echoing shell. Not a single soul was present. It was clear a “pawn” like me wasn’t expected to just sit around prettily, waiting for the groom’s return. I found my suitcase in the second-floor bedroom, changed into a comfortable set of sweats, and scrubbed the thick makeup from my face. A long, hot shower washed away the last vestiges of the charade. Feeling refreshed and seeing the sky darken, I made my way to the kitchen. Over the years, trailing my mother through her three marriages, my culinary skills had become my most developed talent. With each new husband, she would lose herself in a whirlwind of romance and hedonism, leaving me to fill the role of the unpaid housekeeper. Some of my stepfathers, however, weren’t content with just a housekeeper. They’d wait until my mother was out, and their hands would start to wander. Lyle was one of them. Which is why, after learning of Daniel’s true intentions, a small, dark part of me was actually looking forward to the show. Love from a man was irrelevant. Usefulness was all that mattered. 4 The kitchen was barren. Not even a bottle of water. I did a quick tour of the mansion and came to a simple conclusion: Daniel wasn’t coming back tonight. And he intended for me to go hungry. I had some money on my phone and could have easily ordered takeout. But that would shatter the “helpless idiot” persona I apparently projected. Arousing the suspicion of a man as sharp and calculating as Daniel would be a fatal mistake. I put my phone away and returned to the bridal suite. On a small table, four small dishes of dried fruits and nuts were arranged, a traditional wedding touch. I scooped a pocketful of dates and almonds, went downstairs, and boiled a pot of water. The living room was a sea of crimson silk and satin, but the garish color only amplified the cold emptiness of the space. Assuming I was alone for the night, I kicked off my shoes, propped my feet up on the plush leather sofa, and settled in with a cup of hot water and a handful of wedding snacks. Just as I was starting to relax, a voice popped into my head, dripping with condescension. The little fool must be crying her eyes out by now. 5 Suddenly, the water and dates lost their flavor. Scrambling before Daniel could walk in, I shoved the snacks into a drawer beneath the coffee table and splashed some of the warm water from my cup onto my face to mimic tears. The front door creaked open. I turned, my expression carefully crafted into one of pure, pathetic misery. A smug, silent laugh echoed in his mind. He approached, his movements fluid and graceful, a gentle, concerned smile playing on his lips as he leaned down. Just as I thought… any minute now, she’ll break and call Lyle. That, I couldn’t do. Lyle was just like him—a gentleman on the surface, a monster underneath. Calling him for help was out of the question. But I had to sell the performance. I let my lower lip tremble and squeezed my eyes shut, willing tears to come. Then, I heard Daniel’s inner voice, laced with disgust: What the hell is that stuck on her tooth? His gaze immediately shot to the coffee table in front of me. A small trickle of water was seeping from a crack in the wood. He reached for the drawer. In a flash, I shot to my feet. “I want to go home to my mom!” Daniel’s hand froze. His expression was one of mild confusion. His inner voice was pure schadenfreude: Hah. Scared her so badly she’s talking nonsense. Alright, then. I’d play along. “There’s no one here,” I whimpered. “I’m scared. I want to go back to my house.” Daniel’s mind: From now on, you’re not taking a single step out of this house. Me: …House arrest? Outwardly, he took my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle, and sat beside me on the sofa. “Isla, we’re newlyweds. You can’t go back to your parents’ house just yet. And look, I’m here now, aren’t I?” I decided to test the waters. “Will… will you be leaving again?” “I’ll stay with you,” Daniel promised, his voice a soothing balm. Just wait. Soon you’ll be begging me to leave. 6 I instinctively clutched my clothes tighter. What the hell is he planning to do? Daniel blinked, his eyes practically overflowing with manufactured tenderness. “Are you cold?” He made a move to take off his suit jacket. Ugly creature. You really think I’d touch you? Hah. You dream just as big as your stepfather. Well, thank God for that. I wasn’t interested either. I let out a huge sigh of relief and grabbed his jacket before he could take it off. “I’m not cold. I’m just… I’m just a little hungry.” A wave of triumphant laughter roared in his mind. His words, however, were laced with pity. “Hungry? Oh, that is a problem. We’re quite far from the city, and there are no restaurants around here. The kitchen…” “The kitchen is empty,” I finished for him. I watched him struggle to hide a satisfied smirk and felt a sudden urge to twist his head off. After “comforting” me, Daniel went upstairs to shower. Before he left, he gave me one last, “soulful” look and whispered, “Wait for me.” I smiled back. Bring it on, I thought, answering his silent scheming. I’m not afraid of you.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394425”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On Halloween night, the club brought eight strangers together in an empty classroom for Truth or Dare. The rule: confess to a “murder.” Not wanting to ruin the mood, I made up a clumsy crime story. The gloomy guy next to me muttered about pushing his cousin into a well as a kid. A sweet-faced freshman timidly admitted to poisoning her friend’s moisturizer with acid over a crush. Another, bookish student calmly described dissolving his stepmother over a denied allowance. I thought everyone was just trying too hard to fit in. After the game, we returned to our dorms. The next morning, police sirens woke me. The academic building was sealed off. My advisor, pale with terror, informed me the seven others from the game were all dead—each matching their confessed “crimes.” On my desk, police found a blood-drawn smiley face and a note: “Eight players, seven confessions. Only you, the liar, are spared.” 1 The incessant wail of sirens and the murmur of a crowd below my window finally dragged me from sleep. My head was splitting, as if I’d chugged a bottle of cheap vodka the night before, even though I’d only had a few sips of a soft drink. I stumbled to the window and peered down. My breath hitched. The quad below was a sea of flashing blue and red lights. Police cars were everywhere. The old, decrepit academic building where we’d been last night was wrapped in yellow caution tape, its entrance swarming with uniformed officers, their faces grim. A crowd of students huddled at a distance, whispering, their expressions a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. My heart began to pound a nervous rhythm against my ribs. What happened? A fire? A break-in? Just then, a sharp, urgent knock rattled my dorm room door. Standing outside was Mr. Davison, my advisor, his face a shade of gray I’d never seen before. Flanking him were two police officers, their sharp eyes sweeping over my small room. “Ivy Morgan?” Mr. Davison’s voice was hoarse. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine, Mr. Davison. What’s going on down there?” I asked, confused. The older of the two officers spoke, his tone all business. “Miss Morgan, please get dressed and come with us. We have some questions for you.” A cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I followed them downstairs, my legs feeling strangely disconnected from my body. The closer we got to the old academic building, the stronger the smell in the air became—a faint, cloying mix of sweet rust. They led me to a makeshift incident room in a nearby administrative office. More police were inside, and the air was thick with a tension so heavy it was hard to breathe. “Ivy Morgan, did you attend a freshman mixer in room 304 of the academic building last night?” a senior-looking officer asked. The insignia on his shoulder told me he was in charge. I nodded. “Yes. It started around ten, I think.” “And after it ended? Where did you go? Who were you with?” “It was almost midnight when we finished. We all just went back to our dorms. I walked back alone, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.” I answered honestly, the knot of dread in my stomach twisting tighter. “Officer, what happened?” The senior officer exchanged a look with my advisor. Mr. Davison swallowed hard, his voice trembling when he spoke. “The seven other students… who were in room 304 with you last night… they… something happened to them.” My mind went blank. A roar filled my ears. “Happened? What do you mean?” “It means they’re all dead,” the officer said, his voice cold and blunt, each word a shard of ice in my ear. “Time of death is estimated between one and three this morning. Causes of death… vary. But they were all brutal.” Seven people… all dead? The seven students who were alive just last night, laughing and making up horrible stories… gone? 2 My legs gave out, and I nearly collapsed. A female officer caught me just in time. “We’ve checked the security footage,” the senior officer continued, his eyes locked on mine, leaving no room for evasion. “You were the first to leave room 304, and you did go straight back to your dorm. But we need you to recount every detail of last night, especially that ‘game.’” I sat in the chair they offered, my hands ice-cold. A policewoman handed me a cup of hot water, but I couldn’t feel its warmth. I forced myself to calm down, to remember. I started from the beginning, from the moment I walked into that classroom. When I got to the strange icebreaker game—“Truth or Dare”—I paused, then explained the rule: We all had to confess to a ‘murder’ we’d committed. Across from me, the officer’s brow furrowed. “So, you were playing a game… where you described murders you’d committed?” His voice was laced with disbelief and suspicion. “Not real murders!” I explained hastily. “We all knew it was just a role-playing thing, like a murder mystery game! Our club is the Suspense and Detective Society, and it was Halloween night. A game like that is supposed to be thrilling…” “Fun? Thrilling?” a younger officer, taking notes, muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with incredulity. I swallowed, unable to respond. I just kept talking. I told them about the cliché hit-and-run story I’d made up. Then about the gloomy guy, Kevin, who had mumbled about pushing his smarter cousin into a well. Then the sweet-faced girl, Tina, who had timidly confessed to mixing acid into her friend’s face cream. And finally, the nerdy guy, Ryan, who had adjusted his glasses and calmly described dissolving his stepmother with chemicals. “…I just thought they were all being overly dramatic,” I said, my voice trailing off as I saw the expressions on the officers’ faces grow darker and darker. The senior officer held up a hand, stopping me. “Are you sure… that these stories were ‘made up’?” “Weren’t they?” The chill that had been creeping up my spine shot straight to the top of my head. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took several crime scene photos from a folder and slid them across the table. He covered most of the images with his hand, but the small corners that were visible—a twisted limb, an unnatural discoloration, a blurred, dark red background—were enough to make my stomach churn. “According to the preliminary report,” the officer said, his voice low and steady, every word a hammer blow to my nerves, “Kevin’s body shows signs consistent with death by drowning.” “Tina’s face was severely corroded by a chemical agent. An overturned jar of face cream was found next to her.” “And Ryan… what’s left of him is a partially dissolved mass of human tissue, consistent with exposure to a strong acid.” My breath caught in my throat. A wave of cold washed over me, freezing me to the bone. Could it be? The stories they told last night… they weren’t stories at all? They were their deepest, darkest, bloodiest secrets. “No… that can’t be! How is that possible?” I stammered, shaking like a leaf in a storm. “Who would confess to something like that? Especially in a game?” “We’re wondering the same thing,” the officer said, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel. “Why would seven people, on the same night, during a game, suddenly confess to deeply hidden crimes? It doesn’t make sense.” A terrifying thought crossed my mind. I shivered. “Officer, is it possible… that the classroom is haunted? I mean, everyone on campus knows that building is spooky!” Yes! That had to be it! What else could explain how so many people were killed in one night, each in a different, specific way? But my suggestion only made the officer’s expression more grim. He leaned forward slightly, the pressure of his presence almost suffocating me. “Ivy, during the game, did you notice anything unusual? Anyone being coerced? Or perhaps something that might have affected their state of mind? Like… food? Or a drink?” A drink? I suddenly remembered the club organizer, a student council member named Mark. He had handed out cups of a strange-colored juice. It had a weird, bitter taste. I’d only taken a few sips before putting it down. “Yes! There was a drink!” I said, grasping at the straw. “Mark gave everyone juice! It tasted strange! Maybe there was something in it?” The officer immediately made a note and spoke into his radio. But the preliminary feedback came back quickly. The remaining juice had been collected for testing, but other sealed bottles of the same brand found at the scene appeared to be fine. And besides, the drinks had been purchased by Mark. And Mark… he was one of the dead. His cause of death… decapitation. His head had been stuffed inside his own stomach cavity. The officer turned his gaze back to me. “Even if the drinks were drugged, getting seven people to confess to murder simultaneously is… highly improbable. Ivy, think carefully. Did anything else happen during the game? Anything at all? For instance… what did you do?” I shook my head frantically, my thoughts a chaotic mess. Something special? What could I have done? I was just another player! Just then, there was a knock on the door. Another officer entered and handed the senior officer a clear evidence bag. Inside was a single sheet of paper. It was a piece of lined paper, torn from a notebook, folded in half. It was stained with dark red, irregular speckles. The senior officer put on a pair of gloves and carefully unfolded it. His pupils contracted slightly. Then, slowly, he turned the paper so I could see it. Drawn on the paper, in the same dark red, almost black, dried liquid, was a crooked, childish smiley face: :). And below it, written in the same substance, were a few chilling words: “Eight players, seven confessions.” “Only you, the liar, are spared.” 3 A cold, formless fear wrapped its fingers around my heart and squeezed. I couldn’t breathe. “What… what is that?!” My voice was a high-pitched squeak. “We found this inside the desk where you were sitting—third row, by the window, in room 304.” The officer’s voice was like ice. “Preliminary tests confirm the substance on the paper is human blood. It was written sometime between ten and twelve last night, during your game.” He stared at me, his gaze trying to pierce through to my soul. “Forensic analysis has confirmed that the handwriting on the note is yours, Ivy. Now, would you care to explain… what this ‘bloody note’ is all about?” Blood rushed to my head, then receded just as quickly, leaving me ice-cold. Human blood? “No, that’s not right! That was a prop we used in the second half of the game!” I shrieked, scrambling backward in my chair, trying to get away from the ominous piece of paper. “Mark told me to write it! He gave me the ‘paint’! I didn’t know it was blood!” “Mark told you to write it?” the officer repeated, his eyes narrowing. “But the blood on this note belongs to him.” He paused, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer. “‘Seven confessions’ refers to the seven victims who confessed to their crimes. And ‘you, the liar’… Ivy, you were the only one who claimed your murder story was ‘made up.’” “Because it was!” I was on the verge of tears. “Officer, you can check! I’ve never been in a car accident in my life, let alone killed someone! Anyone who knows me can tell you that!” “We will, of course, verify your story,” the officer said, his tone unwavering. “But the facts are this: seven people who confessed to murder are dead, and their deaths mirror their confessions. The one person who claimed to be lying survived, and a note with a very specific message was found at her seat.” He leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, creating an intimidating posture. “It’s too much of a coincidence, Ivy. It’s so coincidental that it feels like a carefully orchestrated… declaration.” I stared at him, bewildered. “What… what does that mean?” The younger officer closed his notebook and interjected, “It means there was no mysterious mastermind. The so-called ‘game’ was a setup, designed by you.” “You used some method we haven’t yet identified—maybe drugs, maybe psychological manipulation—to induce the seven victims to confess their deepest secrets while in a suggestible or uncontrolled state.” “Then, after they confessed, you executed them, one by one, in a manner corresponding to their secrets.” “Finally, you faked this note to deflect suspicion onto some supernatural force or a non-existent ‘judge,’ thereby clearing your own name. Because you knew your story was the only fiction, making you ‘innocent’ and thus, ‘spared.’” The string of accusations exploded in my head like a series of bombs, leaving me shattered and cold. “You’re crazy… You’re all crazy!” I screamed, tears finally breaking free. “Me, alone? One girl? How could I possibly kill seven people in one night, in seven different ways? It’s not possible!” “Oh?” The senior officer let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Is it really not?” He produced another file.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394424”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel