The day I was welcomed into the lap of luxury, I was told my only purpose. I was to be a spare heart for the family’s golden girl, Vivian Thorne. My biological parents, my own brother, and even my fiancé—they all orbited her, their true sun. My fiancé, Kurt Ducey, tilted my chin up with his fingers, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Your job is to be her shadow. You will take her place, fulfill the engagement she cannot.” He leaned in, his words like chips of ice. “Once Vivian is well, I’ll give you a handsome sum of money and you will disappear.” They drew my blood, locked me away, and forced me to mimic every facet of Vivian’s life, all to keep her entertained while she withered away on her sickbed. Until the day of the transplant, as I lay on the frigid operating table. I smiled at their anxious faces behind the glass. “What if I told you her heart condition is hereditary?” I asked, my voice echoing faintly in the sterile room. “And what if I told you… I’m not related to any of you by blood?” … I calmly signed my name, Elena, on the “Living Organ Donor Consent Form.” They called it a “familial gift.” The ink was barely dry before my so-called mother, Eleanor Thorne, was already snapping at the staff. “Quickly, take Elena for a blood draw. Vivian needs to build up her strength.” A nurse’s cold needle slid into the delicate skin of my arm. My blood, my life force, began to drain, drop by drop, into a plastic bag. Not far away, Vivian, lounging on a plush sofa, wrinkled her perfect nose. “Mother, the smell of blood is so strong. It’s making me feel ill.” Eleanor instantly rushed to her side, cupping a hand over Vivian’s nose, her voice a syrupy coo. “There, there, my sweet Vivi. It will be over in a moment.” She never looked at me again. I might as well have been an IV stand. After the draw, the world swam in black spots. I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall. My father, Richard Thorne, approached, not with a comforting arm, but with a platinum card, which he pressed into my palm. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this. For your nutritional expenses these next few months.” His tone was that of a shrewd investor closing a deal with a guaranteed high return. “Keep your body in prime condition. Don’t disappoint us.” I clenched the card, my nails digging into my flesh. Just then, the door opened, and a tall, imposing figure strode in. It was my fiancé, Kurt. He walked straight to Vivian, his eyes melting with a tenderness I had never seen. “How are you feeling today?” Vivian offered him a fragile smile. “Oh, Kurt, I feel so much better now that you’re here.” His gaze finally fell on me, as cold and impersonal as if he were looking at a piece of furniture. He tossed a thick binder at my feet. “Memorize this. It’s a complete file on Vivian—her likes, dislikes, her favorite phrases.” His voice was sharp. “When I take you out to company events, you will not slip up. You will not tarnish her image.” I was given the room next to Vivian’s. It had no windows, only a single, unblinking security camera mounted in the corner. They called it “convenience of care.” It was a 24/7 surveillance cell for their precious investment: my heart. My first day as a shadow was spent at the piano. Kurt loved to hear Vivian play Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” My fingers fumbled over the keys, striking a clumsy, discordant note. My brother, Miles, who had been standing guard, stormed over, his boot connecting with the piano bench in a violent crack. The bench flew out from under me, and I crashed to the polished floor. “Useless!” he snarled, looming over me, his face a mask of undisguised disgust. “You can’t even do this one simple thing right? What good are you?!” That night, my stomach twisted with hunger pangs. I crept to the kitchen, only to find scraps and leftovers. From Vivian’s room next door, I could hear the warm bubble of laughter as the family celebrated her “stable condition” for the day. I retreated to my cage in silence. From a hidden seam in my luggage, I retrieved a small razor blade I had concealed. I drew a thin crimson line across my fingertip. The sharp sting of it was a shock to my system, grounding me. I needed that pain to fight the creeping numbness, the soul-crushing despair they drowned me in every day. A few days later, Kurt needed me for a corporate gala. Vivian was feeling too weak, so her understudy was called to the stage. I was dressed in a white gossamer gown identical to one of Vivian’s, with the same subtle makeup she favored. At the party, one of Kurt’s friends swaggered over, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes raking over me with a suggestive smirk. “Changing things up, Ducey? This one looks a lot more innocent than Vivian.” Kurt’s arm snaked around my waist, his grip so tight I thought my bones might crack. He smiled at his friend, a chilling smile that never reached his eyes. “Just a cheap knock-off,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Borrowed for the night.” I froze, the blood turning to ice in my veins as a ripple of condescending laughter spread through the group around us. When we returned to the Thorne mansion, the moment I stepped through the door, a stinging slap sent my head snapping to the side. Eleanor stood before me, her face contorted with fury, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Who told you to drink juice at the party?!” she shrieked. “Don’t you know Vivian is allergic to mangoes? What if it affects your body?!” Her features were twisted with a rage that was terrifying to behold. “That body belongs to Vivian, not you! You get that through your head!” I held my burning cheek, staring into her hateful eyes, and felt a profound, chilling silence descend upon my soul. In that silence, a seed of hatred, black and poisonous, finally broke through the soil. Vivian’s condition took a sudden downturn; her heart rate became erratic. The family doctor announced that she needed another large blood transfusion to stabilize. I was forced into a chair, watching my own life drain away again. 400cc this time. Already anemic from malnutrition, my vision tunneled to black and I fainted. I awoke on the cold, hard floor. My vision cleared to see Richard, Eleanor, and Miles huddled anxiously around Vivian’s bed. “Vivi, my darling, how do you feel? Is it any better?” “It’s all that Elena’s fault. Her body is so weak, her blood must be poor quality!” Miles turned, and seeing me awake, the loathing in his eyes was palpable. He strode over and hauled me to my feet with one brutal tug. “Listen to me, Elena,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “I swear, if you pull another stunt that affects Vivian, I will make your life a living hell.” I staggered, dizzy and nauseous, but couldn’t utter a single word. To make me a more convincing replica, Eleanor began giving me personal “etiquette lessons.” She wielded a long, wooden ruler, smacking my legs and back to correct my posture, my gait, even the curve of my smile. “Vivian smiles at a fifteen-degree angle, not twenty!” CRACK. The ruler struck my shins, a hot, searing pain. “Again!” Kurt appeared again one afternoon, holding a beautifully wrapped gift box. He didn’t hand it to me; he dropped it at my feet. “Change into this,” he commanded. Inside was a champagne-colored dress, an exact copy of one in Vivian’s closet. “Vivian adores this dress, but she’s too frail to wear it now. You’ll wear it for her.” I changed in silence. The dress was a size too small, the fabric straining against my skin, constricting my breath. Kurt looked me up and down, a frown creasing his brow. “You’re thin as a wraith. You have none of Vivian’s charm. It’s pathetic.” Dr. Finch, the elderly family physician, came for my routine check-up. He had kind eyes and a gentle demeanor that felt entirely out of place in this house. While taking my blood pressure, he deftly pressed a small, wrapped candy into my palm. In a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he said, “Child, don’t give up.” The hard candy dissolved on my tongue, a sweetness so intense it was almost bitter. My eyes burned with unshed tears. It was the first, and only, drop of warmth I had received since entering this gilded cage I was supposed to call home. As Vivian’s strength returned slightly, she began to torment me with renewed vigor. She made a point of being affectionate with Kurt in front of me, draping herself over him while her eyes, sharp and venomous, stayed locked on me. “Oh, Elena,” she’d purr, “you don’t mind, do you? After all, Kurt’s heart has always been with me.” Kurt would cast a cold glare in my direction. “Stop staring at Vivian like that. If you upset her, you’ll pay the price.” I would lower my gaze, burying the inferno of my hatred, my nails digging crescents into my palms. I stopped sleeping. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on that operating table, the blinding light, the scalpel. I asked Eleanor for sleeping pills. She sneered, but agreed. “Good. A sleeping girl can’t get any foolish ideas.” One afternoon, I was carrying a glass of water through the living room when Vivian subtly stuck her foot out, tripping me. I went down hard. The glass flew from my hand, shattering her favorite crystal vase. Richard came home from work to find the glittering shards on the floor and Vivian’s eyes red-rimmed with tears. He exploded. Without asking a single question, he pointed a finger at my face and sentenced me to kneel on the stone patio for the entire night. Around midnight, the heavens opened up. A torrential rain began to fall. I was soaked through in minutes, shivering uncontrollably as a fever began to burn through me. Through a haze of delirium, I thought I saw Dr. Finch again. He administered a shot that cooled the fire in my veins. And then he leaned close, whispering something in my ear that shocked me back to full, terrifying clarity. “Your blood type is a match, of course. But I noticed something…” “…several of your other genetic markers show minute, but distinct, discrepancies with Mr. and Mrs. Thorne.” “It’s… not normal.” After the fever broke, I became more “obedient” than ever. I even offered to personally cook soup for Vivian as an “apology.” Seeing me so “sensible,” Eleanor allowed it. I used my time in the kitchen to secretly collect the disposable paper cups Richard and Eleanor had drunk from. I sealed them carefully in a plastic bag and hid them under my mattress. Now, I just needed a way out. So I began to act. I became withdrawn, staring at walls for hours. I would burst into tears for no reason. I was becoming a nuisance, and my erratic behavior finally frayed Eleanor’s nerves. She was afraid my mental instability would compromise the quality of the heart destined for her daughter. “Miles, take her out,” she ordered. “Buy her a cat, a dog, whatever. I can’t stand this deathly gloom!” With a cold scowl, Miles practically frog-marched me to a pet store. I pretended to be engrossed in a litter of kittens in a glass enclosure. The moment he stepped away to take a call, I slipped out the back door. A man in a baseball cap was waiting in the alley. He was a contact from a third-party genetics lab, arranged for me online by Dr. Finch. I handed him the sealed bag from my pocket. “Rush order. I need the results as soon as possible,” I said. “The money is already in your account.” The man nodded, took the package, and vanished down the alley without a word. I slipped back inside just as Miles was ending his call. He shot me a suspicious look. “Where did you go?” “I… I just used the restroom,” I mumbled, keeping my head down, playing the part of a frightened mouse. He waved a dismissive hand. “Have you picked one yet? Stop dawdling.” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “This is the last time. Make another request for anything, and I’ll break your legs.” I returned to the mansion clutching a small, fluffy kitten. A few days later, it was Vivian’s birthday. The Thornes threw a lavish party, a veritable who’s who of the city’s elite. I was dressed in a servant’s uniform and ordered to remain in a corner, on standby. In case Vivian felt faint, I could be whisked away for an emergency transfusion. During the party, Kurt’s grandfather, a formidable patriarch with an air of old-world authority, spotted me. His gaze was sharp, filled with appraisal and distaste. He pulled Kurt aside, and I caught fragments of their conversation drifting over. “…bloodline…” “…reputation…” “…unseemly…” Kurt’s expression soured instantly. Vivian, the belle of the ball, was showered with extravagant gifts. After opening them, she floated over to me, a glass of champagne in hand. She plucked the most cheaply wrapped gift—a small music box—from a nearby table and held it out to me. “Here, Elena. This is for you. You look so lonely over here.” The guests nearby tittered. It was a calculated, public humiliation. I looked up at her and produced a grateful, almost subservient smile. “Thank you, Vivian.” I took the music box and hugged it to my chest as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. The moment I turned away, the smile vanished from my face, replaced by a mask of cold fury.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394410”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My girlfriend’s entire family was taken hostage by terrorists. As members of a special operations team, it was our job to rescue them. During the firefight, I took a bullet shielding my girlfriend, Lisa. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, thankful for my body armor, I saw blood seeping through my uniform. A quick check revealed the horrifying truth: the vest Lisa had given me wasn’t bulletproof. It was a standard-issue cotton vest. As I stared at her, my eyes filled with pain and confusion, Lisa’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I gave your vest to Noah. He’s new. He doesn’t have your skills. He needed two vests to be safe.” I clutched my side, my voice tight with rage. “You thought he wasn’t safe with one vest, so you took mine? Were you trying to get me killed?” Lisa’s face twisted in annoyance. “Why are you so selfish? Can’t you think about the rookie for once? It was just a vest.” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “it didn’t hit anything vital. What are you crying about?” I knew arguing was pointless. I patched myself up as best I could and sent a secure message to my father, the director of the agency: Wounded in action. Requesting immediate evac. Mission compromised. Abort. 1 A short while later, Lisa, as team leader, received the director’s order to stand down. She stormed over and grabbed me by the collar, her eyes blazing. “You’re the one who tattled, aren’t you?” “Do you have any idea that my parents and my brother are in there? Every second we waste puts them in more danger.” “And you requested to abort the mission? Are you trying to get them killed?” Her violent shove tore open my makeshift bandage. Blood poured from the wound, pooling at my feet. I pressed hard against my ribs, gritting my teeth against the pain. “We walked into an ambush. The enemy knew we were coming. Going in now is a suicide mission.” “And another thing,” I added, my voice strained, “I’m shot. Is it wrong to call for a medevac?” Before Lisa could answer, Noah chimed in, his voice dripping with condescending sarcasm. “Come on, Mason. You’re a veteran of this unit. Are you really calling it quits over a scratch?” “It’s embarrassing, man.” “Besides, we’re here to save Captain Hayes’s family. Your future in-laws. And you’re just going to walk away?” “Are you a coward, or does our captain just not mean that much to you?” His words acted as a signal. The rest of the team turned on me. “Mason, if you’re scared, you should train harder. Running away just makes you look weak.” “‘No man left behind’ is our motto. You get a scrape and you’re calling for mommy? The other units will laugh us out of the service.” The searing pain was bad enough, but their mockery was a fresh kind of agony. I let go of the wound, pointing to the blood that was now pulsing out in a steady rhythm. “Are you all blind, or did you check your conscience at the door? Does this look like a scratch to you?” The other team members fell silent, but Noah just smirked. “You think getting shot makes you a hero? Stop showing off.” Lisa stepped forward, her expression disdainful. “Why is it that everyone else is fine, and you’re the only one who got shot?” “It’s because you slack off during training. When it comes to real combat, you’re useless. And you have the nerve to complain?” I wanted to defend myself, but the pain was a steel band around my chest, squeezing the words out of me. As the blood loss mounted, my vision blurred. The world started to sway. Thank God I had sent that message. Otherwise, I’d be dead for sure. Just when I thought Lisa would finally order a retreat, I heard her give the command to advance. “Everyone, on me. We hit them now, before they regroup. We take the compound and rescue the hostages.” I struggled to my feet, the pain a white-hot fire in my side. “You… you’re disobeying a direct order?” A smirk played on her lips. “I’m the field commander for this operation. I have the final say.” “And I’m not going to let a coward jeopardize the mission.” Seeing the manic look in her eyes, I knew there was no reasoning with her. “Lisa, I understand you’re desperate. But I’m wounded. I can’t go on. I have to wait for evac.” “No!” Noah cut in before Lisa could respond. His eyes were cold and calculating. “If we leave him here, he’ll tell the director that Captain Hayes deliberately disobeyed orders.” “The only way to protect ourselves is to make him complicit.” “If he dares to say a word, we’ll pin the whole thing on him.” 2 The other team members, intimidated by Lisa and Noah’s authority, quickly agreed. I looked at Lisa, her face an icy mask. “Lisa,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, “including today, this is the fourth time I’ve saved your life.” “The first time was four years ago. I pulled you out of a pile of bodies and carried you for three days and three nights across the desert.” “You cried, you said you’d spend the rest of your life repaying me. You swore you’d never betray me.” “I know I don’t mean anything to you now. But please, for all the times I saved you, just give me a chance to live.” My words seemed to reach her. She hesitated, about to speak, but Noah cut her off. “Lisa, you can’t be soft now.” “Leaving him here will ruin everything! He could sabotage the entire rescue with one call.” At his words, Lisa’s expression hardened. “Stop trying to guilt-trip me with ancient history. That was a long time ago.” “You’re the only one who knows the layout of their compound. If you don’t come, how are we supposed to rescue the hostages?” “That’s right! Mason has to come! No playing dead,” Noah added quickly. Looking at their ugly, determined faces, I knew that reason was off the table. I played my last card. “Don’t be stupid. The director of this agency, Director Evans… he’s my father. If you do this to me, he won’t let you get away with it.” Noah burst out laughing. “That’s hilarious, Mason. I didn’t realize you were so desperate to save your own skin you’d start making up dads.” The others joined in. “Our Director Evans? Why would he have a kid with a different last name?” Lisa slapped me hard across the face. “Mason Turner, I am so ashamed to have ever called you my boyfriend.” “Say one more word of that nonsense, and I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.” She pressed the barrel of her gun against my forehead. I knew they were serious. Arguing was futile. But I had one condition. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But you have to make Noah give me my vest back.” “I’m shot, I can’t move well…” “Shut up!” Lisa snapped before I could finish. “You’re wounded, which means you’re useless in a fight. Why waste a vest on you?” “I’ll say it again. Noah is new. He has no experience. He needs two vests to be safe.” Hearing her say those words, so full of blatant favoritism, was a dagger to my heart. I couldn’t believe that the woman who once looked at me with so much love would now, for another man, completely disregard my life. Ever since Noah joined the team, she’d been different. Obsessed. Her eyes followed him everywhere. I had thought it was just a crush, an innocent attraction. I never believed she would betray years of shared history, of life-and-death situations, for some pretty boy. I was a fool. When I didn’t move, Lisa racked a round into the chamber, the sound echoing in the tense silence. She pressed the gun harder against my head. “Don’t think I won’t pull the trigger. Get up. Now.” 3 Defeated, I clutched my wound and struggled to my feet. “I’ll help you, Mason,” Noah said with a sickeningly sweet smile. Before I could refuse, he slammed the butt of his rifle into my side, directly on the wound. The pain was so intense tears sprang to my eyes. I shoved him away with all my might. “Get off me!” Noah yelped and fell to the ground dramatically. Without a word, Lisa lunged at me, shoving me hard. “What the hell is your problem? Noah was trying to help you!” Noah seized the opportunity to add fuel to the fire. “It’s okay, he’s just mad I’m wearing his vest. I can take it. As long as he calms down and leads us to the hostages, it’s worth it.” His words sent Lisa into a rage. She slapped me twice, hard. “Don’t think you can bully Noah just because he’s a good person. I won’t allow it!” she screamed. “If you hurt him again, I’ll make you pay double!” The slaps were powerful, leaving my ears ringing and my face stinging. But the pain in my heart was worse. I didn’t have the strength to explain, nor the desire. “I can walk on my own.” “It’s not that you don’t need help,” Noah sneered. “You’re just looking for a chance to run.” Lisa shot me a look of pure disgust. “Mason, if you screw this up and my family gets hurt, I will make you regret it.” She turned to Noah. “Watch him. If he tries anything, you have permission to execute him on the spot.” Her voice was cold. “We’re in a combat zone. Accidents happen.” I knew she was speaking for my benefit. I also knew she was capable of it. These were her people. If she gave the order, they would follow it without question. I had to play it smart. I just had to hold on until the evac team arrived. Noah pulled me to my feet and forced me into a run, completely ignoring the fact that my wound was bleeding more and more heavily. After a few minutes of this brutal pace, I was struggling to breathe. Black spots danced in my vision. I felt like my heart was about to give out. Suddenly, shadows flickered in the alley ahead. “Take cover,” Lisa hissed. “Movement ahead.” Before I could react, Noah shoved me forward, throwing me out into the open at the intersection of two alleys. At the same instant, I heard the tell-tale click of a machine gun being loaded just down the alley. I knew I had a second, maybe less, before I was torn to pieces. With the last of my strength, I threw myself toward the corner of a building. The impact was so hard that the crumbling brick wall gave way, collapsing around me. As the wall came down, the air filled with the deafening roar of machine-gun fire. If I hadn’t moved, I’d be dead. While they were engaged in the firefight, I crawled through the rubble and found a small, dark room to hide in. I activated my locator beacon again, praying the evac team would find me soon. The gunfire outside died down quickly. It must have been a small patrol that retreated after making contact. I huddled in the darkness, not daring to breathe. My enemies weren’t just the terrorists. They were my own teammates, who wanted me dead. I stared at the broken doorway, torn between hoping for rescue and fearing who might walk through it. Just as my anxiety reached its peak, the door creaked open. 4 A tall, thin figure stepped inside, a strange, twisted smile on his face. When my eyes adjusted, my heart sank. It was Noah. I curled into a ball, praying he wouldn’t see me. “Don’t hide, Mason. I see you.” I looked up. The bastard was standing right over me. “What do you want?” I rasped. Noah’s smile was predatory. “To help you, of course. My dear teammate.” “Get away from me. The best help you could give me is to leave me alone.” “Don’t be like that. I found some antiseptic. Let me clean your wound.” He reached for my bandage. I tried to fight him off, but I was too weak from blood loss. He tore off the gauze, then jammed his fingers directly into the bullet wound. He ripped the flesh, widening the hole, and a fresh torrent of blood gushed out. “Aaargh!” The pain was unimaginable. I screamed, and with a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, I kicked him as hard as I could. He flew back, slamming against the wall. That kick took everything I had left. Noah wiped a smear of blood from his lip and brushed the dust from his pants. “Just performed a little surgery for you,” he said with a cold smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine soon.” “I’ve never done anything to you… why are you doing this?” “Nothing? You…” Just then, Lisa and the others burst in. Seeing them, Noah immediately collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest. “Mason, I was just trying to help you with your wound! Why did you kick me?” Hearing that I had attacked Noah, Lisa charged at me, but Noah grabbed her arm, stopping her. He didn’t want her to see what he’d done to my wound. “It’s okay, Lisa. It’s my fault. He’s mad I took his vest. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt otherwise. It’s normal for him to hate me.” “Noah, you’re too kind,” Lisa seethed. “But kindness is wasted on some people. Mason is a monster, and he doesn’t deserve it.” “I’m going to teach this ungrateful bastard a lesson he’ll never forget!” She shook Noah off and lunged at me. But as she raised her foot to kick me, she froze, her eyes widening in shock. “You… your wound… it’s so bad. It was just a shot to the ribs. How are your intestines hanging out?” I used my last ounce of strength to point at Noah. “He… he did this…” “He means I was the one who bandaged him up,” Noah interrupted smoothly. He adopted a look of grave concern. “He was like this when I found him. He must have caught it on something when he was running.” He looked around at the others. “As it stands, there’s nothing we can do for him. It’s time for us to make a decision.” Lisa’s face was filled with worry. “What do you mean?” “I mean he’s not going to make it. We can’t take him with us. If the terrorists find him, he’ll compromise our position.” “The best thing we can do is end his suffering now. It’s a mercy, and it protects the team.” He said it with such conviction, as if he was doing me a great favor. The others hesitated. Noah pressed on. “If you’re not worried about him giving us all away and getting us killed, then fine. Forget I said anything.” That did it. Lisa nodded grimly. “Do as Noah says. We’ll be helping Mason… easing his pain.” With the captain’s approval, the others reluctantly agreed. Noah brought over a basin of water and a stack of paper towels. “We’ll each take a towel, soak it, and place it over his face. It will only take a few minutes.” “This way, we’re all involved. No one can snitch.” Hearing this, the others dropped their reservations and started soaking the towels, pressing them over my nose and mouth. With each new layer, it became harder to breathe. Just as I thought I was about to suffocate, the door burst open. A team of operators stormed in, their leader shouting, “Stand down!” Everyone froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394408”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The third year I spent playing the perfect wife, my husband, Alec Denisof, was in a car crash. I knelt by his hospital bed, gazing at his unconscious form, and my sobs were the most convincing in the room. But inside, I was ecstatic. If this bastard Alec actually dies, does that mean I inherit everything? That’s tens of billions! I’ve hit the jackpot! Just as I was reveling in my secret delight, Alec’s eyes snapped open. “What did you just say?” 1 I lifted my head, my eyes instantly welling with tears. I looked at him with an expression of profound love, my voice trembling. “I was saying… I was saying that as long as you’re okay, I’d be willing to die right here and now.” Perfect! The line, the expression… I’m almost moved to tears myself. But this time, Alec didn’t respond with his usual look of contempt. He just stared at me. For the first time, the expression on his handsome face was one of utter shock, as if he’d been struck by lightning. A bizarre mix of stunned disbelief and utter confusion. Had he… gone stupid? Looking at his shattered expression, a sense of foreboding crept over me. Please don’t tell me the crash scrambled his brains. He was staring at me so intensely it was making my skin crawl. What are you looking at? Never seen an award-winning actress before? I grumbled internally. Just as I was wondering if he’d truly lost his mind, Penelope Reed, sitting on the other side of the bed, couldn’t stay quiet any longer. She tugged on Alec’s sleeve, her voice a saccharine, baby-doll whine. “Alec, what’s wrong? Did Ava upset you again? Ava, you should apologize to him, quickly.” See that? The masterclass in being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Subtly making me the villain without breaking a sweat. Normally, Alec would have seized the opportunity to mock and belittle me. But today, he just waved a dismissive hand, his eyes never leaving my face. 2 After Alec was discharged, the atmosphere at home became… strange. He no longer spoke to me with his usual coldness, but he wasn’t exactly warm, either. Most of the time, he just watched me. Intently. It was starting to freak me out. Dude, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to start thinking you have a secret crush on me. So creepy. I’m getting goosebumps. Despite his unnerving gaze, I diligently continued my performance as the deeply devoted wife. One afternoon, I was lounging on the sofa with a face mask on, watching TV, when Penelope Reed waltzed in, carrying a thermos, dripping with calculated charm. “Ava, darling, I made some soup for Alec. Is he around?” she asked in her soft, delicate voice, but her eyes were scanning me like a radar, lingering on the thousand-dollar sheet mask I was wearing. Made soup? This is a girl who’s never touched a dish in her life. I bet the delivery guy made it. While I was roasting her in my head, I plastered a look of pleasant surprise on my face and quickly peeled off the mask. “Penelope, you’re too sweet! Alec’s in his study. Please, have a seat.” Alec heard our voices and came out of his study. Penelope immediately fluttered over to him like a social butterfly and presented the thermos. “Alec, I made this for you myself. You have to try it.” They interacted as if I wasn’t even in the room, so I discreetly started to head upstairs. “Ava, don’t go,” Penelope called out, her gaze zeroing in on my wrist. “That bracelet is gorgeous. Was it a gift from Alec?” My heart skipped a beat. The bracelet was a gift from Alec’s mother. Though his mother had never given me the time of day, the bracelet was a Denisof family heirloom, worth a fortune. Seriously? If Alec ever bought me something this expensive, pigs would fly. Oh, here comes the classic scene. She’ll ask to see it, then “accidentally” drop it, then burst into tears, making me look petty while she looks innocent. And Alec will have to comfort her. I’d bet my life the script goes exactly like that. The whole drama was already playing out in my head. I gave a shy smile. “It was… from my mother-in-law.” “Wow, she must adore you,” Penelope said, her eyes wide with envy. Then, she asked tentatively, “Can I… can I just have a look? Just for a second.” She looked so hopeful and pure that refusing would have made me look like a monster. I glanced at Alec. He was leaning against the sofa, his expression unreadable, showing no intention of helping me out. Fine. Have it your way. I steeled myself and began to slowly slide the jade bracelet off my wrist. “Of… of course.” Just as the bracelet was about to slip past my knuckles, Penelope let out a sudden “Oh!” and stumbled, crashing directly into me. CRACK! The sharp sound of splintering jade echoed through the silent living room. The emerald-green bracelet lay on the polished marble floor in a dozen pieces. There go my fifty billion. No, I mean, there goes the Denisof family heirloom. Penelope’s reaction was faster than mine. She immediately dropped to her knees, tears instantly streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry, Ava! It’s all my fault, I lost my balance… Something so precious…” She cried so beautifully it was almost poetic, as if her own heart had shattered, not the bracelet. I stood frozen, my face pale, tears welling in my eyes, perfectly portraying the image of a bullied wife, heartbroken but too scared to speak up. Not bad, girl. With acting skills like that, you’re wasted on anything less than professional extortion. Alright, the ball’s in Alec’s court now. According to the script, he should rush over, help his darling Penelope to her feet, and then shoot me a death glare while saying something like, ‘It’s just a bracelet. It’s not as important as Penelope.’ I looked at Alec, half-expecting him to deliver the final, crushing blow. But Alec didn’t move. He didn’t even glance at the weeping Penelope or the pile of shattered jade on the floor. His gaze was fixed, unwaveringly, on my face. And in his eyes… there was a look of scrutiny I’d never seen before. And… disappointment? What was he disappointed about? That I didn’t immediately start a catfight with Penelope? What are you looking at me for? Look at your precious angel! She’s waiting for you to comfort her. Why aren’t you following the script? Next, she’s supposed to offer to replace it, then pull out some cheap knockoff she bought at a flea market to humiliate me. Countdown starting in five, four, three… “Ava, I’m truly sorry,” Penelope said, just as I predicted, lifting her tear-streaked face. She sniffled, pulling a bracelet from her own wrist. “This one isn’t as valuable as yours, but it was a gift from my mother. Please… please take it. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to forgive myself…” She held the bracelet out, looking pitifully at me, then at Alec. The living room was dead silent. Just when I thought Alec would condescendingly tell me to be gracious and accept it, he finally spoke. “That won’t be necessary.” Two words. They froze Penelope’s sobs and her outstretched hand in mid-air. Alec slowly stood up and walked over to us. He looked down at Penelope, his eyes utterly devoid of warmth. “The housekeeper just mopped. The floor is a bit slippery. You should be more careful next time.” He paused, then turned toward the door. “Mark, see Ms. Reed out.” The expression on Penelope’s face shifted from tragic damsel to dumbfounded shock, the color draining completely from her cheeks. I was stunned, too. What… what did that mean? He didn’t comfort Penelope. He didn’t blame me. He just… brushed it off and kicked her out? As Mark “escorted” Penelope out, she gave me a look that could kill. The living room was empty except for me, Alec, and the shattered jade on the floor. He looked at me, still with that same, unreadable expression. For the first time, a flicker of panic ignited within me. This man, who I thought I had wrapped around my little finger, had changed. Something about him, somewhere along the way, had completely and utterly changed. 3 After Penelope was shown the door, I cautiously knelt and started picking up the bracelet fragments. I kept my head down, not daring to look at Alec, but my mind was racing. What the hell is wrong with him today? Instead of defending his precious angel and attacking me, he sends her packing? Could it be… his conscience finally kicked in? No way. A dog ate his conscience years ago. I get it! He must have thought Penelope’s acting was so terrible it was embarrassing him. Yes, that has to be it. Still, my heart aches for his mom’s bracelet. That thing was worth billions, and now it’s smithereens. If his mother finds out, she’ll skin me alive. Nope, I can’t take the blame for this. While I schemed, I spoke in the most grief-stricken tone I could muster. “Alec, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, I wasn’t holding it properly… If your mother asks…” “It’s just a bracelet.” Alec cut me off, his voice flat and emotionless. I looked up and met his deep, inscrutable eyes. He had repeated the exact line I had scripted for him in my head, but the tone and context were completely wrong. There was no comfort for Penelope, no defense of her actions. Just a chilling, unnerving calm. “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll handle it,” he said, then turned and went back into his study, shutting the door with a firm click. I remained frozen, staring at the closed door, the sense of unease growing stronger. His reaction was completely off-script. For the next few days, Alec became even more withdrawn. He stopped staring at me with that strange intensity, but the tension in the house was thicker than ever. He would lock himself in his study and stay there all day. I was more than happy to have the peace and quiet. I spent my days at the spa, shopping, and counting down the days until our contract expired. My mood was soaring. One evening, I was humming a tune as I came out of the bathroom. I passed his study and noticed the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out. Curious, I tiptoed closer to see what he was up to. Through the crack in the door, I saw Alec sitting at his desk, holding a document, lost in thought. His handsome profile was cast in shadow by the desk lamp. That document… it looked familiar. I squinted, and my heart dropped into my stomach. Wasn’t that the prenuptial agreement we signed three years ago?! He had pulled it out? I held my breath, the hair on my arms standing on end. What the hell is he playing at? We’re so close to the end. Why would he pull out the contract now? Is he thinking of backing out? Is he going to try to screw me out of the villa and the fifty million compensation? I knew it! Capitalists are all the same! Alec Denisof, you son of a bitch, if you dare to back out of this deal, I swear I’ll kill you! I was fuming, wanting nothing more than to storm in there and demand an explanation. But blowing up now wouldn’t do me any good. I took a deep breath, suppressed my anger, and quietly backed away, planning to retreat to my room and strategize. Just then, Alec moved. He slowly lifted his head, and our eyes met in the dim hallway. The look in his eyes was something I had never seen before… shattered. Yes, shattered. Like a broken mirror reflecting shock, pain, and a deep, self-mocking irony. He held up the agreement, his voice raw and hoarse. “Ava,” he asked, “these three years… has it all just been an act?” My heart sank. He knows? How could he know? He’s known the terms of the contract from the beginning, what’s different now? I forced myself to remain calm, my face quickly morphing into the familiar, innocent, and bewildered expression he knew so well. “Alec, what are you talking about? What act?” I cautiously pushed the door open and walked toward him, my eyes turning red on cue. “I… I don’t understand.” Alec watched me, watched me approach him step by step, watched the flawless performance on my face. And then, he let out a low, soft laugh. It was a laugh filled with endless sorrow and self-deprecation. He slammed the agreement down on the desk with a loud rustle. “You don’t understand?” he repeated, his eyes bloodshot, enunciating every word. “Ava, I’m asking you. Do you want to leave me that badly?” Of course! Did you think I’d stick around to be the stepping stone for you and your true love? To wait for you to discard me when you’re done? Three more months. Just three more months! I just have to endure it, and then freedom and money will be mine! I can’t screw this up now! While I gave myself a mental pep talk, my trembling voice delivered a heartfelt confession. “Alec, I don’t know why you’re suddenly saying this.” “I love you. Why would I ever want to leave you? Unless… unless you don’t want me anymore.” As I spoke, a single, perfectly timed tear rolled down my cheek. I expected my performance, like all the others over the past three years, to be met with his usual disgust and impatience. But this time was different. As my words hung in the air, the last glimmer of light in his eyes was completely extinguished.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394407”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A simple outpatient procedure. That’s all it took to kill my mother. My father, a leading expert in medical malpractice, personally handled the review. The official conclusion: my mother had secretly eaten before the operation, leading to fatal complications. The hospital and the lead surgeon were cleared of all responsibility. When he told me the results, my father’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling with self-reproach. “I’m to blame for this, too, Ava,” he’d choked out. “I should have watched her more closely before the surgery.” He added, “But the surgeon was my star pupil. Her skills are impeccable.” After the dust settled, I went to claim my mother’s body. What I received was a hollowed-out shell, most of her organs harvested. My father’s prized protégé, Lana Wells, produced an organ donation form, supposedly signed by my mother beforehand. I looked at the clumsy forgery and laughed. The next day, I started a global livestream. The title was: “Live Masterclass: Human Anatomy by a University Professor.” Except this time, the subject on the table was very much alive. It was my father’s star pupil, Lana Wells. 1 The broadcast, hosted by the youngest professor at the nation’s top medical university, went viral instantly. The viewer count skyrocketed past one hundred thousand. On the cold, gleaming steel of the dissection table, Lana Wells was strapped down like an animal for slaughter, stripped bare. Her wrists and ankles were bound, a thick cloth gagged her mouth. In stark contrast, I was dressed in full surgical attire, every professional instrument laid out, ready for a live dissection. Realization of what was about to happen dawned in her eyes. A terrified, muffled whimper escaped her throat. The livestream chat exploded as viewers understood they were watching a living person on the table. [Wait, WHAT?! Is she alive? This is straight-up murder!] [Alive? I thought I was seeing things!] [Look! She’s moving!] [This is horrific. I can’t watch.] A collective gasp went through the audience. The tension was palpable. But no one was more tense than Dr. Marcus Thorne, my father. Because the person I was about to dissect was his beloved protégé. On a screen in my lab, his face was projected, neck craned, his complexion a deep, panicked red. “Ava! What in God’s name are you doing?” he yelled. “Let Lana go, right now!” “I’ve already been through the official review! The surgery failed because your mother ate beforehand. The food aspirated into her lungs, and she suffocated. It had nothing to do with Lana!” I glanced up at his frantic face on the monitor and let out a cold, humorless laugh. “The daughter of a medical dynasty, forgetting the number one rule of pre-op? Don’t eat or drink?” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You underestimate her.” “Or,” I added, my eyes locking onto the camera, “do you just think I’m an idiot?” I picked up a scalpel from the tray, its edge catching the light with a sterile glint. I pressed the tip gently against Lana’s abdomen. The chat erupted in fury. [This isn’t a masterclass, it’s a vendetta! Your mom died in a surgical accident, the surgeon didn’t murder her! What gives you the right?!] [The medical review was conclusive. You’re just in denial, taking it out on the surgeon. Who the hell do you think you are!] [Dr. Thorne is a renowned expert! He reviewed his own wife’s case and admitted it was the patient’s fault. What more do you want?!] [Your mom died because she was stupid. Everyone knows you don’t eat before surgery. It’s common sense!] [Exactly. And a mother like that raised a professor at a top university? Who would ever trust a doctor taught by her?!] The internet mob was almost unanimously on his side, their digital pitchforks aimed squarely at me. I ignored them. Gripping the scalpel, I made a clean, decisive incision across Lana’s stomach. The wet, tearing sound of flesh parting filled the stream’s audio feed. The viewers lost their minds. [Call the cops! She’s killing her!] [Someone get a location trace on this stream! Now!] But their hopes faded quickly. My lab was in a remote, overseas location. Triangulating my position would involve a mountain of international red tape. Enough time, I thought, to take Lana apart piece by piece. As I pulled the incision open like a zipper, I leaned down, my voice a cold whisper in her ear. “Where did you start when you harvested my mother’s organs? The heart, was it? And the corneas last?” I smiled. “That’s no fun. Let’s do it in reverse.” I raised the scalpel, aiming for Lana’s eye. That’s when Marcus Thorne finally broke. “Wait!” he screamed. “Stop! I have something to say!” 2 The blade froze, a hair’s breadth from Lana’s tear-filled, terrified eye. On the screen, my father’s face was ashen, his breathing ragged. He swallowed hard, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. “Your mother… she ate before the surgery on purpose,” he stammered. “Because… because she didn’t want to live anymore.” “She had depression!” “She didn’t have the courage to end her own life, so she forced someone else’s hand!” His voice, now laced with a tearful, dramatic tremor, began a masterful performance for the hundred thousand viewers. “Ava, my dear, I never dared to tell you,” he sobbed, his words catching in his throat. “Your mother suffered from depression for years. Every day was agony for her…” “But I never, ever thought she would choose to end it all on the eve of her surgery.” His tears were perfectly timed, landing like emotional bombshells in the chat. [I’m actually crying. What a noble man. Dr. Thorne has been through so much for his wife and daughter.] [He’s one of the good ones. A hospital director, a top expert, and so devoted to his family. It’s a tragedy he was cursed with such a foolish wife and a deranged daughter.] [Am I the only one who doesn’t get it? If you want to die, just do it. Why drag the surgeon down with you?] [Seriously. That poor doctor had the worst luck in the world getting assigned to her case.] The flood of online sympathy for him threatened to drown me. But I just smiled. Holding Lana’s head steady, I made a swift, precise cut and removed her cornea. Blood sprayed across my face, a grotesque, crimson mask. The chat exploded again. [She’s a monster! Pure evil! She should be drawn and quartered!] [What is wrong with you?! Your mother is dead, why are you torturing someone else?!] [Oh my God, someone please save that poor doctor!] I casually tossed the cornea onto the floor and ground it into a pulp under my heel, just to be sure. On the screen, Marcus Thorne’s face had gone from ashen to the color of death. He shot up from his chair, slamming his fist on the desk. “AVA! YOU’RE INSANE!” “WHAT MORE DO I HAVE TO SAY TO MAKE YOU BELIEVE ME?!” “Let her go! LET HER GO!” Seeing their beloved Dr. Thorne so heartbroken sent his online cheerleaders into a frenzy. [If someone doesn’t stop this psycho, a brilliant talent that Dr. Thorne spent years mentoring will be lost forever.] [Such a waste. She was the star pupil of an expert! Destined to be one of the best in her field, and now she’s going to die at the hands of this maniac!] [Dr. Thorne must be in agony.] [Forget Dr. Thorne, I’m in agony watching this.] [You crazy bitch, let her go!] Their screams were useless. My scalpel wasn’t listening. Its tip drifted slowly toward Lana’s other eye. A low, sinister laugh rumbled in my chest. “Still not telling the truth, are we?” As my words faded, the pressure of the blade increased, about to pierce her other eye. “Ava!” Suddenly, a familiar voice, thick with anguish, cut through the chaos. I looked up. It was Mrs. Gable. The old housekeeper who had served my mother for decades. She was more of a grandmother to me than anyone. “Mrs. Gable?” I froze, the scalpel in my hand finally faltering. She rushed toward the camera on their end, her face stained with tears. In her hands, she held a pile of prescription bottles—antidepressants. She dumped them all out in front of the lens. “Ava, listen to me!” she cried. “Your father… he isn’t lying! Your mother was depressed. For a very long time.” 3 My hand, usually rock-steady with a blade, trembled uncontrollably. Beneath the tip of my scalpel, Lana sucked in a sharp, terrified breath as fat tears rolled from her remaining eye. I straightened up, my own eyes welling with tears. But I blinked them back, forcing the moisture away, my gaze hardening as I stared back at the camera. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “How much did he pay you? How much did it take for you to betray the woman you watched grow up?” “She was like your own daughter!” I slammed my hand on the instrument tray. “What happened to you?” Mrs. Gable’s face went pale. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Marcus seized the opportunity. “Ava, you have to accept reality!” he pleaded. “Mrs. Gable has shown you the proof! Why are you still so delusional?” I stared at the collection of pill bottles on the screen. They were pristine, unopened, some still in their pharmacy bags. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “The daughter of the Crawford medical dynasty, whose first lesson in life was to cherish it above all else,” I began, my voice rising with each word. “The woman who told me every single day, ‘As long as you’re alive, there’s hope. Never, ever give up on your life.’” “You expect me to believe a woman like that wanted to die?” As my fury peaked, my hand shot out. With surgical precision, I carved out Lana’s other cornea. Even with the gag, she let out a piercing, guttural scream. The dark, twisted heart in her chest hammered against her ribs as if trying to break free. The gruesome act sent the livestream into another meltdown. [She’s lost it! Completely insane! A medical genius is now blind because of this monster! This is unforgivable!] [How have they not found this psycho yet?! Somebody save Dr. Wells!] [SHE TOLD YOU YOUR MOM KILLED HERSELF! ARE YOU DEAF?!] [Do you have a persecution complex? Your mom committed suicide, and you just have to find someone to blame? If you can’t handle her death, go join her! Stop destroying other people’s lives!] As always, I ignored the digital noise, my eyes once again fixed on the screen, cold and menacing. “Dr. Thorne, if you don’t start telling the truth, her kidney is next.” “Can you really bear to watch your star pupil be dismantled, piece by piece?” I tilted my head, a predatory smile playing on my lips. Marcus Thorne clenched his jaw so hard the muscles in his face quivered. I kept smiling. “I’m starting the countdown.” “Ten. Nine. Eight…” His face grew even paler. “What is wrong with you! I’m telling you the truth!” “Five. Four. Three…” Panic flashed in his eyes. “I’ll say it again, let Lana go!” “Two. One…” I raised the scalpel, my gaze dropping to Lana’s exposed abdomen. “Ava!” A weathered, urgent voice echoed through the speakers. A voice that stopped my hand mid-air. “Professor Albright?” I whispered. “What are you doing here?” 4 Appearing on the screen was the face of a man I revered. He was the one who had taught me how to hold a scalpel, who had walked me through the intricate map of the human body, who had spent countless nights with me in the lab, pushing the boundaries of medicine. Seeing him awakened a soft, vulnerable part of me I thought was long dead. I slowly lowered the scalpel, my vision blurring with tears. “Ava!” he cried, his voice laced with pain. “Don’t do this! Please, don’t be impulsive!” “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! If you kill her, you’re not just ending her life—you’re destroying your own!” He was leaning so close to the camera it was as if he was trying to reach through the screen and stop me himself. My hand, still holding the bloody scalpel, felt impossibly heavy. My shoulders slumped. “Professor,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t have a career anymore.” “This dissection… this will be the last procedure I ever perform.” I looked up, my eyes meeting his through the lens, filled with an unstoppable, grim resolve. Seeing my expression, he slammed his fist on the table in frustration. “You foolish girl!” “Let me tell you the truth,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “I was part of the review team for your mother’s case. She really did die because she ate before the surgery!” “You’ve always trusted me more than anyone, Ava. When have I ever lied to you?” The viewers pounced on his words. [See! Even your own mentor is saying it!] [That’s the final nail in the coffin. You have nothing left to say, do you? Facts are facts, and you can’t change them no matter how much you kick and scream!] [Your mother was an ignorant psycho, and so are you!] [Eating before surgery. It’s an open-and-shut case! It’s her own damn fault she’s dead!] [Give it up already and let Dr. Wells go!] The tears in my eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling cold. I looked at the screen. “Professor,” I said softly. “Can I still trust you?” “Tell me, why are you lying for him? What does he have on you?” The chat went wild again. [Oh for God’s sake! Are you serious?!] [So Mrs. Gable was bribed, and your mentor is being blackmailed? You’ve watched way too many soap operas! You’re completely delusional!] [Have you been drinking the formaldehyde?!] I tightened my grip on the scalpel and leaned close to Lana’s ear. “Time to say goodbye to a kidney,” I whispered. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit. My mother got through it. So can you.” I straightened up with a smile and moved the blade toward her abdomen. Just as the tip was about to break the tissue, Professor Albright panicked. “Ava!” he yelled. “You don’t believe me? Fine! But you have to believe your mother, don’t you?!” “You’ll believe her own words, won’t you?!” My pupils contracted. My hand stopped. Professor Albright quickly pulled out his phone and played a video. On the screen, my mother, dressed in a hospital gown, was about to be taken into surgery. Her face was pale, but her eyes, looking into the camera, were as gentle as I remembered. “Ava,” she began, her voice soft. “My sweet baby girl.” “There’s something I’ve never told you…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394406”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The third year of our marriage, Austin came back. For the first time ever, Victoria didn’t eat dinner at home. She just grabbed her coat and left for the airport. She didn’t come home that night. I found Austin through Victoria’s Instagram follows. I refreshed the page. A new post had just gone up. [Finally back home. Surrounded by my love and my friends.] In the picture, Victoria was leaning into Austin, both of them smiling for the camera, flanked by people I recognized as her friends. I turned off my phone. I closed my eyes. And I closed my heart. 1 After work, I ate dinner out, then took a long walk along the riverfront before finally driving home. A light was on in the window. Victoria was back. I opened the door and stood in the foyer, changing my shoes. In a rare gesture, Victoria came over, took my coat and bag, and hung them on the rack. “Why are you so late tonight?” she asked. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I asked your assistant, and he said you left the office hours ago.” She hesitated. “Have you eaten? I made…” Doing these things, saying these words—that was usually my role. Tonight, she had taken my part. I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I’m tired. I have an early meeting tomorrow. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.” Walking past the living room, I saw the dining table was set with a full spread of dishes. There were even candles. What was this? A guilt-ridden attempt to make amends for spending last night with Austin? It was disgusting. I pushed open the guest room door without breaking stride. Victoria called out behind me. “Leo. What were you going to say last night?” I turned. The warm light cast soft, deceptively gentle shadows on her exquisite face. I had looked at that face for years and never grown tired of it. But the moment I saw it in that intimate photo with Austin, it had become unrecognizable. “I forgot.” I lowered my eyes and went into the bedroom. Lying in bed, my hand drifted to my chest. Last night, at dinner, I had been about to tell Victoria about my promotion and raise. But she took a call, dropped her fork, and grabbed her keys and coat, rushing out the door. “Something came up at the office,” was all she’d said. I sat at the table, waiting. I waited until the food grew cold and lost its color. Then a friend texted me. Austin’s back. On a strange impulse, I went to Victoria’s Instagram and opened her ‘following’ list. It was easy to find him. A minute ago, he had posted. [Finally back home. Surrounded by my love and my friends.] In the photo, he was pressed close to Victoria, both of them looking at the camera, surrounded by her closest friends. Friends who, in three years of marriage, Victoria had never once introduced to me. Whenever I’d tried to get to know her circle, she’d dismissed them as a “bad influence” and changed the subject. After a while, I stopped asking. I scrolled further back. I saw that for years, they had been in constant, intimate contact. The university he attended abroad? She had arranged it. The apartment he lived in? It was in her name. Even the steady stream of charges from high-end boutiques and five-star hotels on his European getaways—she had paid for it all. I never knew Victoria’s famous thoughtfulness could be so easily transferred to someone else. That night, I scraped everything from the dinner table into a garbage bag and took it outside for the stray cats. Click. The guest room door opened. I rolled over, shutting my eyes tight. The mattress dipped beside me. A chill ran down my spine as Victoria slipped under the covers. My body went rigid, my hands clenched into fists against my chest. A moment later, an arm snaked around my waist, and a warm body pressed against my back. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I shot upright, flicking on the bedside lamp. The sudden glare made Victoria squint. She sat up, her expression turning sour. 2 We grew up together in the same upscale neighborhood, Evergreen Hills. Our relationship felt inevitable. The summer after high school graduation, she confessed her feelings for me. It was more of a formality; we both knew where it was headed, and we fell into a relationship with ease. But that was also the year my mother brought home a boy a year younger than me—her illegitimate son. My father had been dead for less than six months. The woman I had known as a gentle, loving wife and mother was suddenly a monster wearing a familiar mask. We had a terrible fight. I told her this house wasn’t big enough for both of us. It was Austin or me. She just gave me a cold, hard look. “Do what you want.” I took the money my father had left me, packed a few changes of clothes, and walked out. I arranged for a dorm room at the university and never spoke to my family again. A year later, thanks to a hefty donation from my mother, Austin enrolled at my university. He was all smiles to my face, but behind my back, he played petty games, poisoning my relationships with friends and classmates. He even used my mother’s connections to squeeze me out of my position in the student government, then sauntered over to gloat about it. I never cared. Anything or anyone that could be so easily taken from me wasn’t worth having in the first place. And there was one person he could never take, no matter how hard he tried. Victoria. Austin pursued her relentlessly, even making a public declaration of his love for her. He befriended everyone in her circle just to keep tabs on her schedule, engineering “coincidental” run-ins at the library, the dining hall, the gym. He kept a gushing “secret love diary” on his blog, detailing every glance and word from Victoria as a sign of her hidden affection. He was a moth, desperately flinging himself at a flame that wanted nothing to do with him. Victoria complained to me constantly about his creepy behavior. She publicly told him to get lost, her face a mask of ice. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of him. But Austin was persistent, an unkillable cockroach. For three years of college, he was a constant, buzzing presence in our lives. I almost started to believe he was truly, deeply in love with her. Until he came to me one day and said, “It’s only a matter of time. She’ll fall for me, and she’ll betray you.” I scoffed at him. Anyone could see how much Victoria loved me. When I was living in the dorms, she rented an off-campus apartment for us. She wanted to have every meal with me. I loved the almond croissants from a little French patisserie downtown, but they always sold out before I could get there. So Victoria, a girl who had never known a day of hardship, would get up at the crack of dawn to stand in line for me. The pastry was still warm when she handed it to me. We both loved to travel, but I was lazy about planning. She handled everything—booking hotels, mapping out sights, buying tickets, packing our bags. All I had to do was follow her. … We had a lifetime of shared memories. I couldn’t imagine her ever betraying me. After graduation, Austin went abroad to study. I thought his chapter in our lives was finally over. But his social media told a different story. In the third year of his relentless pursuit, Victoria’s attitude toward him had changed. 3 I pulled back the curtains in the guest room. The night was dark and moonless, without a single star in the sky. Victoria sat on the bed in silence. Finally, her patience wore thin. A hint of irritation crept into her voice. “What is wrong with you?” That flicker of guilt she felt had bought me this much of her forbearance. It was a new record. As her company grew, so did her temper. It had been a long time since she had tried this hard to placate me. In the past, I would have given in by now, chalking it up to her being stressed from work. But now, I was done making allowances for anyone. I turned, leaning my back against the window. “Who were you with last night?” “I told you, I had a work emergency. Who else would I be with?” she snapped back. “When did you get so paranoid?” I just looked at her, my expression unreadable. I had always believed she was devoted to me, a woman of principle. I never questioned her travel schedule, always giving her the space she needed. But she had always volunteered the information, chattering excitedly as she had me pack her bags. Only now I knew that she had taken the suitcase I’d so carefully packed for her and boarded a flight to see Austin. A flash of guilt crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with a fresh wave of indignation. “Is this an interrogation? Do you need me to call my entire team in so you can check my story?” “No need. You can go now. I need to rest.” She wouldn’t admit it. After hiding it for so many years, she wasn’t about to let it all unravel so easily. And I didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. Her infidelity was a thorn in my heart, of course. All those years of love… the pain was real. But my rational mind told me it was better to know the truth now than to live in a lie. A clean break was the best path forward. Unable to stand my coldness, Victoria stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The confrontation left me wide awake. I opened my laptop to deal with some leftover work. When I graduated from college, my mother called, begging me to come home. She had been diagnosed with brain cancer and didn’t have much time left. When I got to the hospital, she was struggling just to get out of bed for a glass of water. She was skeletal. The housekeeper told me the company had been in trouble, and my mother had worked herself into the ground, collapsing in her office. By the time they got her to the hospital, it was too late. In the face of death, all my old resentments seemed to melt away. I started to remember the happy times from my childhood. How she would lift me onto her shoulders and play horsey. How she’d come home from work with strange and wonderful snacks in her briefcase. How, when I was older and she had more time, she would spend hours in the kitchen, making a rich, savory fish soup just for me. … She had wronged my father, but she had, in her own way, loved me very much. I took over the failing company. My life became a relentless cycle between the office and the hospital. And Austin, after going abroad, was never heard from again. 4 The next morning, I dressed and left the bedroom early, hoping to avoid Victoria. But my luck had run out. As I stepped out, she was placing a bowl of oatmeal on the dining table. It was as if last night’s fight had never happened. She smiled and waved me over for breakfast. Then, she walked toward me and pulled a small box from her pocket. Inside was a watch. Another custom piece from a master watchmaker. She’d given me one every year for the past three years. All to cover the long, pale scar that ran across my left wrist. It happened just before we got married. We were scouting a project in a remote mountain village. On the way back, the car’s brakes failed on a steep descent. We went careening down the slope, crashing into a large tree that stopped us from flipping into a ravine. The driver’s side took the full impact. Victoria was knocked unconscious instantly. My door was jammed shut. I had to use my tablet to smash the window and crawl out. Victoria was slumped over the steering wheel, her face covered in blood. Both our phones were smashed. I managed to drag her from the wreck, and in the process, a piece of torn metal from the car door sliced deep into my wrist, leaving the scar that was now a permanent part of me. The road was deserted. I had no choice but to carry her, to drag her, falling again and again, until we finally reached a main road where a passing driver called for an ambulance. I collapsed from exhaustion right there on the pavement. When I woke up, Victoria was by my hospital bed, her eyes bloodshot. Soon after we were discharged, she proposed. I had always been so confident in our love. It never occurred to me that her proposal wasn’t born from love, but from guilt. I took off the old watch. She instinctively reached out to put the new one on. I pulled my hand away, gently tracing the raised, uneven line of flesh on my wrist. “Don’t. I’m not wearing them anymore.” Her hand, holding the new watch, froze. “Why?” “I don’t like them.” Victoria was speechless. I had never liked wearing watches; they felt like shackles. I only wore them because she had gone to such great lengths to have them made. Now, there was no reason to wear one at all. I pressed the old watch back into her hand and went to the foyer to put on my coat. “Leo.” I turned back. Her expression was complicated, her words caught in her throat. “Maybe… I could pick you up from work today.” I rolled my eyes, opened the door, and left. 5 At the office, my assistant, Liam, was acting strangely, hovering around me nervously. It wasn’t until the elevator reached my floor that he finally stammered it out. “Mr. Hayes… Mr. Evans is waiting for you in your office.” Mr. Evans was a major shareholder in the company and a man my mother had trusted implicitly. Liam’s nervousness was out of place. Something else was going on. I nodded to show I understood and pushed open my office door. Mr. Evans was standing in front of my desk. And sitting in my chair—my chair—was Austin. A mocking smile played on his lips. “Brother. I’m back. Aren’t you going to welcome me?” “You didn’t even come back to see Mom before she died. What are you doing here now?” Austin picked up a framed photo of me from the desk, studied it for a moment, and then let it slip from his fingers. It shattered on the floor. He walked over to me, his eyes glinting with malice. “Oh, I wanted to come back. But Mom told me not to, unless Mr. Evans called for me.” Mr. Evans smiled kindly and gestured for me to sit on the sofa. As if I were the visitor. “Leo,” he began, “before she passed, your mother entrusted me with her will. She instructed me to wait until the company was back on stable ground before making it public.” “Now that the company is thriving, the time has come. You and Austin are her only sons. In consideration of Austin not being with her for most of his life, your mother decided that he will inherit the company. You will inherit the family home and 5% of the company’s shares.” The heat was on in the office, but a chill crept up my spine. My body felt the pain and betrayal before my mind could even process it. I watched Mr. Evans’s mouth move, but the words were a dull roar in my ears. I mechanically took the will. The handwriting was hers. From somewhere, Austin produced a small audio recorder, his eyes filled with venom as he pressed play. My mother’s voice, weak but clear, filled the room. “The company is in bad shape. You stay abroad and focus on your studies. Don’t come back. Your Uncle Evans will wire money to your account. When your brother has rebuilt the company, he will call you back at the right time to take over. If the company fails… then you definitely shouldn’t come back. As long as you stay away, the debts won’t find you. The money I’ve left you will be enough to last a lifetime.” “Mom is gone now. You have to learn to take care of yourself. Find someone who will truly love you.” Before she died, my mother had gripped my hand and told me the company was her and my father’s life’s work. She made me promise to bring it back from the brink of death. I promised her I would. For that promise, I had hustled for clients, begged for investments, worked myself to the bone. I had humbled myself at endless dinners, navigated a world of sharks and sycophants. I had worked until I ended up in the emergency room, answering emails with an IV drip in my arm. … After countless sleepless nights, I had dragged the company back from the abyss. And now, they were telling me that everything I had fought for was nothing but a joke. So much for the idea that people’s final words are always true. I fled to the restroom and stood there for a long time, waiting for my hands to stop shaking. When I returned to the office, I was completely calm. “I want the 5% of shares liquidated at today’s market value and transferred to my account. Along with all the salary, bonuses, and dividends I am owed for the past several years. I want it done immediately.” Austin looked at me, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. This was not the breakdown he had been hoping for. Mr. Evans hesitated. “That’s not possible today. It has to go through the proper channels.” “You have one hour,” I said, my voice level. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want any… reputation-damaging stories about the company to appear online, would you?” I had rebuilt this company with my own two hands. I knew its every strength and every weakness. If I wanted to, I could send it spiraling back to where it was years ago. I wouldn’t do it—too many good people’s livelihoods depended on it. But they didn’t know that. They couldn’t take that risk. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mr. Evans called an employee into the office. An hour later, a string of transaction notifications lit up my phone. I picked up my bag and walked to the door. An annoying voice called out from behind me. “Leo. Victoria will be mine, too.” I turned and looked at his triumphant face. In that moment, he just looked pathetic. Desperately trying to prove his worth, to feel like he existed. It was the mark of a profoundly insecure man. I smiled, my voice laced with indifference. “Whatever.” The color drained from his face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394405”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Returning from a business trip, I scored a lucky upgrade to first class with my points. I had barely settled in when a man in a sharp suit pointed a finger right in my face and told me to get the hell out and go to economy. He claimed he’d been sitting in this exact seat for five years, that it was practically his, and as far as he was concerned, my ticket was worthless. If I didn’t move, he’d have me thrown off the plane. His arrogance was breathtaking. A flight attendant hurried over, trying to placate me. “Mr. Place is one of our Platinum Elite members. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind…?” I stood my ground. On what planet was my ticket worthless? Just then, the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Will the passenger in seat 1A please come to the cockpit immediately.” 1 Every head in the cabin swiveled to look at me. Mr. Place and the deceptively sweet-looking woman clinging to his arm exchanged triumphant smirks. The flight attendant let out a sigh of relief and gestured for me to go. “Ma’am, the captain would like to see you.” Her tone practically screamed, The party’s over for you. I took a deep breath, stood up, and followed her toward the front of the plane. Mr. Place’s taunting voice followed me down the aisle. “Why are you even wasting time talking to her? Just have security drag her off.” He scoffed. “Do you have any idea how much money I lose for every minute you waste?” My steps faltered. I turned and shot him a look of pure ice. The cockpit door opened. The captain and co-pilot sat inside, their expressions grim. “Ma’am, hello.” The captain pointed to an empty jump seat. “Please, sit.” I sat, cutting straight to the chase. “Captain, my seat is 1A. My ticket is legal and valid.” The captain nodded, his face unreadable. “We’re aware of that. However, Mr. Place is one of our most valued VIP clients.” “The revenue he generates for this airline annually is thousands of times the price of your ticket.” “Furthermore,” he continued, “he has made it explicitly clear that if he cannot sit in 1A today, he will immediately terminate all of his contracts with our company.” I almost laughed out of sheer disbelief. “So? So you’re going to sacrifice the legitimate rights of an ordinary passenger to appease your corporate god?” “Is this the official philosophy of your airline?” The co-pilot frowned, his voice edged with impatience. “Ma’am, we’re not negotiating with you.” “Right now, this entire flight is being held up because of you. You are wasting every other passenger’s time.” “You have two options,” he said, holding up two fingers. “One, you accept our compensation package and voluntarily move to an economy seat.” “Two, we will be forced to remove you from the flight for ‘causing a disturbance.’” I stared at them, incredulous. “Causing a disturbance? Me?” “That man is the one throwing a tantrum, and you’re pinning the blame on me?” The captain sighed, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “Ma’am, we’re just employees trying to do our jobs. Please try to understand.” “Mr. Place is a very powerful man. We can’t afford to cross him.” “How about this,” he offered. “We’ll refund you three times the price of your ticket and add fifty thousand miles to your account. How does that sound?” “That’s the most generous offer we can make.” Looking at his supposedly “sincere” face made my stomach turn. I took out my phone and, right in front of them, turned on the voice recorder. “Let me be clear. I am not changing seats, and I am not getting off this plane.” “If you attempt to remove me illegally, I will release this recording, along with a full account of everything that has happened today, to the public.” My voice was low and steady. “Then we’ll see what’s more important: your VIP client, or your company’s reputation.” The captain’s face turned to stone. The co-pilot shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Are you threatening us?” I met his glare without flinching. “I am simply defending my rights.” The cockpit fell into a dead silence. After a few tense seconds, the captain waved his hand, signaling the co-pilot to sit down. He stared at me for a long time, so long I thought he was about to call security. Finally, he picked up the intercom, his voice cold as steel. “Inform Mr. Place to return to his assigned seat. We are preparing for takeoff.” The weight in my chest finally lifted. When I walked out of the cockpit, Mr. Place and his companion were standing in the aisle, waiting to gloat. The sight of me walking out, calm and composed, wiped the smug looks right off their faces. A flight attendant scurried over, bowing and scraping to Mr. Place. “Mr. Place, I’m so sorry, but the captain said… could you please return to your seat for now.” His face was a thundercloud. He glared at me, his eyes burning with a look that could skin a person alive. “Fine. You win,” he hissed, the words squeezed through his clenched teeth. “But you just wait.” He spun around and slammed himself into seat 1B. The plane finally took off. I thought that was the end of it. I had no idea it was only the beginning. After we landed, I went to baggage claim. I waited by the carousel for a full hour, watching as every other passenger retrieved their luggage. My own silver suitcase, however, never appeared. My stomach dropped. A terrible feeling washed over me. 2 I immediately went to the baggage claim office. A staff member typed on his computer for what felt like an eternity before looking up with an apologetic expression. “Ma’am, the system shows that your luggage was not on this flight.” Panic flared in my chest. “That’s impossible! I watched the agent check it in at the counter myself!” “I still have the claim tag right here!” I handed him my ticket and the tag. He double-checked, his brow furrowing. “That’s strange. There’s no record of this bag being scanned into the system.” “It’s as if… it never even made it onto the plane.” My mind reeled. I remembered Mr. Place’s parting words: But you just wait. Could he…? “I need to see the security footage,” I demanded, my voice sharp. “I want to see all the surveillance video from the check-in counter and the baggage sorting area for my flight!” The staffer looked uncomfortable. “Ma’am, we don’t have the authority to access the footage from the sorting area.” “We can file a request for the check-in counter footage, but it will take time.” “How much time?” “If you’re lucky, a day or two. If not… maybe three to five days.” I was shaking with rage. My suitcase didn’t just contain clothes; it held all the crucial documents and samples for my business meeting. If it was lost, the damages would be catastrophic. Just as I was about to lose it, the last person I wanted to see appeared in the distance. It was Mr. Place and the woman, whose name I now knew was Vivian. They weren’t just passing by; Vivian’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before her face arranged itself into a mask of innocence. “Joanna, darling, what a coincidence! Did you just land too?” she cooed, her fake smile suggesting the unpleasantness on the plane had never happened. I gave her the silent treatment. She didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes fell to my empty hands, and she covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my, Joanna, where’s your luggage?” “Don’t tell me it’s lost! That’s just awful. It’s so inconvenient to be without your things when you’re traveling.” Her little act fueled my fury. “Did you and Place have something to do with this?” Vivian’s eyes flickered. “Darling, whatever are you talking about? I don’t understand.” “Mr. Place is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time to worry about a little squabble on an airplane.” She paused, her tone shifting to one of casual bragging. “Marcus is here to close a nine-figure deal with a titan of the industry.” “He has no time to waste on petty matters.” I stared daggers at her. “It had better be that way.” Vivian smiled, then leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “A little friendly advice, Joanna. Don’t waste your energy.” “If Marcus doesn’t want you to find something, you’ll never find it.” She straightened up. “Sometimes, a person just has to learn what’s good for them. Otherwise, you might lose more than just your luggage.” With a wink, she sashayed back to Mr. Place’s side. He wrapped an arm around her waist, shot me a look of pure contempt and mockery, and they swept away. I stood frozen, ice spreading through my veins. Anger, humiliation, and helplessness washed over me in a suffocating wave. I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling as I dialed the airline’s customer service number. Come hell or high water, I was going to get answers. 3 The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. In the calmest voice I could manage, I recounted the entire story, from the confrontation over the seat to my missing luggage. The customer service agent’s voice was sweet and scripted. “Okay, Ms. Hayes, we’ve logged all the information you’ve provided.” “Regarding the seating issue, our records show the captain resolved it for you on board.” “As for your luggage, we will launch an immediate investigation. Please keep your line open.” “How long will the investigation take?” I pressed. “Well… we can’t give you a precise timeline at the moment, but we will contact you as soon as we have any news.” What followed was an endless, maddening wait. One day. Two days. Three. The airline’s call never came. It was as if my complaint had been dropped into a black hole. Every day I went to the baggage office at the airport, and every day the answer was the same: “It’s still under investigation.” When I demanded to see the security footage, they gave me a carousel of excuses. “The technician in charge of surveillance is on vacation.” “The system is down for maintenance.” “It appears the footage from that day has been overwritten.” I knew they were stonewalling me. In their eyes, the whims of a top-tier VIP client were far more important than justice for an ordinary passenger. What I had lost wasn’t just a suitcase; it was my dignity, ground into the dirt by their indifference. I was exhausted and stressed. The deadline for my project was fast approaching, and without my documents and samples, I was dead in the water. Just as I was about to give up hope, I received a call from an unknown number. “Hello, is this Ms. Hayes?” a low, feminine voice asked. “This is she. Who’s calling?” The woman on the other end chuckled. “Who I am isn’t important. What’s important is that I know where your luggage is.” My heart leaped. I sat up straight. “Did Mr. Place put you up to this?” “Marcus is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time for you,” the voice purred, dripping with a sickening mix of triumph and pity. “It’s me. Vivian.” “Joanna, darling. Your things? I have them right here.” My hand tightened around the phone. “What do you want?” “Oh, nothing much,” Vivian said, her tone growing playful. “I just feel so sorry for you, I thought I’d show you a way out of this mess.” “Tonight. Eight o’clock. The Grand Hyatt, Presidential Suite, room 8888.” “Marcus will be waiting for you.” “You come over, get on your knees in front of us, and apologize. Properly. Three times, head to the floor.” “If you’re sincere enough, maybe Marcus will be in a good mood and give you your things back.” “In your dreams!” I was shaking with fury. “I’m calling the police! This is extortion! It’s theft!” Vivian burst out laughing as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “The police? Go ahead. Call them. What proof do you have?” “Do you have any evidence that we took your bag?” “Don’t be a fool, Joanna. In this world, without proof, your words are just noise.” Her voice turned sharp. “And one more reminder. Those documents of yours… they seem pretty important, don’t they? It would be a shame if they were to get… damaged. Or worse, leaked. Can your company afford that kind of loss?” It was a naked threat. Shameless, vile, and despicable. “Oh, and one more thing,” Vivian added. “Come alone.” “If you try any tricks, you’ll regret it.” She hung up. I stood there, gripping my phone so tightly I thought it might shatter. Rage and humiliation were two venomous snakes, gnawing away at my sanity. Should I go? If I went, it would be a complete debasement. If I didn’t, my job, my entire career, could be ruined. I paced the room, my mind a chaotic storm. I unlocked my phone, intending to call someone, anyone, but the screen was still on the call history. And looking at the unknown number, my heart suddenly stopped.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394404”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1. Three in the morning. The widow next door was banging on my door, saying her son had a fever and she needed to borrow some medicine. My husband, Thomas, a doctor who’d just fallen asleep after a grueling late shift, was up and out the door in an instant. He didn’t come back for half an hour. “It’s not easy for Jenna, raising a kid on her own,” he said, shrugging off his coat. “The fever’s finally broken, thank God.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed, a familiar wave of weariness washing over his face. “I know you don’t like me getting close to other women, Claire, but this was a life-or-death situation. It’s my duty.” Normally, I would have nodded and said I understood. But not tonight. Instead, I spoke with a calm that felt foreign even to me. “I want a divorce.” … Thomas’s hands froze, the motion of taking off his jacket halting mid-air. His face was a mask of exhaustion. But just as quickly, he smoothed his features, stepping forward to pull me into his arms. “What, are you jealous? C’mon, all my energy goes into my work and into you. There’s no room for anyone else.” He held me, his voice a low, placating rumble. “You can be mad at me, but don’t say things that hurt, okay? You know better than that.” It was a gentle scolding, the kind you’d give a petulant child. There was a time I found that tone intoxicatingly charming. Tonight, it just made my skin crawl. I pushed him away, a flicker of disgust in my heart. “I’m not being petulant.” “I’m serious about the divorce.” His eyes locked onto mine, a response forming on his lips before dissolving into another sigh. The living room fell silent, the only sound the soft cadence of our breathing. Finally, he broke the stillness, taking my hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “Claire, I know I’ve been distant lately, but work has been insane. And your birthday… I didn’t mean to forget. Your gift is already on its way.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Once this crazy stretch is over, I’ll take you on that trip we talked about, just the two of us. Get away from it all. Okay? You know I was on my feet for almost twenty hours today, right? Be good. No more of this…” His eyes were shot with red, a testament to his fatigue—and, I supposed, to the wound I had just inflicted. He was making perfect sense. By all accounts, pushing this further would make me seem unreasonable, ungrateful even. But I pulled my hand away, my voice laced with a scorn that surprised us both. “Thomas, I said I want a divorce. Are you deaf, or just stupid?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet room. “Monday is in two days. I expect you to take the day off. We’ll meet at the courthouse. You will…” Before I could finish, a dark flush crept up his neck. With a frustrated roar, he threw his coat to the floor. It knocked over a crystal glass on the entryway table, which shattered on the hardwood. Shattered. Just like us. The crash seemed to sober him. The anger in his eyes was replaced by a deep, aching disappointment, but he held on to his patience by a thread. “Claire, this isn’t you. Even if you were serious about this, there has to be a reason, right?” His voice cracked. “It can’t be because I gave Jenna our Tylenol, can it? A high fever in a kid can cause seizures. It can be fatal. I’m a doctor. Was I supposed to just let him die?” His words struck a nerve. A tremor ran through me, and my hands clenched into tight fists. “Yes, that’s exactly why!” I spat, the hatred in my eyes so raw it felt like I was staring at a crime scene. “A man and a woman, alone in a room in the middle of the night. You disgust me.” The fight, now raw and loud, had woken the neighbors. And among them was Jenna. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked utterly lost. Before I could process it, she dropped to her knees in front of me. “Claire, please… did I cause a misunderstanding by asking for medicine so late?” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “There’s nothing going on between me and Thomas. It was just… it was too late to get a cab, and I knew Thomas was a doctor, so I thought you might have something…” Two other neighbors emerged from their apartments, drawn by the drama. Their whispers quickly turned into open condemnation. “Look at her. So pretty on the outside, but her heart is pure poison.” “He’s a doctor, for God’s sake! He was saving a life. What kind of person gets jealous over that?” “Dr. Hayes must have done something terrible in a past life to end up with a wife like you!” The chorus of accusations washed over me. I lowered my head, a shield against their glares, but inside, a cold, bitter laugh was echoing. 2. The growing crowd and escalating noise prompted someone to call building management, and the small mob dispersed. Thomas grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, and pulled me back inside. “Claire, you were just joking, right?” he pressed, his eyes searching mine, desperate. “Those things you said… you didn’t mean them. I’ve given medicine to neighbors before. You’ve never been like this. I don’t believe you would…” His whining grated on my ears. I cut him off, not with words, but with the sharp crack of my palm against his cheek. “If your head’s not right, go get it checked,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Don’t come barking at my door.” “And I’ll see you at the courthouse on Monday. Don’t make this any uglier than it has to be.” Without another word, I turned and slammed the bedroom door in his face. It was the first time I had ever left him so utterly stripped of his dignity, with no way to save face. Even his legendary patience had its limits. I heard him kick the door, a muffled thud of frustration. “Claire, there’s a line, and you’ve crossed it! This is insane!” he roared from the other side. “I’m not agreeing to a divorce. So you can forget about it!” Then, the sound of the front door slamming shut. The violent noise echoed through the apartment, but inside me, there was only silence. A profound, unprecedented calm. Was it finally ending? I didn’t waste any time. I packed a small bag with my essentials and started searching for a divorce lawyer online. I didn’t sleep a wink. As dawn broke, the apartment was empty. Thomas was gone, but on the coffee table sat a bouquet of flowers. It was his signature move. For years, every fight we had ended this way. He’d buy me flowers, cook my favorite meal, and we’d wordlessly agree to move on. But this time was different. This time, I was done. I picked up the beautifully wrapped bouquet and noticed something odd. It was supposed to be nine roses, but there were only eight. I didn’t have to wonder where the missing one had gone. After tossing them in the trash, I headed for the door, but my foot caught on something jutting out from under the edge of the rug, making me stumble. I bent down and picked it up. It was a tube of lipstick—the newest, not-yet-released shade from Dior. My friend, a beauty influencer, had been raving about it for weeks. My job was conservative; I hadn’t worn a color that bold in years. But Jenna, I recalled, loved bright red lipstick. … Just then, my phone rang. It was one of Thomas’s colleagues from the hospital. “Claire, you need to get down to the hospital, now,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “Thomas’s had some kind of sudden allergic reaction. He’s in bad shape. We need a family member to sign off on the procedure.” His parents lived hours away; they’d never make it in time. I drove to the hospital. But when I arrived, standing before a crowd of his worried colleagues, I played my hand. My only one. “I’ll sign,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “as soon as he signs the divorce papers.” The room went silent. Then, it exploded. One of our mutual friends, his face contorted in disbelief, called me a heartless bitch. “Don’t you get it? The only reason he was testing that new trial drug was to get a few extra vacation days approved to take you on that trip! And this is how you repay him? Are you even human?” “We all see how he worships you,” another chimed in. “Whatever this is about, can’t you just talk it through? Why blow everything up like this?” “Pull yourself together, Claire. We heard about last night. Thomas did the right thing. It’s his job to save people, and that kid’s life was on the line. You can’t divorce him over something like that!” From the hospital bed, Thomas watched me, his eyes filled with a bottomless despair. “Claire… I don’t want a divorce,” he rasped, his voice weak. “I’ll be more considerate of your feelings. I promise. Please… don’t do this.” He struggled to sit up, reaching a trembling hand out to me, his eyes welling with tears. It was a performance that would have melted any heart. But I remained rooted to the spot, unmoved, my voice as cold as ice. “Sign the divorce agreement and the asset division forms, and I’ll sign the surgical consent.” The room erupted again, the insults flying like poisoned darts. “You monster! He could die, and all you can think about is money?” “It’s true what they say, isn’t it? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Why isn’t it you in that bed?” But through the cacophony of their rage, I heard another sound. A small, almost imperceptible noise from behind the partition curtain of Thomas’s cubicle. As every eye in the room fixed on me, I strode forward and, with one swift motion, ripped the curtain aside. 3. Jenna gasped, clearly not expecting to be discovered. She scrambled to compose herself, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Claire, don’t get the wrong idea! After the fever broke last night, I was still worried, so I brought him to the ER for a proper check-up.” She gestured around the crowded room. “They’re swamped, there are no private rooms. They’re just putting patients wherever they can fit them. I had no idea Thomas was in the same cubicle.” “I know you don’t like me,” she finished, her voice laced with false sincerity. “As soon as my son wakes up, I’ll ask a nurse to move us. I won’t cause any more trouble for you two.” Just as she’d said, a small boy was asleep in the adjacent bed, his cheeks flushed. Jenna’s performance was flawless—the concerned mother, the considerate neighbor, the innocent bystander. Before I could even speak, Thomas jumped to her defense. “Jenna, the boy needs his rest. Don’t trouble yourself. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear. We both know we’re innocent…” Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. It all felt so pointless. The scathing words I had prepared died on my tongue. I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You’re right. You’ve done nothing wrong…” My voice dripped with a loathing so thick it was almost tangible. “I just find you filthy. And that’s why I want a divorce.” The color drained from Thomas’s face. He stared at me, his expression a mask of profound disappointment. “Claire, how long are you going to drag out this petty nonsense?” he pleaded. “All I did was give a sick child a box of Tylenol…” His voice rose, cracking with desperation and rage. “Is this because you can’t have children of your own? Is that it? You can’t stand to see anyone else with a healthy kid?” He’d gone too far. The words, flung in the heat of the moment, hung in the air like poison. A friend standing nearby shoved him hard. “Thomas, what the hell is wrong with you? That’s too much.” Realization dawned on his face. He looked at my hands, which were shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes filled with regret. “Claire… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up…” Five years ago, Thomas made a rookie mistake during surgery. A premature baby didn’t survive. The father, broken by grief, came to the hospital with a knife, looking for revenge. I had just arrived to bring Thomas his dinner. In the ensuing chaos, Thomas grabbed me and used me as a shield. A long paring knife pierced my abdomen. The baby I had been carrying for three months was gone. My uterus was so severely damaged that I could never have children again. Afterward, Thomas had knelt by my hospital bed, slapping his own face until it was bruised, his body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. “Claire, it’s all my fault. I’m a monster. How could I…” he’d choked out between tears. “I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. We don’t need kids. I only need you.” Now, those words were nothing but a bitter joke. My silence seemed to terrify him more than any outburst. He ripped the IV needle from his arm, ignoring the protests of the nurses, and stumbled toward me. He collapsed at my feet, his voice a desperate plea. “Claire… it was a slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean it… Please, I’m begging you, don’t divorce me. I can’t imagine my life without you. What would be the point?” For a fleeting moment, I was transported back five years, to that hospital room. The scene was almost identical. The only difference was me. My face was a mask of ice. I kicked him squarely in the chest. “Get off me.” “And don’t ever call me that again. It makes me sick.” “Sign the divorce papers, or don’t. I have a thousand ways to ruin your life. Go ahead and test me.” With that, I turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance. Halfway down the hall, I stripped off the jacket he had touched and threw it in a biohazard bin. As I stepped out of the hospital, I heard someone call my name. It was Lily, a new friend from my apartment building.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394403”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband Mark and I have a blended family with my daughter Lily and his daughter Daisy. Just before school began, my stepdaughter’s interview “The Pain of a Broken Home” went viral. When Daisy moved in, I tried to make her feel welcome—moving Lily’s desk to the living room so Daisy could use the larger one in the spare room, buying her two sets of school supplies in her favorite colors like Lily’s, and ignoring my daughter’s complaints. A week before school, a news crew filmed a “Youth Development” piece. Daisy eagerly joined. On camera, she said tearfully, “I have to study in the spare room because my stepmom says the living room is for my sister. She gets new supplies—I’m told mine are fine.” When it aired, #EvilStepmother exploded. We were doxxed; strangers gathered outside shouting insults. Lily was bullied at school. Once, while picking up Daisy, a crowd shoved me down the stairs. Hurt, I heard Daisy whisper, “Sorry, Sophie… they were defending me.” I opened my eyes and was back to when Mark dropped Daisy’s suitcase in the entryway. He was usually meticulous, but neglectful with his own daughter. As Daisy bent to change shoes, I saw the calculating look in her eyes and smiled slowly. So this was the “pain of a broken home” you meant? Fine. This time, I’ll let you learn what it truly feels like to suffocate. 1 In the entryway, my husband Mark tossed Daisy’s suitcase on the floor and turned to me with a warm smile. “I passed by the market and picked up some grapes, your favorite. Where’s Lily? Tell her to come have some.” Daisy stood frozen by the door, clutching the hem of her shirt, her small frame curled in on itself. In my last life, that pitiful act was all it took to fool me. She was just a child, I’d thought. Her parents’ divorce was hard enough; she shouldn’t have to bear the weight of adult resentments. So I had rushed over, setting her suitcase upright and carrying it inside for her. Worried she’d feel uncomfortable being around us all the time, I moved Lily’s desk out of the spare room and into the living room, giving Daisy the bigger, better space. Even when Lily pouted that I was playing favorites, I had just smiled and soothed her, “Her sister just got here, sweetie. We have to take good care of her.” I bought two sets of stationery in Daisy’s favorite lavender. I gave her Lily’s nightlight. I woke up early to make her a special lunch for school. Mark had even teased me, “You care more about Daisy than you do your own daughter.” And what did I get for it? In that interview, she’d looked into the camera with red-rimmed eyes and lied. “Every day after school, I have to hide in a tiny corner of the spare room to do my homework. My stepmom always says the living room is my sister’s special place, and that I’d be rude to go in there.” “And the school supplies… she tells me to make do with my old things, but my sister gets to go to school with brand new stuff. And then she accuses me of being jealous and trying to compete with her.” “All I want is a few new pens and a decent place to study. Is that really too much to ask? I just don’t understand why she treats me so differently.” The trending hashtag, #ThePainOfABrokenHome, had crushed me. Strangers at my door, my daughter ostracized at school. I was pushed down a flight of stairs and left to die, and Daisy never showed a shred of remorse. A chill ran down my spine. I looked at Daisy now, but the familiar pang of pity in my heart was gone. Mark brought out the grapes and called for the girls. Lily came bouncing out and asked, “Isn’t my sister having any?” Daisy looked up at me, her eyes pleading, expecting me to pull her over like I always did. I didn’t move. Mark peeled a grape and fed it to me. Lily pointed at the fallen suitcase. “Daddy, Daisy’s suitcase fell over.” “She can pick it up herself. She’s old enough to handle something that simple, isn’t she?” Mark went back to peeling grapes for me, completely ignoring Daisy’s humiliation. In my past life, I always tried to make up for Mark’s coldness toward her, thinking of us as a team. In the end, I, the one with no blood ties to her, became the one who owed her everything. Daisy’s shoulders slumped, her eyes turning red. I finally spoke, my voice flat. “Listen to your father. He’s just trying to teach you to be responsible.” Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Mark paused, then chuckled and ruffled my hair. “See? You get me. She needs to learn to do things for herself.” I watched Daisy struggle to right the heavy suitcase, her knuckles white. This time, I wouldn’t pay for her sob story. My only job was to protect myself and Lily. “Daddy, more grapes, please,” Lily chirped, pulling me back to the present. I took a grape from Mark and gave it to her, the warmth returning to my eyes. 2 Daisy finally got the suitcase up, her fingers leaving red marks on the handle. She probably never expected me, the always-smiling stepmom, to watch her struggle, and she certainly never expected her own father to tell her to do it herself. I ignored her, leading Lily into the living room and deliberately raising my voice. “Lily, we’re going shopping for school supplies tomorrow. What color do you want? Pink or blue? Mommy will get you the newest imported binders.” Lily’s eyes lit up. “Pink! And I want the highlighters with the little strawberries on them!” “You got it,” I said, smiling as I stroked her hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daisy’s shoulders slump even further. She was still frozen in the entryway. Last time, I had specifically asked for her favorite color and bought two lavender sets of everything, right down to the matching pencil cases. And in return, she told her friends, “My stepmom only buys the good stuff for her real daughter. I just get the leftovers.” This time, I wasn’t going to waste my energy on such a thankless task. If she wanted something, I wasn’t the person she should be asking. Mark finished his grapes and wiped his hands, finally remembering his daughter. “Daisy, your room is the guest room. Go get yourself unpacked. Oh, and about your school supplies—have your mother get them for you. I’ve been so busy lately, I forgot to ask her about it.” The words were like a needle, and Daisy’s head shot up. Her mother had moved out of state after the divorce and hadn’t called once, let alone sent money for child support. Mark knew this perfectly well, but he deliberately pushed the responsibility onto her. I pretended not to notice her discomfort and added, “That’s right. Your mother dotes on you. I’m sure she’ll get you the very best.” Daisy’s lips parted as if to say something, but she swallowed the words. She gripped the handle of her suitcase and slowly trudged to the guest room, closing the door so softly it was almost silent. But I heard it. It wasn’t the sound of sorrow. It was the sound of simmering resentment. The next afternoon, Lily and I returned from the stationery store. As we walked in, we saw Daisy sitting on the sofa, clutching a worn-out pencil case, her eyes red and puffy. Mark sat beside her, looking annoyed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, placing Lily’s new pencil case on the coffee table. The pink strawberry pattern was bright and cheerful. Mark didn’t answer, but Daisy spoke up, her voice thick with tears. “Sophie… my mom said… she said she doesn’t have any money right now and told me to just use my old supplies from last year. But they’re almost all used up, and I need to take notes for my classes…” She looked at me as she spoke, that familiar, pleading look in her eyes. This time, I said nothing. Mark cut her off with a frown. “What’s wrong with old supplies? When I was in school, I wrote on the back of the page when the front was full. When a pen ran out of ink, I just replaced the cartridge. It didn’t stop me from getting into college.” Daisy stared at him, stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected her own father to say something like that. Her mouth opened, tears trembling on her lashes. “But Dad… the teachers specifically said we need new notebooks for the new semester…” “The teachers can say whatever they want. You know our financial situation, don’t you?” Mark’s tone grew colder. “If your mother says she doesn’t have the money, then you’ll have to make do. She’s already skipping out on child support; the least she can do is buy you some damn school supplies.” At his words, the color drained from Daisy’s face. Her mother didn’t want anything to do with her anymore; of course she wouldn’t send money for notebooks. But Daisy couldn’t say that out loud. Admitting it would be admitting she’d been abandoned. She gripped the old pencil case tighter, tears shimmering in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Lily looked from Daisy to me and whispered, “Mommy, I have two highlighters. Should I give one to my sister?” I squeezed Lily’s cheek and shook my head with a smile. “Mommy bought your school supplies with her own money, not from the family savings. If your sister wants new things, she can either ask your dad to buy them, or she can ask her mom for the money.” Daisy shot up from the sofa, grabbed her old pencil case, and stormed into the guest room, slamming the door behind her. I stared at the closed door, my expression calm. She always talked about the pain of a broken home, but I was never the source of that pain. It was her mother who abandoned her and her father who pretended not to notice. Why should I rush in to take the blame, only to be branded an evil stepmother without so much as a thank you? 3 Three days before the start of school, there was a parent-teacher conference. Mark claimed he had a work emergency and asked me to go. I agreed, but not before calling the teacher and explaining that Mark was primarily responsible for Daisy’s education, and that he should be the first point of contact for any issues. When I arrived at the classroom and sat in Lily’s seat, I overheard two parents whispering nearby. “See her? That’s Daisy’s stepmom. I heard her parents are divorced and she lives with her dad now.” “Yeah, I saw her dad bring her shopping the other day. I’ve never seen her mom around.” I said nothing. I knew the truth. No matter how much good I did, in their eyes, I would always be the villain. And her actual parents, the ones who neglected her, could hide in the shadows, completely blameless. Halfway through the meeting, the teacher made an announcement. “After the semester begins, the school is organizing a trip to visit some elite universities on the East Coast. The students will get to tour the campuses and attend lectures by top professors. It’s an incredible opportunity for their academic growth. The fee is five thousand dollars per student, and we need confirmation and payment today. Spots are limited, so please decide quickly.” After the conference, I was walking out of the classroom when Daisy ran up and blocked my path. “Sophie,” she began, her head bowed. “The fee for the trip… My mom said she doesn’t have the money and told me to ask you…” Her voice was small, but it held a hint of certainty. She was sure I’d give in. I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I pulled out my phone, dialed Mark, and put him on speaker. “Honey, the teacher just announced a university tour that costs five thousand dollars per person. Daisy says her mom won’t pay. What should we do?” There was a pause on the other end, and then Mark’s voice turned cold. “Tell her to talk to her mother herself! She’s not paying child support, and now she can’t even cough up the money for a school trip?” His voice grew louder. “Either her mom transfers the money today, or she doesn’t go. I’m not going to foot the bill for everything and do her mother’s job for her.” As his voice echoed from the phone, the color drained from Daisy’s face. She clutched the hem of her shirt, and a tear finally rolled down her cheek. “Dad… Mom really doesn’t have the money… and the teacher said it’s due today…” “Then she needs to figure it out!” Mark snapped. “If you can’t even handle something like this, how are you going to get through college? Solve your own problems, Daisy. Stop expecting other people to do it for you!” With that, Mark hung up. Daisy stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. I put my phone away, my voice neutral. “You heard your father. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but things are really tight for us right now. Between tuition for both of you and the mortgage last month, there’s not much left. I honestly don’t have five thousand dollars for this trip. You should really try calling your mom again, or maybe talk to your dad when he’s in a better mood.” Her head shot up, her eyes filled with shock and betrayal. “Sophie, can’t you just help me this one time? Just once…” “Help you?” I looked at her, my gaze steady. In my last life, I helped her with everything. I moved her desk, bought her supplies, paid her fees. I made sure she had everything Lily had, and more. I worried about her teenage pride, coddled her, tiptoed around her feelings so she would never feel left out. And what was my reward? She called me a monster on television. Strangers screamed at me in the street. My daughter lost her mother. “Daisy, don’t look at me like that. There is truly nothing I can do. You need to talk to your parents. Don’t stand here bothering me. I have my own daughter to raise.” Daisy froze, and her tears abruptly stopped. 4 It was probably the first time anyone had ever laid her parents’ indifference out so plainly before her. I didn’t look at her again. I turned and walked toward the school gate. Behind me, Daisy remained rooted to the spot, clutching her empty, worn-out pencil case like an abandoned child. I knew this was only the beginning. In this life, I would make her see with her own two eyes who was truly responsible for the pain of her broken home. Who was it that made her beg for a new pen or a clean notebook? It wasn’t me, her evil stepmother. It was her own parents, the ones who did nothing but shift the blame. She had hated the wrong person. And she had taken her revenge on the wrong person. When I got home, Lily was at the living room desk, happily unpacking her new stationery. The pink and white binder was open, and she had used a strawberry-scented highlighter to draw a wobbly smiley face on a piece of paper. Seeing me, she held up the pen. “Mommy, this pen writes in a sweet color!” I walked over and stroked her hair. I noticed the guest room door was slightly ajar, but there was no sound from within. Daisy was probably still stewing over the trip fee. Or perhaps she was staring at her old pencil case, plotting her next sob story. That evening, Mark came home on time for once, bringing a new toy car for Lily. Daisy sat across the dinner table, pushing rice around her bowl, her eyes darting toward the toy every few seconds. Last time, seeing that look, I would have made Lily share. This time, I didn’t say a word. Mark acted as if he didn’t even see his own daughter’s disappointment. He was too busy putting food on Lily’s plate. “It’s the weekend tomorrow. How about Daddy takes you to the amusement park?” Lily cheered. Daisy suddenly put down her chopsticks, her voice laced with a carefully concealed bitterness. “Dad, school starts the day after tomorrow, and the strap on my backpack is broken. Can you…” Before she could finish, Mark frowned. “If it’s broken, sew it yourself. The backpack I used in school lasted three years. I patched it up five times and it worked just fine. If you really don’t want to use it, ask your mom for a new one. Surely she can afford to buy you a backpack?” There it was again. That same refrain. Daisy’s face flushed a deep red, her knuckles white as she gripped her chopsticks. She couldn’t understand why her father, who had always been at least civil to her, had suddenly changed, deflecting every request back to the mother who had long since vanished from her life. I kept my head down, sipping my soup, pretending not to see the hatred brewing in her eyes. She was pitiable, yes. But my daughter deserved to have her mother. I would not sacrifice Lily’s well-being for Daisy’s sake ever again. Her pain was for the people who caused it to bear. But Daisy clearly didn’t see it that way. She suddenly slammed her chopsticks on the table, her eyes burning with pure hatred as she stared at me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re the one who turned my dad against me, who told him not to pay for my trip! I’m going to the media! I’ll expose you for child abuse and see how you can show your face in public then!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394402”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In my wildest years, I was reckless and wild. I made the mistake of sleeping with mob boss Rocco Kane—never expecting his obsession would grow so dark. When I became pregnant, he locked me away. I overheard him say: “Once the baby is born, she’s useless. With an heir, we can take the Ashworth empire.” Fury consumed me. That night, I stabbed him in the eye. Enraged, he broke my legs repeatedly to prevent my escape, yet kept doctors close to protect the baby. So I cut open my own pregnant belly. “You’re asking to die,” he snarled, carrying me out. I smiled, twisting the knife toward his other eye. “No. We die together.” Rocco wrenched my arm with brutal force. The knife missed his eye, plunging deep into his left shoulder instead. Blood bloomed across his crisp white shirt, spilling onto the floor in a growing crimson pool. “Nora, are you fucking insane?” he roared, his free hand clamping around my throat like a vice. The ruined socket of his blinded eye was a terrifying void. I stared back at him, gasping for air, but a cold smile touched my lips. “I’ve always been a psycho. Is this the first you’re hearing of it?” Panic for the baby must have finally broken through his rage, because he let go. He threw me to the floor. My legs, already broken and reset so many times, were useless. I struggled to push myself up, a pathetic, futile gesture. Still, I wasn’t afraid to spit venom. “Rocco, I will never, ever give birth to this child.” “Get her!” Rocco cursed, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he barked orders at his bodyguards. “The baby in her belly cannot be harmed. If anything happens to it, you’ll all be eating lead!” As his men dragged me away, Rocco shot me a chilling smile. “Nora,” he purred, his hand, impossibly gentle, caressing my face. “Remember this. As long as I’m here, you won’t die. And there is only one future for that baby in your womb—” He leaned in closer. “It will be born.” I was thrown back into my gilded cage. The sprawling villa was decorated like a princess’s fairytale, all pinks and golds. A cruel joke, considering I was a prisoner who couldn’t even move. Several private doctors tended to the gash on my stomach, bandaging it with practiced efficiency. “Mr. Kane,” the butler’s voice drifted in from outside my window. “Miss Ashworth’s baby is fine. Just a little shaken, but there are no serious issues.” I could almost feel Rocco’s relief. He doubled my guard, posting ten more men around the villa. Every day, he had the finest food and drink sent to my room. Every sharp object was confiscated; not even a butter knife remained. “Miss Ashworth, the Master has already promised to marry you,” the butler said one day, sighing with a look of genuine confusion. “You only need to deliver the child safely, and you can live a life of luxury. Why are you so determined to throw it all away?” I didn’t answer. I just laughed, a cold, empty sound. “That sham of a wedding? He’s not marrying me. He’s just putting on a show.” The butler tried to reason with me again, but I silenced him with a single glare. Everyone in Rocco’s mansion thought I was a lunatic. They learned to keep their distance, afraid my madness was contagious. After a week confined to my bed, I noticed a new, curious face peeking in through my window. A young girl in a frilly princess dress. “So you’re Nora Ashworth?” she asked, her nose wrinkled in a sneer. “You’re not even that pretty. Do you really think my brother Rocco would look at you if it weren’t for your Ashworth blood?” She tossed her hair back. “And that wedding? Don’t even dream about it. To my brother, you’re nothing but a cheap incubator.” My eyes locked onto her. She was so clean, so delicate. So fragile. My interest was piqued. I’d heard the rumors—that Rocco kept a sweet, innocent young thing hidden away like a treasure. A girl named Clara, his adopted sister. And, more importantly, the one who had saved his life six years ago. A wicked idea began to form. Rocco had destroyed me. What kind of look would cross his face if I killed his precious little Clara? A cruel smile spread across my face. It seemed a new prey had just walked into my trap. I beckoned to her with a single finger. “Come here. I have something for you.” That evening, after having his shoulder patched up, Rocco finally graced me with his presence. “Nora, since you’ve heard the truth, I won’t hide it anymore,” he said, his voice flat. “Be a good girl, have this baby, and I’ll have your legs properly set. I’ll even let you go.” He sneered, tossing a check onto the bed. It was for fifty million dollars. “Consider it payment for your services.” His gaze raked over me, cold and devoid of any emotion. “For a slut like you, that’s enough to keep you in boy toys for a lifetime.” I laughed from my wheelchair. “And if I say no? Rocco, why should I accept your terms? Don’t forget, I’m the one carrying what you want. You should be begging me.” My voice hardened. “I’ll be the one making the demands. You’ll be the one deciding whether to accept.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, turning to leave. But then, I smiled softly. “Rocco, you call yourself a mob boss? You’ve already lost one eye. How can you still be so naive?” He froze, turning back to me with a flicker of confusion. “What do you mean?” I clapped my hands lightly and pointed toward a massive construction crane in the distance. “You hid that little girl so well, didn’t you? Terrified one of your enemies would find her.” My smile turned sharp as a razor’s edge. “Rocco, now it’s my turn to offer you a deal.” I held up two fingers. “You have a choice. The baby in my womb…” My gaze flickered toward the crane. “…or your precious little sister.” The color drained from Rocco’s face. He whipped his head around, his eyes following my gesture. Suspended high in the air, dangling from the crane’s hook, was a small figure in a white dress. Her hands and feet were bound, and muffled sobs echoed from the gag in her mouth. “Rocco, help me!” Clara’s terrified cry was faint but clear. “She’s a monster!” A thick vein pulsed on Rocco’s forehead. His eyes, burning with a murderous fury, locked onto mine. “Let her go.” “And if I don’t?” I shot back, a crazed light dancing in my eyes. “Rocco, don’t make me repeat myself. Her, or the baby. Choose.” He just stared at me, his face a mask of conflict. I knew what he was weighing. The child, his heir, the key to the Ashworth empire… against the girl he’d sworn to protect. I knew six months ago that a mob boss’s bed wasn’t an easy place to climb out of. The night I got drunk and tore off his clothes, he was so receptive because he’d already done his homework on me. He wanted the Ashworth fortune, and he wanted an heir to secure it. He laid the trap, and I walked right in. But there was one thing he never knew. I would have a child with any man in the world, but not him. Never him. “Have you made up your mind?” I asked, my voice dripping with impatience. He gritted his teeth, his voice a raw, broken whisper. “Nora… do you really want to get rid of my child that badly?” “I do,” I replied, my eyes lazily lifting to meet his. “You have fifteen seconds to decide. Save Clara, or let me walk away from this.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you hesitate… that rope on the crane is going to be cut…” I made a sharp, downward motion with my hand, my smile widening into a cruel grin. “And then… splat.” “You’ll be scraping your little sister off the pavement.” “I choose… Clara!” Rocco’s eyes squeezed shut in despair as he finally made his choice. A satisfied smile spread across my face. “I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “It’s been eighteen seconds.” “What are you doing?!” His eye flew open, widening in horror just as a sickening snap echoed from the direction of the crane. Clara’s scream tore through the air, cut short by a heavy thud. “What a shame. You were just a second too slow,” I murmured, admiring my fingernails as if nothing had happened. Rocco stumbled, his body swaying. When he finally regained his senses, he sprinted toward the crumpled figure on the ground. Clara lay in a heap, her head bleeding profusely, the pristine white of her dress stained a brilliant, horrifying red. “Doctor! Get the private doctor, now!” Rocco roared, gathering her limp body into his arms with a desperate tenderness. “NORA!” He spun to face me, his gaze pure, undiluted hatred. “You bitch! I made my choice! Why did you still have to hurt her?!” He held Clara tighter. “You leave family out of this! If you hate me, come after me!” Seeing the raw anguish in his eye, the utter devastation, brought a savage pleasure to my heart. “Oh?” I said softly. “Is that what you were thinking three years ago… when you murdered Leo Kane?” The words hung in the air. The blood drained from Rocco’s face, leaving it a waxy, pale canvas. “How… how do you know that name? What are you to my brother?” “If you hadn’t killed him,” I said, my voice cold as the grave, “I’d be your sister-in-law by now.” I lifted my gaze, meeting his shattered one. “Rocco. He died the night before he was going to propose to me.” I’d known for a long time. Rocco had murdered his own twin brother. Leo was supposed to join my family, to leave the criminal world behind. I was so close to wearing his ring. But Rocco took him from me, leaving a void that could never be filled. So I crafted a new persona for myself—the reckless, wild party girl—all to get close to the man who killed my love. Rocco’s eye was bloodshot, his arms still cradling the unconscious Clara. He let out a harsh, grating laugh. “So that’s what it was. I always thought the timing of you falling into my bed was suspicious. This was all for revenge?” He sneered. “Nora, you’re so naive. A failure like Leo could never have run the Kane family. He was weak.” He took a step closer, a twisted smile on his lips. “Besides, we have the same face. And now you’re carrying my child. Why not just marry me? It’s perfect, isn’t it?” The sharp crack of my hand across his face echoed in the silence. He turned his head slowly, a bloody hand coming up to touch his cheek. “No woman has ever hit me before,” he said, his voice like shattering ice. “You’re the first.” He looked up, his good eye burning with cold fire. “Since your hands can’t behave… I’ll have them broken.” He stood, holding Clara, and started to walk away. He paused by the bodyguards who had betrayed him. “These traitors… break them, too.” But the bodyguards didn’t move an inch. They stood like statues, their eyes fixed on me, waiting for my command. Rocco was careless. So utterly arrogant. He assumed these men were his. He assumed this whole world was his to command. “Miss Sinclair,” a man I knew as Mr. Sterling said, stepping forward respectfully. “That boy has caused you enough trouble. Shall we show him a fraction of our power, so he understands his place?” I was calmly trimming a bonsai tree. “Not yet.” I smiled to myself. “Rocco… the show is just getting started.” Everything he took from Leo three years ago… I would make him give it all back, piece by painful piece. “The child,” I said, my voice flat. “Get rid of it.” Just before they wheeled me into the operating room, Mr. Sterling hesitated. “Miss Sinclair, are you certain? If he finds out the child is gone, he might do something… drastic.” My smile deepened. “Are you afraid of him?” I looked at him, my voice steady. “Mr. Sterling, with the power of the Sinclair family, ten men like Rocco Kane would be nothing.” My gaze drifted to a photograph of Leo on the nightstand. “If he didn’t have Leo’s face,” I whispered, “he wouldn’t still be breathing.” “Yes, miss.” Mr. Sterling said no more and signaled for the surgery to begin. When I opened my eyes again, a heart-wrenching roar echoed from outside my room. “Nora! How could you?” “Without my permission, how dare you get rid of my child?!” Rocco’s screams were a grating annoyance. The procedure had left me feeling lighter, my face pale and drawn, but I still managed a weak smile for him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be at your precious Clara’s bedside?” I taunted. “I guess her injuries weren’t that serious if you still have time to stand here and shriek at me.” Rocco looked like he was about to explode. He had believed I was helpless here, a lamb for the slaughter. “Nora, why are these men listening to you?” he demanded, his eyes darting between me and the guards. “Who the hell are you?” I idly twisted the simple band on my ring finger. “You’ll find out soon enough.” His gaze fell to the ring, and he stiffened. “Is that… the ring Leo was going to give you?” “No. And yes.” Leo had died before he could place the real ring on my finger. So I had an exact replica made. A symbol of a promise I had accepted in my heart. “What do you have against Clara?” he pressed, his voice strained. “Even if you hate me, you should have come after me. She’s just my sister! It wouldn’t have stopped me from marrying you!” He took a shaky breath. “And… you agreed to marry me, didn’t you? I have the same face as Leo. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?” I reached out, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, a face I had once loved more than life itself. “Yes,” I whispered. “It’s identical.” My voice was soft, almost longing. “If it weren’t for your harsh voice, I could almost believe you were him.” But I knew. My Leo would never have treated me this way. He was pure, he would never have become a monster. He would never have kept a fragile white flower like Clara locked away. And he would never have left my bed in the middle of the night, only to sneak into Clara’s room, his breath catching as he watched her sleep, his desire a palpable thing in the dark. He would never have a cold, dead void where one of his eyes should be.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394401”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My buddy asked me once, after you cheat, do you still have feelings for your wife? I had to really think about it. How do you explain it? It’s not like there’s nothing there. After all, for the longest time, we were family. But if you ask if I’m still deeply in love with her… then no, that’s gone. I thought I’d finally figured out the true nature of marriage. Until one day, on a crowded street, I saw her laughing with another man. 1 I was on the balcony, slowly letting a smoke ring dissolve into the cold air, just about to answer Cole’s question when my phone buzzed. It was my wife, Yara. “What’s up, honey?” I kept my voice warm and gentle. She giggled before she even spoke. “Haha, Sean, when are you coming home? Gizmo learned how to do a backflip! You have to see it!” I smiled back into the phone. “Alright, I’ll be home soon. You in the mood for some of those caramel-glazed chestnuts from downtown? I can swing by and grab some.” “Yes, please!” “So, what’s the vibe for tonight? Starfall Dynasty or Midnight Bloom?” We hung up in a fit of cheerful laughter. When I turned back, Cole was staring at me, a blank, dazed look on his face. I just smirked. I wasn’t surprised. He’d just clawed his way through a brutal divorce battle with his wife over his mistress. The whole ordeal had skinned him alive, and now they were mortal enemies. And then there was me and Yara. The picture of a perfect couple, sickeningly sweet. Four years of marriage hadn’t led to the usual boredom; if anything, we seemed stronger, more deeply connected than ever. The truth is, I’d always been good to her. But after I started cheating, I became even better. By anyone’s standards, she was an enviably happy woman, living a charmed life. Cole nudged me with his chin. “Hey, you still haven’t answered my question.” I shook my head with a sigh, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “Let me put it this way,” I said. “When you touch your own hand, do you feel anything?” “Feel what? It’s just my hand.” I took a long drag, my eyes narrowing at the snow-dusted skyline in the distance. “That’s how it is with Yara now,” I said slowly. “Touching her is like touching my own hand. But if that hand got hurt… I’d feel the pain just as sharply.” Cole blinked. “And that’s your excuse for being with Celeste?” I shot him a serious, warning look. “Celeste is a proud woman. Don’t you ever, ever say something like that in front of her.” 2 I don’t think of myself as some kind of monster. Even though I slept with Celeste while I was married. Some things in this world… they just don’t go the way you plan. A year ago, at our high school reunion, I ran into Celeste—the girl I’d secretly worshipped from afar all those years ago. The moment I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Celeste I remembered was radiant, untouchable. From a wealthy family, top of her class. For a guy like me, still wrestling with the awkward, insecure shadows of adolescence, she was a goddess, an impossible dream. But the woman I saw that day had been completely reshaped by life. She looked worn-down, gaunt, and haunted. The lines around her eyes and mouth were drawn tight, a permanent defense etched by years of hardship and struggle. An ache bloomed in my chest. It was like watching the moon you once prayed to fall from the heavens, crashing into the dirty, mundane world. Its light was gone, its surface covered in dust. As the reunion wound down, everyone was gathered around my new car. Celeste murmured, “That must’ve cost, what, sixty, seventy thousand?” Someone next to her scoffed. “Are you kidding? That’s a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car. Sean’s a regional director now, he’s made it. This isn’t high school anymore.” A flush crept up her neck, and she pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. “It’s not that much, don’t listen to them,” I said quickly. She glanced at me, her face a rigid mask, then turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye. As the crowd buzzed with chatter, I pieced together the story of her lost years. Her family’s business went bankrupt while she was in college, their fortune vanishing overnight. After graduation, she married the wrong man—a violent drunk. During one of their fights, he ended up dead. She sold everything she had to cover legal fees and restitution, but still ended up in prison. Now divorced, she was raising their four-year-old son, Leo, alone in a cramped rental, scraping by selling insurance policies. “She never used to come to these things,” someone commented. “Guess she was hoping to drum up some business. Nothing wrong with trying to make a living, but with that attitude, who’s going to bother?” Two weeks later, Celeste called me out of the blue, asking if I needed a commercial insurance plan. Yara, who works in the bancassurance division at her bank, had already set me up with full coverage years ago. I could hear the disappointment in Celeste’s voice, so I passed along a few of my friends’ numbers. To thank me, she invited me to dinner. I accepted. Not long after, her son came down with a high fever during a blizzard. She couldn’t get a cab and called me in a panic. Naturally, I dropped everything to help. After that, it became a casual thing. She’d cook something nice and have me over. Her son, Leo, started calling me “Uncle Sean,” clinging to my leg whenever I was about to leave. One night, a heavy snowstorm rolled in, and I was stuck at her place. We’d both had a couple of glasses of wine. After Leo was asleep, she got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later, she called my name. I walked in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a sheer, revealing nightgown, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked up at me. She bit her lip. “Sean,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t have any other way to thank you. If you don’t mind… this is all I have to offer.” I was so flustered I turned to leave, stammering, “Celeste, I… I never expected you to… repay me. We’re old friends. It’s what friends do.” A low, melancholic sigh came from behind me. “I remember in class,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow, “you used to pretend you were sleeping, but you were always watching me. I know. I know I’m not what I used to be.” “If you’re worried about anything,” she continued, her voice gaining a desperate edge, “don’t be. I’m never getting married again. I would never, ever destroy your family. I just want… this. Right now.” The snow swirled furiously outside the window, a world away from the charged silence of the room. Suddenly, I turned around and lunged for her. 3 I got home late that night. As I pulled up to our building, I saw a small, bundled-up figure standing in the snow, peering down the street. It was Yara. When she saw my car, she let out a visible sigh of relief and came jogging towards me, her steps clumsy in the deep snow, a huge grin on her face. “Sean! Any later and you would’ve come home to a wife-sicle!” I had a lot of work events, so she never questioned where I’d been. She just unwound her own scarf, wrapped it snugly around my neck, and beamed. “Considering you made it home in one piece through this blizzard, I, your magnanimous ruler, will forgive you for not answering your phone.” That night, the bitter cold masked the stiffness of my body and the frozen expression on my face. … I adapted quickly to this new rhythm in my life. Celeste had a flexible schedule, and I often spent my afternoons visiting our various branch locations, so my absence from the office wasn’t unusual. We had plenty of time and places to meet. Even with her changed circumstances, Celeste carried herself with an air of pride, at least around me. Or maybe she just knew that was the version of her I was obsessed with. It reminded me of how she used to be. Cole, my best friend and old classmate, didn’t get it. “Look, Celeste was a knockout back in the day, I get it,” he’d said. “But now? She can’t hold a candle to Yara.” He didn’t understand. They say you spend your whole life chasing the one thing you couldn’t have as a kid. Celeste was that impossible thing. And now, she was beneath me. The thought filled me with an intoxicating, almost primal satisfaction every time we were together. She refused to take my money, saying it made her feel cheap. So, I found other ways to help. I referred friends and colleagues who needed insurance. I used her phone number to prepay for services at various stores. I’d pass on expensive gifts I received from clients. No matter how you looked at it, Celeste’s presence in my life felt like the ultimate testament to my success. I was a man who had it all. I never considered divorce. Yara and I were a perfect match. Our home was my sanctuary—a happy, stable life that I cherished. Being with her was easy; she was cheerful and easily contented. Around her, I felt relaxed, confident, alive. Besides, I’d made a promise at her mother’s deathbed. I swore I would always love her, always be good to her. And for years, I had been. As for the pain my affair could cause her? I’d thought it all through. She would only suffer if she knew. If she never found out, then there was no actual harm done, was there? If anything, life would be better for her. I was already providing for her every material and emotional need. Now, weighed down by a sliver of guilt, I was doubling my efforts, treating her better than ever before. And it was working. Our relationship was stronger now than it had ever been. 4 Every year on my birthday, Yara took the day off. She’d start her preparations in the morning, driving ten miles to the city’s best seafood market for the freshest ingredients. She’d spend the entire day washing, chopping, simmering, and frying, all in anticipation of the lavish feast that would be waiting for me when I got home from work. And I’d do my part, clearing my schedule to get home early. We’d finish the last bits of cooking together, laughing and talking before settling in for our celebratory dinner. But this year, Celeste called. “Can I be the one to celebrate your birthday with you?” she asked. I hesitated for two seconds, then said yes. For the past six months, Celeste had been true to her word. She hadn’t made a single unreasonable demand. In fact, after each of our trysts, she would meticulously check my clothes, my skin, making sure there were no stray hairs, no lingering scent of her perfume. I figured she must be feeling sidelined. It was understandable. Yara and I had every day together. A lifetime of days. We could celebrate countless birthdays. Missing one wouldn’t matter. I called Yara, telling her I had a last-minute dinner with some city officials and would be home late. Over the sound of sizzling oil, she asked, “Okay, what time do you think you’ll be back?” I thought for a moment. “Around seven.” “Got it!” Seven seemed reasonable. But that day, the moment I stepped into Celeste’s apartment, she was on me, kissing me with a fierce, desperate hunger. She’d sent Leo to a friend’s house and was wearing a provocative, see-through dress. She was bolder, wilder than I’d ever seen her. In bed, it was like she was trying to devour me whole. She used every trick she knew, pushing us both to the limit, again and again. When I finally drifted back to consciousness from a heavy, sated sleep, I glanced at my phone. It was already 11 PM. A jolt of panic shot through me, and I scrambled to get dressed. Celeste suddenly wrapped herself around me from behind, nipping my shoulder gently. Her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you this long today.” Her vulnerability made me feel guilty all over again. I finished dressing and soothed her. “In a little while, I’ll take you away for a few days. Just us. We’ll be like a real husband and wife. You can call me your husband, and I’ll do anything you want.” She laughed through her tears. “You and your silver tongue.” On the drive home, I assumed Yara would already be in bed. She was a creature of habit: asleep by eleven, up by seven, every single day. But when I walked in, I found her slumped over the dining table, fast asleep. The table was a feast, covered with elaborate dishes, fresh flowers, and a birthday cake. I checked my reflection in the entryway mirror to make sure there were no tell-tale signs, then walked over and gently shook her awake. Yara looked up at me, her eyes bleary with sleep. It took her a second to register who I was, and then her face split into a wide grin. “Honey, happy birthday!” My lips thinned. “Why were you sleeping out here?” She yawned. “Well, you said you’d be home at seven, and it’s your birthday, so of course I was going to wait for you. But I didn’t want to bother you while you were with city officials… I guess I just dozed off.” “You haven’t eaten?” The question came out sharper than I intended. “I tasted so much while I was cooking, I’m not even hungry,” she said with a cheerful wave of her hand. Looking at her, a strange, baseless anger surged inside me. “Are you crazy?” I snapped. “If I’m not home by this time, it obviously means I’ve already eaten out! Why wouldn’t you just eat by yourself?” Yara froze, her smile faltering. After a few seconds, she asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” I instantly realized how I sounded. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m just… tired today. I’m going to bed.” I fled to the bedroom like a coward. As I lay in bed, trying to make sense of my own bizarre emotions, I heard a rustle behind me. A warm body pressed against my back. “Honey, I’m sorry,” Yara whispered. “I know you were just worried about me going hungry. I promise next time, I’ll eat when I’m supposed to. Did something bad happen at your dinner tonight? Do you want to do something… fun… to take your mind off it?” This was our little ritual. If one of us was down, stressed out from work, or just in a bad mood, the other would initiate. It was a small, tender comfort we offered each other. I knew my anger was completely out of line, and her gentle gesture was the olive branch I needed. I started to turn towards her. But maybe it was exhaustion from my time with Celeste, or maybe it was something else entirely. I just… couldn’t perform. Nothing was happening. The more I tried, the more anxious I got, and the worse it became. “Let’s just sleep,” I muttered, my voice tight with frustration. Yara, thinking I was still sulking, started playfully tickling me. Something in me snapped. I let out a low growl. “Stop it! For God’s sake, have some dignity!” Yara’s hand froze mid-air. In the dim light of the bedroom, her eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me. 5 Yara was angry. The next morning, she left for work without a word. In all the years I’d known her, I could barely remember a time she’d been truly angry. We met six years ago at a charity event. I was captivated by the easy grace and confidence she projected while speaking on stage. I pursued her relentlessly. The more I got to know her, the more I discovered. She and her mother had faced incredible hardship, but Yara had cultivated a spirit of pure sunshine. Optimistic, generous, forgiving, and content with the simple things. She was almost always happy. To her, life’s obstacles were just “mini-bosses you have to beat before you can level up.” Sprained her ankle? “Guess the universe is telling me to take a break. Better listen!” Purse got stolen? “Awesome! Now I have an excuse to buy a new one!” I grew up in a tense, stifling household. Even after achieving some professional success, I was wound tight, always on edge. Being with her taught me how to finally unwind. How to appreciate a flower, how to watch the clouds drift by. How to accept myself. I bought a massive bouquet and went to pick her up from the bank, much to the amusement of her colleagues. When she saw me, she walked over, her lips pressed together, saying nothing. I theatrically slapped my own face. “It’s this stupid mouth’s fault! It deserves a beating! Honey, you want to take a swing?” She didn’t move. I made a grand gesture of getting down on one knee, which finally made her rush forward to stop me. A snort of laughter escaped her. “Fine. I’ll add it to your tab.” “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me!” I grinned. She was quiet for a second, then looked at me, her expression serious. “Sean. This is a one-time thing. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded like a bobblehead, and finally, her smile returned. The incident was quickly forgotten. Life went back to normal. A few days later, a massive blizzard hit the city, and the temperature plummeted. My chronic pharyngitis flared up. Yara announced she’d managed to get an appointment with a renowned traditional medicine specialist, famous for treating persistent throat issues. She was going to pick up my prescription the next day. The clinic was far, she said, and asked if I could drive her. I hesitated. Celeste’s son, Leo, had slipped on the ice and twisted his ankle. With the snow making travel impossible, I’d been driving them to and from his school and appointments. “If you’re busy, it’s fine. I can just get a cab,” Yara said breezily. I seized the opening. “That’s probably for the best. I have an important meeting tomorrow that’s going to take up the whole day.” The next day, I picked up Celeste and Leo. She mentioned he had a physical therapy session at a specialist’s clinic. The snow had started falling again, thick and heavy. When I pulled up to the clinic, a small, unassuming building, I was surprised to see a long line of people snaking out the door. I parked the car and was about to get out when I saw her. Near the back of the line stood Yara. She was bundled up in her thickest coat, her neck buried in her scarf, blowing on her hands to keep them warm. A fine layer of snow dusted her hair and shoulders. She’d clearly been standing out there for a long time. Celeste froze. “What is she doing here?” she whispered. My brow furrowed. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The alley was too narrow to turn around easily. “Don’t get out yet,” I said, thinking fast. “The sound of the door will make her look over, and she might recognize the car. Let’s wait until she’s inside.” Celeste bit her lip, silent. After a moment, she murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, “I’m just taking my son to the doctor. Why do I feel like I’m sneaking around?” I didn’t answer. I just sat there in the heated car, watching Yara shiver in the biting wind. She always hated the cold. At this rate, it would be another forty minutes before she got inside. Half an hour later, Celeste’s patience wore out. “If we wait any longer, we’re going to miss his appointment.” And then, she opened the car door and got out, holding Leo. Thump. The sound of the door closing echoed in the quiet alley. Instinctively, Yara turned her head, her gaze sweeping towards the sound. Her eyes landed first on Celeste, then slowly drifted to the car. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, which was red with cold. The next second, our eyes met. Hers and mine. A silent, staring match through the windshield of my car. And in that frozen moment, everything shattered.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394400”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel