This year marked my fifth anniversary with Poppy. One evening, while using her laptop in the study, I stumbled upon a document titled “Proposal_Plan.docx.” I opened it. The title inside read in bold letters: “May 20th Proposal Plan.” I froze for a second. Poppy had always turned down my own proposals. Was it because she wanted to be the one to ask? In that instant, a wave of sweetness and anticipation washed over me. On May 20th, I kept checking my phone, my heart pounding with excitement for Poppy’s message. But it was a colleague’s shriek that shattered my fantasy. “Poppy is proposing in the garden! The company garden!” I didn’t wait to hear more. I just ran. When I finally reached the garden, breathless and dizzy, the scene before me stopped my heart. Poppy was on one knee, holding a ring, looking up with adoration at another man. My fists clenched at my sides, but I didn’t rush forward. I didn’t demand an explanation. After a moment of deafening silence, I slowly pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I sent a text to my father. “Dad, about that marriage arrangement you mentioned… I’m in.” 1 My father called the second he got my message. He let out a long sigh, then chuckled. “Finally! I’ve been trying to talk you into this for ages, son. I was starting to lose hope.” His voice was warm with relief. “You’re my only son, Bob. Of course, I want you to marry a woman from a family of equal standing. I don’t care who you date, but marriage… marriage is a serious matter. It’s a family decision.” “I know, Dad,” I managed to say. My gaze drifted back to the couple in the garden, now locked in a kiss. A single, hot tear traced a path down my cheek. The people around them were cheering, the air thick with joy and celebration. It felt like I was standing under my own private storm cloud. “What’s all that noise?” my father asked. “When are you free? We need to arrange a dinner with the Sterling family.” “This Saturday,” I said, my voice flat. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket. Perhaps the intensity of my stare finally broke through her bliss, because Poppy turned her head and her eyes met mine. Shock flickered across her face. She hadn’t expected to see me here, to see me witness this. She quickly looked away, leading the man back to a seat at a decorated table. The garden, the enormous cake, the champagne, the crowd of friends… Five years. We had been together for five years, and she had never once formally introduced me to her friends. Yet here they all were, every single one of the close girlfriends from her graduation photo, witnessing her happiness. One of them stood, raising a glass. “I knew it! I always said you two were meant for each other. I’ve been waiting years to toast at your wedding!” Poppy had kept our relationship a secret. Even her best friends didn’t know I existed. But this man… they all knew him. The sun was shining, but a bitter chill seeped into my bones. Wiping my tears, I turned and walked away from the garden, away from the place that had just broken my heart. I thought I was the star of her proposal plan. Turns out I was just an audience member. No, not even that. I returned to our apartment, feeling hollowed out. A courier was standing by the door, waiting. He saw me and walked over. “Mr. Vance?” I nodded. He handed me a bouquet of flowers. “Man, your girlfriend is really something,” he said with a grin. “First time I’ve ever had an order for a woman sending flowers to her guy on a special day.” I forced a weak smile, took the flowers, and unlocked the door. Tucked into the bouquet was a small card. It read: Happy Anniversary, my love. With a sneer, I ripped the card to shreds and threw it in the trash. So, she remembered I was her boyfriend. Then why in the hell did she propose to someone else today? I collapsed onto the sofa, burying my face in the six-foot-long teddy bear she had given me for my birthday. The scented candle on the coffee table was her favorite. This apartment, which we had designed and decorated together, was filled with three years of our shared memories. And just now, I had watched her betray every single one of them. I lay there for a long time, drifting on the edge of sleep, until the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted me awake. 2 Poppy walked in, looking tired. She was holding a collectible figurine. After slipping on her slippers, she came straight to me. She held out the box. “Bob, look. I got you that limited edition figure you wanted.” I took it from her. She seemed to think this was enough, that I had already forgiven her, and sat down beside me. “What were you doing at the garden today?” she asked. I didn’t answer, just turned the box over in my hands. She took my left hand and placed it on her thigh. “His name is Brian. He was my neighbor growing up. We were childhood friends.” “A few days ago, he was diagnosed with leukemia. He doesn’t have much time left. His one last wish… was to marry me.” “I wanted to make that wish come true for him. That’s why I proposed, with our friends there to see it. Can’t you understand how difficult this is for me?” I just stared at her, saying nothing. She squeezed my hand. “I’ve already set a date. The engagement party is on the fifteenth of next month.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. What a coincidence. That was the same day I was getting engaged. I pulled my hand back and gave a quiet, “Mm.” Poppy used to say I had a possessive streak, that I’d get angry if she ignored me. I’d worked hard to change, to control my emotions. She seemed stunned that I wasn’t screaming, wasn’t throwing things. “I’m just here to pack a few things. I’ll be moving in with Brian tomorrow morning,” she continued. “You’ll be here by yourself for a while. He needs me to take care of him. I’m sorry you have to be the one to make the sacrifice.” I kept my expression neutral, my eyes fixed on the figurine in my lap. Seeing my silence, Poppy seemed to take it as acceptance. She leaned in, her lips aiming for mine. I stood up abruptly, a smooth, deliberate motion that made her kiss hit empty air. I noticed then that her lips were slightly swollen, and there were faint hickeys on her neck. A scent clung to her, the smell of another man’s intimacy. It made my stomach turn. My coldness finally seemed to register. A flash of anger crossed her face. Forgetting all about packing, she spun around, changed her shoes, and stormed out of the apartment. I tossed the figurine aside, walked into the bedroom, and pulled out a suitcase. Anything Poppy had ever given me, I left behind. This home, built with my heart, I was leaving it all behind. The next morning, the first thing I did at the office was print out my resignation letter. Poppy and I had gone to the same university. After graduation, she’d started here. I’d turned down my father’s offer to join the family business just so I could be with her, starting from the bottom together. As our friends started getting married and having kids, I’d hinted to Poppy that I wanted the same. But she always said it was too soon, that she needed to establish her career first. I didn’t want to pressure her, so I told my parents to give us more time. Now, she was a general manager. Her career was stable. When I found that proposal plan on her computer, I thought we were finally going to be a real family. It was all just a delusion. 3 My colleague Ben, in the next cubicle, leaned over the partition. “Bob, what are you doing? The director is promoting you to project manager next month. Why would you quit now?” “I’m getting engaged soon,” I said with a smile. “Might be moving to a new city.” Another colleague passing by overheard and stopped. “Wow, congrats, man! That’s great news!” He paused. “Speaking of which, I heard from the director’s assistant that Poppy is getting engaged too!” He pulled out his phone and opened up his social media feed. “Look, man. She and her fiancé make a perfect couple. I heard they grew up together. He was her first love.” My smile froze. The post was from last night. I’d checked my feed; there was nothing new from her. She’d hidden the post from me. I opened our chat history. I hadn’t noticed when it happened, but most of our recent conversations had been about work. Suddenly, Ben flinched and ducked back into his cubicle. I looked up. Poppy was walking into the office, with Brian trailing right behind her. He looked perfectly healthy, moving with a light step that didn’t suggest a man with only months to live. Poppy clapped her hands for attention. “Everyone, can I have a moment? This is Brian, our new project manager. Please make him feel welcome. I expect you all to cooperate with him moving forward.” Ben’s face went pale, his eyes darting between me and Brian. One by one, my colleagues went up to shake Brian’s hand and introduce themselves. I remained at my desk, the resignation letter still in my hand. Poppy’s gaze fell on me, her expression hardening. “Everyone has greeted the new manager. Why are you just standing there? Come and say hello.” Brian walked over with a smile, extending his hand. “Looking forward to working with you. Hope you’ll cut me some slack while I’m learning the ropes.” I put down my letter and reached out to shake his hand. But Poppy grabbed Brian’s arm, pulling him away. “You don’t need to waste your time on employees who don’t know their place. Let me give you a tour of the office.” My hand was left hanging in the air. Ben came over and gently pulled me back into my chair. “Bob,” he whispered, “that new manager… he’s Poppy’s fiancé. The diamond on his finger? I heard she bought it for him in Paris. Everyone in this office knows how capable you are. How could she just give your promotion to him?” I just shrugged with a hollow smile. It didn’t matter. I was already leaving. If anything, Brian’s appointment just made my decision to walk away from Poppy even easier. I took a deep breath, collected myself, and walked towards Poppy’s office with my resignation and a stack of project files. The door was ajar. I knocked lightly. “Come in,” she said, her voice cold, not even bothering to look up. I walked in and placed the files on her desk. 4 Poppy began flipping through the documents, her brow furrowed, her expression growing darker with every page. Finally, she looked up at me, a mocking sneer on her face. “And here I thought you’d finally learned to control that temper of yours. It didn’t even take a full day for the real you to come out.” “Are you trying to threaten me with your resignation?” she scoffed, then snatched the papers and hurled them at my face. I ducked, the pages fluttering to the floor around me. I knelt and began to pick them up. Leaning back in her chair, Poppy continued her tirade. “Brian has the same degree as I do. I believe he is more than qualified to be project manager. Are you throwing a tantrum because you think he stole your promotion?” I calmly stacked the papers and placed them neatly back on her desk. My face was a mask of indifference. “You’re right,” I said, my voice even. “Brian studied the same thing as you. You know his capabilities. But what about me? What were all the years I spent working beside you?” She gave me a contemptuous glance. “Do you really need me to tell you what your capabilities are? From now on, you’ll be Brian’s assistant. You can learn a thing or two from him about how to do your job properly.” A bitter, weary laugh escaped my lips. “You really think the world revolves around you, don’t you? I’m not throwing a tantrum. I am quitting. And for the record, I think I’m more capable than he is. I don’t need to learn anything from him.” She slammed her hands on the desk and shot to her feet. “Fine! You’ve grown a backbone, have you? We’ll see where you end up after you walk out that door.” The look in her eyes was that of a stranger. I had never seen this side of her. My hands clenched into fists. I turned and walked out of her office. For five years, my entire world had revolved around Poppy. And now, she had not only pushed me away, but she also wanted me to play second fiddle to her new fiancé. Now that I saw her for who she truly was, I wasn’t stupid enough to waste another second of my life on her. Back at my desk, I began packing my personal belongings. My eyes fell on a glass jar filled with paper stars that Poppy had folded for me. With a heavy sigh, I placed it in the box with everything else. Box in hand, I was about to leave for good when Brian rushed into the office, his face a mask of panic. “Excuse me, everyone, could you please stop what you’re doing?” he announced. “My Rolex is missing. I’m going to need everyone to cooperate with a search.” A murmur went through the office. “I saw his watch this morning. I looked it up online—it’s worth a fortune.” “How does something just disappear off your wrist?” “Someone must have taken it when he wasn’t looking.” Poppy stood by Brian’s side as she called security. They started searching everyone, one by one. When they got to me, I put my box down to let them look. Poppy’s eyes locked on the jar of stars. She hesitated for a moment, then tipped the entire box over, sending its contents crashing onto the floor. The jar shattered. The colorful stars scattered across the tiles around my desk. With the sound of shattering glass, something between us broke for good. A security guard knelt, sifting through my things. Poppy nudged my belongings around with the toe of her shoe. Suddenly, Brian grabbed her arm and pointed at the floor. “Poppy, look! Isn’t that my watch?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394367”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was penniless the day the Sterling family’s true heiress kicked me out of the house. All I had with me was a single cosplay outfit. To make ends meet, I started taking commissions from the city’s elite circle of billionaires, specializing in embodying the one that got away—their unforgettable lost loves. It worked like a charm. And soon enough, no matter which tycoon my ‘sister’ Stella tried to win over, she was met with the same cold line: “Oh, you’re the one who bullied my commissioned muse, aren’t you?” When I was dropped into this ‘mistaken-identity’ novel, the story was already in its final act. I was the fake heiress, despised by everyone and cast out onto the streets. Luckily, my real-world profession was as a cosplayer. And as everyone knows, the world of novels runs on two fundamental laws. First, billionaires are a dime a dozen. Second, you never, ever chase after the one that got away, especially if she’s moved overseas. This created a perfect market for my skills. I could become, for a price, the ghost of a love they’d lost. Business was booming. Tonight’s commission was to accompany a Mr. Marshall to a gala. He was a quiet, intense man who ran a shipping empire. The moment I stepped into the grand ballroom, however, I ran right into my sister. Or rather, my ex-sister. Stella Sterling, draped in a couture gown, stared at me, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching in surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t my dear sister,” she announced, her voice dripping with venom, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Dressed so… quaintly. Are you here begging for scraps? Or have you finally decided to find yourself a sugar daddy?” In the novel’s narrative, I was the imposter, the one switched at birth. I’d grown up coddled, adored by my parents, wanting for nothing. That all ended when the real heiress, Stella—sallow-skinned and gaunt from a life of hardship in a forgotten rural town—returned. Overnight, I became a master of self-effacement. She liked my bedroom? I moved out. She wanted a ‘real’ family vacation with just her and our parents? I stayed home. When she was cornered by a group of thugs in an alley, I threw myself in front of her, shielding her from their knives. I took three deep cuts for her. I barely survived. When I woke up in the hospital, Stella was holding my hand, her face a mask of tear-streaked sorrow. “Ava,” she’d sobbed, “they told me… they told me you hired those men. Were you that desperate to get rid of me? Did you hate me that much for taking your place?” My parents, standing behind her, embraced their precious, trembling daughter. They called me a monster, a venomous snake they had unknowingly raised. The wounds I’d suffered, they said, were my just deserts. They refused to listen to a word of my defense. They just threw me out. And so, they would never know the truth. The fake heiress they so despised had already bled out on the grimy pavement of that alley. Perhaps it was for the best. At least the original Ava died clinging to a happy delusion—that if she was just a little kinder, a little more selfless, her parents might finally look at her with love again. A few months had done wonders for Stella. She was radiant now, all sharp angles and polished glamour, with no trace of the scrawny, awkward girl she’d been. I, on the other hand, was pale and drawn, a lingering shadow of the injuries I’d sustained for her. “You look dreadful, Ava,” Stella said with a saccharine smile. “Maybe I should ask Mom and Dad to take you back? I’m sure they could find a place for you… scrubbing toilets, perhaps?” She pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. I smiled back. A slow, wicked grin. Then I lunged. Don’t mess with a cosplayer who can trek three miles in six-inch heels carrying a forty-pound prop. Taking down a pampered socialite like Stella was child’s play. I tackled her to the marble floor, the sound of her shriek echoing through the ballroom. I straddled her, raining down slaps left and right. The sharp, satisfying smack of my palm against her cheek silenced the polite chatter. Gasps erupted around us. Women in glittering gowns recoiled, champagne flutes shattered, and the scene devolved into chaos. No one dared to intervene. I was a cornered animal, ready to bite anyone who came near. A panicked assistant, seeing the commotion, scrambled upstairs to find the host of the evening. The room at the end of the second-floor hall was cloaked in darkness. Hearing footsteps, a figure lounging on a sofa lifted his head, a thread of irritation in his voice. “What is it?” The assistant stammered, “Mr. Marshall, sir… there are two women fighting downstairs. They… they’ve knocked over that new oil painting you acquired. The thirty-million-dollar one.” A heavy, weary sigh filled the silence. The man rose languidly from the sofa. “Let’s go.” By the time Jeremy Marshall arrived, Stella’s right cheek was already swelling into a plum-colored bruise. If his bodyguards hadn’t pulled me off her, I would have made sure the other side matched. The moment she saw him, Stella burst into a fresh round of theatrical sobs, clutching her face. “Mr. Marshall, you have to do something! This… this bitch Ava tried to have me killed a few months ago, and now she’s crashed your party just to attack me! She’s ruined everything! You have to make her pay!” The noise seemed to grate on him. He shot a cold glare at his staff. “Useless, all of you. Get security in here and call the police—” He stopped mid-sentence. I looked up from the floor. My dress was a simple, plain white. My dark hair fell like a curtain around my shoulders. My eyes, wide and almond-shaped, shimmered with unshed tears. I looked like I’d been wounded to the very soul but was too afraid to speak of it. Jeremy froze. His perpetually half-lidded eyes flew wide open. He stared at me, his mouth parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. He looked rooted to the spot, afraid that a single move might startle me. Afraid he might shatter the waking dream. Stella, oblivious, continued her screeching. “Mr. Marshall, what are you waiting for? Throw this trash out!” Jeremy finally snapped back to reality. He walked over until he was standing beside me, then looked down at the whimpering girl on the floor. “She hit you?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. Stella nodded eagerly. “Yes! She did!” “Then it must have been your fault,” Jeremy stated flatly. “Get out.” Stella’s jaw dropped. She was the one who’d been assaulted. And she was the one being thrown out? What kind of twisted logic was that? As two imposing bodyguards ‘escorted’ her from the ballroom, Stella’s nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. The hatred for me burned hotter than ever. A fake, a nobody with tainted blood… how does she always manage to bewitch everyone? But then, a triumphant smirk touched her lips. She remembered the rumors. Jeremy Marshall had a lost love, a ghost from his past, and he had sworn he would never marry. So what if Ava had his favor for a night? She would always be a dirty little secret, a mistress people whispered about behind their hands. Stella, on the other hand, was about to marry into the Westwood family—the undisputed royalty of the city’s elite. Once she was a Westwood, she would spend the rest of her life grinding Ava Sterling into the dust beneath her heel. Back in the ballroom, Jeremy gently extended a hand to me. “May I have this dance?” he asked. I’d seen this man on the news. The bastard son who clawed his way to the top of a corporate dynasty. Ruthless, cold, and utterly unforgiving. But right now, the tips of his ears were red. He looked as clumsy and hopeful as a teenage boy. I smiled and placed my hand in his. “Of course.” His fee was a hundred thousand dollars. The request itself was achingly simple. He just wanted me to dance with him. “My girlfriend… she passed away from an illness,” Jeremy said, his voice a low, steady murmur as we swayed to the music. “She was cruel. So cruel she hasn’t visited me in my dreams once in the three years she’s been gone. So cruel she refused to accept my proposal, even at the end.” Before Jeremy had been acknowledged by the Marshall family, he was just an outcast, a ‘little bastard’ that everyone scorned. She was the only one who saw him, the only one who would sit with him, who would hold his hand. “But she got sick. Really sick. It was going to cost a fortune to save her.” “I worked three jobs. I sold my blood. It was never enough.” His eyes, dark and haunted, turned red at the corners. He quickly brushed a hand across his face. “My biological father found me. He said if I agreed to come back, to take the family name, he would get her the best doctors in the world.” “But he lied to me. He never paid the medical bills. She died… she died in that hospital bed, waiting for a treatment that never came.” “When I confronted him, he just laughed. He told me, ‘Son, if I’d cured her, you would have married her.’ He said I was a Marshall now. I could have any woman I wanted. Why would I chain myself to some poor girl from the sticks?” The music swelled, a wave of strings and horns rising to a crescendo, drowning out the broken fragments of his voice until I could no longer hear the words, only the pain. As the final note of the waltz faded, Jeremy pulled me into a gentle embrace. A single, hot tear landed on my shoulder. I heard him whisper, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.” “She loved to dance. I was always too shy, too awkward… I never danced with her.” “Now I have. My dream came true. And that’s enough.” The next day, photos of me and Jeremy dancing were splashed across every gossip site. The headline was in bold, brutal type: 【FAKE HEIRESS SHAMELESSLY IMPERSONATES DEAD WOMAN TO SEDUCE BILLIONAIRE TYCOON!】 I didn’t need a crystal ball to know Stella was behind this. She didn’t stop there. A swarm of paparazzi descended on my hotel, ambushing me outside my room. “Miss Sterling!” one of them shouted, shoving a microphone in my face. “Don’t you feel it’s ghoulish, pretending to be a dead woman for money?” When I ignored them, another reporter produced a megaphone. “MISS STERLING, WHAT’S YOUR OPINION ON THE TRAGIC LOVE STORY BETWEEN MR. MARSHALL AND HIS DECEASED GIRLFRIEND? DO YOU THINK YOU CAN EVER REPLACE HER IN HIS HEART?” It was a blatant, cruel provocation. Flashbulbs strobed, blinding me. But I just smiled. I tilted my head up, looking directly into the camera lenses. “Mr. Marshall and I have a purely professional relationship. He is my client, and I am his commissioned muse. He hired me to embody his first love for one evening.” The reporters stared, momentarily stunned. The scandalous narrative they’d been fed had just crumbled. A collective groan of disappointment rippled through the pack as they started to disperse. “Don’t you dare leave! I’m not finished!” I snatched a microphone from a stunned reporter, taking command of the situation. “That young woman may be gone, but I want to make one thing crystal clear,” I declared, my voice ringing with conviction. “Despite the monstrous interference of a heartless old man, she and Jeremy Marshall loved each other with everything they had, right until her very last breath.” I had a job to do, and professional integrity demanded it. I had to honor the memory of my client and his lost love. A love that pure, that profound, did not deserve to be twisted into something ugly by tabloid vultures. That afternoon, Jeremy called. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I was in meetings all morning. I’ve had my security team clear out the reporters, and I’ve sent a check for a million dollars over to you. Consider it a small token for your trouble. If they bother you again, you call me immediately.” I laughed. “Keep your check, Jeremy. Our agreed-upon price was one hundred thousand, and I won’t take a penny more. But there is something you can help me with. Do you know the Westwood heir?” “Who? Leo Westwood?” “Yes. Stella’s fiancé.” There was a pause. “We’re not exactly friends,” he admitted, his tone hesitant. I said nothing. Jeremy thought for a moment, and then a slow grin spread through his voice. “But… I do know his grandfather. The old king himself. Does that count?” “Who’s that?” “Arthur Westwood.” Arthur Westwood was seventy-eight years old. While he no longer possessed the devastating good looks of his grandson, he was the undisputed patriarch of the family. After his wife passed away, he’d lost all interest in the family empire, handing the reins over to his son and grandson. In the years since, his health had steadily declined. He spent his days watching over a framed photograph of his late wife, a man already half-gone, waiting for the end. A living ghost. So, when I stood among his wife’s prized rose bushes, dressed in a vintage blush-pink dress, and turned to look at him with a gentle, knowing smile, the old man clutched his chest with a strangled gasp. He almost checked out right then and there. Thankfully, the Westwood family doctor was a miracle worker. Arthur survived. “The resemblance… it’s uncanny,” Arthur whispered, chewing on a nitroglycerin tablet as he gave me a thumbs-up. “Eleonora… she always loved to wear pink.” Arthur and Eleonora had been inseparable for over fifty years. On her deathbed, she had made him promise. “I’m going first, but you’re not allowed to follow me. You have to live, Arthur. You have to live well.” Death was a force you couldn’t fight, only endure. Arthur, sobbing like a lost child, had nodded dumbly, snot and tears running down his face. And then she’d slapped him. Right across the face. His feisty Eleonora glared at him, her eyes blazing with the same fire he’d seen the day they first met. “Did you hear me, you old blockhead?!” Only when he nodded again, like a chastised schoolboy, did she smile and finally close her eyes. Now, looking at my face—a perfect echo of his young Eleonora—Arthur felt a familiar tremor of fear. The healthy, lifelong terror of a man utterly ruled by his wife. If Eleonora knew he was wasting away, moping and listless, she’d grab him by the ear and yell, “Are you deaf, old man? I swear I’ll box your ears if you don’t listen to me!” And just like that, Arthur Westwood found his motivation. His back stopped aching. His legs felt strong again. He could take the stairs two at a time. A week later, a housekeeper was polishing the grand foyer windows when she froze, her face paling as if she’d seen a ghost. With trembling hands, she scrambled to the landline and dialed the Westwood heir. “Mr. Leo! It’s an emergency!” “What happened?” Leo’s voice was sharp with alarm. “Is it Grandpa? Is he alright? Is he at the hospital? Stay calm, I’m on my way.” “No, sir, it’s not that! It’s… sir, your grandfather has a rose clenched between his teeth, and he just sped off on your Ducati motorcycle…” Leo was silent for a beat. “…He what?” Today was the last day of my commission. Arthur, clad in black leather, had taken me to one last place. The cemetery. “My son and that grandson of mine, they’re more old-fashioned than I am,” he said, a roguish twinkle in his weary eyes. “They say this place is bad luck, that I shouldn’t come so often. I don’t listen to them. I sneak out.” He grinned. “Besides, I figured she’d want to see this outfit for herself. You look fantastic.” The cemetery’s paths were a winding labyrinth, but Arthur navigated them with an expert’s ease, leading me to a large marble headstone. It was a double plot, but the name on the left was still uncarved, waiting for its occupant. Arthur reached out and stroked the cool stone. He smiled softly. “Eleonora, my love, look who I brought to see you today.” “Doesn’t she look just like you did? She’s doing this thing called… commissioned cosplay. It’s all the rage now. You always did love to keep up with the times. I think you would have liked it.” “This young lady I hired is a real professional. And her temper’s much better than yours…” He placed the rose he’d brought at the base of the stone, his tone conspiratorial and affectionate. “But, uh… for the record, I always preferred you feisty.” I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. The cemetery was profoundly still. We sat there before the small monument, talking to her, our voices weaving together in the quiet air. At five in the evening, we left. My week-long commission was over. Arthur handed me a check with a flourish. I glanced down. My eyes widened at the number of zeroes. “Take it, Miss Ava,” he said, his smile kind as he noticed my hesitation. “Thank you for spending this time with an old man. I haven’t had this much fun since… well, since my wife passed.” I smiled back. “Keep it, Arthur. Next time you want to hire me, it’s on the house.” “No next time,” he said with a wave of his hand, his gaze turning towards the sky. “The more I look at you, the more I miss her.” He paused. “By the way, young lady, is there a special young man in your life?” I shook my head. “You’re not about to set me up, are you?” He chuckled. “Of course not. I just wanted to tell you something.” “Don’t search for love. Wait for it.” “Wait for the one who will truly love you to find you.” He gave me a quick wink and turned away. “Enough of that. I’m going to buy you a shaved ice. This old shop has been here forever. Eleonora adored their strawberry flavor…” He started across the street, a frail old man moving through the rush of modern traffic. I could almost see it: decades ago, a vibrant young woman dragging her handsome lover by the hand, laughing as they argued over which flavor was better before disappearing into the crowd. The rose garden she planted, I thought, is in full bloom now.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394366”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Camryn swapped my fate with a man dying of cancer, leaving me with seven days to live. She gripped my hand, her voice a placating murmur. “Ethan is so young, Jon. I can’t just watch him die. It’s just a temporary switch. You’re strong, you can take it. I’ll find an experimental treatment to save you, I promise.” I pulled my hand away. I couldn’t wait. “I’m a time traveler,” I told her, my voice flat. “If my body’s life force becomes unstable, the temporal rift will pull me back.” Her face hardened. “Not this again! You pull this ‘temporal rift’ nonsense every time we have a disagreement. It’s been seven years, Jon. You’re still here, aren’t you?” She told me to stop being dramatic, that she’d have news about the treatment in three days. On the first day, she married Ethan. They christened my marriage bed while I collapsed three times. On the second day, she threw a party with our friends to celebrate their union. I had twenty-four nosebleeds. On the third day, she took him to the hospital for a check-up. I was in the emergency room next door, fighting for my life. Seven years of shared struggles and triumphs, all erased by a newcomer’s smile. Camryn, this time, I’m really going home. … A delivery of 9,999 roses arrived at the farm gate. My employees buzzed with excitement. “Mr. Hayes, Ms. Vereen really loves you! She even remembered today is the farm’s fourth anniversary…” A dull ache started in my chest. I managed a faint smile. If she truly loved me, she’d know I’ve always hated flowers. My love was for the golden stalks of wheat, the simple grains that fed the hungry. Camryn called, her voice husky and languid, as if she’d just woken up. “Jon, honey, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot it’s already the fourth day. The clinic hasn’t gotten back to me about the treatment yet. Are you holding up okay?” If I told her the truth, she’d mock me, accuse me of faking it. “I’m fine,” I rasped. A sigh of relief on her end. “Good. As long as you can handle it. I’m in a conference at the hotel near the farm today, so I can’t be with you.” She hung up before I could reply, but not before I heard the sound of a man’s breathing beside her. The city’s most luxurious hotel was just a few miles from my farm. I was there making a delivery of fresh vegetables when I overheard the kitchen staff gossiping. “Ms. Vereen booked the entire hotel just for Mr. Thorne’s birthday. Did you see the ninety-thousand roses in the ballroom? A grand declaration of her love…” “I know, right? Exactly 90,000, not one more, not one less. I heard they picked out all the slightly imperfect ones and sent them to that nearby farm…” “Wait, isn’t Mr. Hayes the owner of that farm? Did you get them? Ms. Vereen said the rejects could be used as animal feed…” I smiled and nodded, but my body was trembling uncontrollably. Making a hasty excuse, I fled to the hotel lobby, tears finally streaming down my face. Around the corner, I heard Camryn’s voice drifting from an elevator. “Camryn, you actually found a way to swap their fates. But what about Jon? Hasn’t he been giving you trouble?” Camryn, touching up her lipstick, replied with a careless shrug. “Trouble? What leverage does he have? He’s a handsome orphan with no family to back him up. The farm was a gift from me. Every fight for the past seven years, he’s tried to scare me with that ridiculous time-travel story. And what happened in the end? He’s still right where I want him, too pathetic to leave.” Her friends gave her a thumbs-up. “Brilliant, Camryn. Find a guy with no connections. He wouldn’t even dare break up with you.” Another friend sounded puzzled. “But I thought Ethan could last another six months with chemo. The Mystic said Jon only has seven days. Why put Jon through it at all?” The elevator doors opened, and Camryn’s voice grew faint, but I heard her reply clearly. “I can’t bear to see Ethan suffer through chemo, losing his hair, getting so frail. As for Jon… he’s used to hardship. A little more won’t kill him. I’ll find a way to keep him hanging on.” In the stairwell, I couldn’t stifle the coppery tide of blood that surged up my throat. I lay there, unconscious, for the rest of the night. Day five had arrived. 2 I woke to a body screaming in pain and a phone ringing incessantly. The moment I answered, Camryn’s frantic voice shot through the line. “Jon, get over here, now!” I thought something had happened to her. But when I arrived, I found Ethan slumped against her shoulder while she frowned at a thermometer. “97.7 degrees!” He didn’t have a fever, but Ethan was whining. “Camryn, I feel awful. My normal temperature is 97.2. Even a slight increase means I’m getting sick.” Camryn placed a cooling patch on his forehead before looking up at me. “Jon, the Mystic left a book of instructions. If Ethan gets a fever, it means the fate-bond is unstable.” She looked at me, her expression pained, but she said the words anyway. “There’s a remedy. It… it requires a small piece of your flesh for a tonic.” Her voice was a whisper. “Just a tiny piece. I’ll take it from somewhere hidden, it won’t even leave a scar. And you know those new high-yield grain seeds you wanted? The ones that can grow anywhere? I can get them for you…” So, she always knew what I wanted. I looked down at the hand she was holding. “Camryn, do you feel anything?” She looked confused. “What do you mean?” I had been vomiting blood on my way over. A kind pharmacist took my temperature. 105.8. Her cool hand was wrapped around mine, yet she felt nothing of the fire consuming me. I smiled faintly and held out my arm. “Which part do you want? Go on. Cut it.” If I stood any longer, I would collapse, and she would just accuse me of putting on a show. The knife in Camryn’s hand trembled. There was more sweat on her brow than on mine, the person about to be cut. As the pain lanced through me, my mind drifted back. When I first met her, her company had gone bankrupt. We were starting over, huddled together for warmth in a damp basement apartment. I’d gotten a fever, and she’d cried all night, swearing she’d never let me suffer again. Later, when she rebuilt her empire, she forbade me from doing any work that involved knives. She said my body was as precious as her own heart. Now, that same woman held the blade that sliced into my flesh. Just as she was finishing, Ethan suddenly “stumbled,” falling against her. The knife, which had just left my skin, plunged deep into the wound again. Blood gushed out. The pain was so intense I nearly blacked out, stumbling back against a table to stay upright. Camryn didn’t even see me. She was already wrapping her arms around Ethan, her voice thick with concern. He started complaining he was cold. She consulted the Mystic’s book again, which said he needed to be immersed in warm water. She personally helped him into the bathtub in our master bathroom—our marriage bathroom. Only then did she turn back to bandage my arm. Then she slipped out of her clothes and got into the tub with him, holding him close. She handled him with the tender care one would reserve for a priceless, fragile treasure. My legs finally gave out. I collapsed onto our bed. Through the open door, Camryn spoke to me, her eyes never leaving Ethan. “You know, Jon,” she said softly, “looking at him, it’s like seeing you when we first met. You were like a lost, wounded little rabbit, so helpless. He needs me, just like you did. You understand, don’t you?” Blood seeped through my bandage. I forced a weak, pained smile. “Yes. I understand.” When I first arrived in this time, everything terrified me. I was like a rabbit, yes. But I never stole the only carrot from another rabbit’s paws. Seeing me nod, she relaxed. “You’ve been through a lot today, Jon. Go home and get some rest.” Go home? This was our home. The sanctuary we designed together, heads bent over blueprints and fabric swatches for countless nights. We had become strangers. As I closed the door behind me, I paused. “Camryn… thank you.” Thank you for spending your last pennies on fever medicine and soup for me when I first arrived. Thank you for seven years of warmth and full meals. And thank you for showing me that even in this era of monogamy, love can be divided. 3 I thought the pound of flesh was my final goodbye. But after Ethan recovered, he insisted on coming to the farm to “thank me.” He made me a “nourishing, blood-replenishing soup” in the farm’s kitchen. As I reached for the bowl, his face twisted into a sneer. He let it drop, shattering it on the floor. “Jon,” he said, his voice low, “we’re both rabbits. But I’m the one who’s going to win this race.” Before I could even mourn the wasted soup, Ethan was on the ground. He let out a cry, grabbed a pair of shears from a vegetable basket, and started cutting himself. “Brother Jon, it’s my fault I’m sick, my fault you had to get hurt! I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me! I’ll give the flesh back to you!” Camryn, who had been outside on a business call, burst into the kitchen. She shoved me aside and gathered Ethan into her arms. Ethan’s eyes were red with tears. “Camryn, I just wanted to thank him, but I think… I think he resents me.” The older women who worked on the farm rushed to my defense. “Ms. Vereen, Mr. Hayes would never do something like that! We have security cameras, we can check the footage. It must be a misunderstanding.” Camryn nodded, her face grim. Unfortunately, the security system had “unexpectedly malfunctioned” right after they arrived. She shot me a look of pure ice. “Jon. Apologize to Ethan.” When my staff tried to intervene again, she roared, “Anyone who says another word is fired. And you’ll never work in this town again.” These women were from poor families. They couldn’t lose their jobs. Facing the sniveling, triumphant Ethan, I bowed low. “Mr. Thorne. I am sorry.” I held the bow for nearly a full minute, my body shaking, on the verge of collapse, before he finally spoke. “It’s okay, Brother Jon. As long as you know you were wrong, you don’t have to apologize…” Satisfied, Ethan went off to “tour the farm.” Camryn’s tone softened slightly. She handed me a small bag. “Jon, these are the seeds you wanted. This strain can survive even in the most extreme conditions. You’ve learned so much over the years, you can grow good crops even without special seeds, but…” I shook my head. She didn’t understand. The place I came from… “extreme conditions” was an understatement. Still, I thanked her sincerely. There was nothing else left to say to her. I turned to leave, but one of the old farmhands ran up, panicked. “Mr. Hayes, you have to come quick! Mr. Thorne saw a wild rabbit in the fields… he set the whole farm on fire trying to catch it!” It was harvest season. That grain was meant for donation to impoverished regions. I sprinted outside. The sight of the inferno turned my blood to ice. My mind snapped back to reality, and I grabbed a hose, yelling for everyone to help. Camryn grabbed my arm, pulling me back. Her voice was cold steel. “What is wrong with you? Were you born starving? It’s just some grain! Are you going to get everyone killed over it?” The fire burned, and my heart bled with it. She didn’t know. I had been starving to death when I traveled through time. My homeland had suffered a three-year drought, and when the rains finally came, so did war. I had seen men sell their wives for a bag of grain. I had seen the starving eat the dead. I had witnessed every horror humanity was capable of, all for a mouthful of food. She was right. I was used to hardship. That’s why I didn’t care that she’d swapped my fate and left me to die. But I could not accept watching life-saving food burn to ash before my eyes. I turned and punched Ethan square in the jaw. Camryn exploded. “Jon! Who the hell gave you permission to touch him?” On the spot, she declared she was revoking her gift of the farm and kicking me out. She threw the tattered clothes I’d arrived in seven years ago at my feet. “Don’t you forget who saved you,” she hissed. “Maybe a little hardship will remind you of your place.” When she first found me, I was filthy and dressed in rags that hung off me like a shredded bedsheet. But back then, her eyes had held stars when she looked at me. Now, I was back where I started. I found myself in the same dark alley where I first appeared. Several pairs of predatory eyes glinted in the shadows. I ducked my head, intending to find a police station, but the men—scarred and tattooed—blocked my path. Their words froze me in place. 4 “So this is the guy Ms. Vereen was talking about? He looks like he needs a lesson.” “Hey, pretty boy. The boss lady said you got too big for your britches after all these years. She sent us to teach you some manners.” “Tonight, she said you’re all ours to play with. Hahaha.” Darkness fell like a shroud as they descended on me like beasts. All I remember is the rain of fists, the silent screams caught in my throat, and my body shaking uncontrollably. I faded in and out of consciousness, waking only to more pain. Dimly, I felt a finger check for my breath. “Shit, is he dead?” “Why is he so hot? His body’s on fire. Let’s get out of here.” When I woke again, it was the morning of the seventh day. My body was a furnace. I staggered to a public park restroom and washed the blood from my skin. The icy water was a brief relief. Leaning against the wall, I stumbled out into the morning light. Camryn’s luxury car was parked at the curb. I recognized the license plate. ETHN LUV. Ethan, I love you. She was leaning against it, watching me. Ethan was asleep in the back, covered with her designer coat. Seeing my battered state, she held out a hand. “Tough night? Have you learned your lesson?” Her fingers were long and clean. The same fingers that had pulled me from the mire so many times. But this time, she was the one who had pushed me into the abyss. I nodded, terrified, my knees buckling. I didn’t dare take her hand. I frantically tried to wipe the grime and blood from my clothes, from my skin. But how can you wipe away bruises and broken bones? Camryn frowned at my pathetic attempts. “You’re just a little dirty. When have I ever cared about that?” She smiled, pulled me to my feet, and pushed me into the car. “Jon, someone sent an experimental cure. You’re going to be saved.” She took me back to the house. On the table were two vials of medicine. I was confused, but she touched her nose, looking away. “Ethan’s cancer cells have started growing back. The Mystic said your life force will stop working for him after tonight. He’ll be sick again, the cancer will return.” A cold dread washed over me. If I was going to be fine after tonight anyway, why had she brought me back? She suddenly grabbed my hands, her voice pleading. “Jon, this drug has never been tested on a living person. But since your body is already fighting the cancer… could you test its effectiveness for Ethan? Please?” Her words were a poison that dissolved my heart. I swallowed the lump in my throat, my voice trembling. “If I die from this… will you have any regrets?” She looked surprised. “Die? It’s just a test, how could you die?” If there was no risk, why not just give it to Ethan? I didn’t ask. I just stated my condition. “Can you get me the cultivation method for those seeds?” She let out a breath, a confident smile returning. “I knew you’d need it. I got it for you already.” A single sheet of paper. I memorized it in seconds. When I looked up, any last flicker of feeling I had for her was gone. “Do it, Camryn. Give me the drug.” As the needle slid into my arm and the medicine flowed into my veins, color returned to my face. She turned to Ethan, hugging him and crying out with joy. “Ethan! You’re saved! Your disease can be cured!” The entire house erupted in cheers. I was an outsider at my own execution. Unseen by Camryn, I slipped out the door. I returned to the park where my journey in this world began. I held on until midnight, when my original life force flooded back into my body. But just as I felt myself become whole again, a column of light enveloped me from above. Clutching the precious seeds to my chest, I vanished from this beautiful, cruel era. After midnight, Camryn injected the second vial into Ethan. Watching him sleep peacefully, she finally felt at ease. But then a servant interrupted her. “Ms. Vereen, there are two people at the door. They call themselves the Temporal Bureau. They’re asking to see Mr. Hayes.” 5 Camryn went downstairs, frowning. A strangely dressed man and woman were waiting in her foyer. The woman stepped forward excitedly. “Ms. Vereen, our records show that your partner, Mr. Jon Hayes, is not native to this timeline. Could you please tell us where he is? We need to see him.” The man handed her a business card. The texture was rough, the job title something she’d never seen. Camryn let out a short, mocking laugh. “The Temporal Bureau? Pfft. Jon’s really stepped up his game, hiring actors now?” The woman tried to explain. “We’re not actors, Ms. Vereen. Seven years ago, a temporal rift opened, and Mr. Hayes was accidentally displaced into this era. It’s taken us this long to locate him.” Camryn rubbed her temples, her patience wearing thin. “How much is he paying you? I’ll double it. Now get out. And tell Jon I’ll see him later, but he needs to stop with these ridiculous fantasies.” The two were escorted out into the misty dawn. As Camryn turned to go back inside, the man called out. “Camryn Vereen! It’s clear Mr. Hayes told you about his origins. You were willing to believe a Mystic could swap human fates, so why is it so hard to believe Jon is a time traveler? Do you even know him? Do you know where he came from? Do you have any idea the kind of suffering he endured?” Camryn stopped, her eyes turning to ice as she looked back. “Suffering? And I haven’t been good to him all these years? He uses that story to manipulate me, to get more out of me. Ethan has a terminal illness, and instead of showing a shred of compassion, Jon gets jealous and tells lies, all because he knows I care about him. Now get lost, you con artists, before I have you arrested.” The heavy doors of the Vereen estate slammed shut. The woman looked up at the man. “Brother, she doesn’t believe us. How are we going to find Mr. Hayes?” The man smiled faintly. “Let’s go. Jon isn’t here anymore. As for Camryn Vereen… she’ll be begging for our help soon enough.” … Two days later, medical scans confirmed that Ethan was completely cancer-free. Camryn held a press conference. A reporter asked, “Ms. Vereen, you must have moved mountains to achieve Mr. Thorne’s miraculous recovery. We heard a rumor that you even employed a Mystic to swap his fate with someone else to buy him time?” Camryn raised an eyebrow and denied it coolly. “That’s absurd. That was just a story I told Ethan to keep his spirits up, to stop him from despairing.” She would never let the world know she had sacrificed me. But just as she thought the matter was settled, the Mystic himself stormed into the press conference. He pointed a trembling finger at her. “Ungrateful woman!” he roared. “You can deny my power, but it’s a pity for the boy who gave his fate to you. You will never see him again!” Camryn shot to her feet. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘gave his fate to me’?” The Mystic sneered. “Ms. Vereen, did you really think this was the first time I’ve performed a fate-swap for your family?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394365”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After three years of secretly marrying Kevin Robinson, the world’s biggest movie star, I was finally pregnant—with twins. A boy and a girl. A miracle. The moment the news broke, he announced it publicly. The internet went wild. From that day, he canceled all projects to become my personal chef. “Sweetheart,” he’d say, holding a steaming bowl, “this collagen broth is perfect for the babies. Finish every drop.” His manager Renee—also my best friend—personally vetted eight elite maternity nurses for me. I was drowning in happiness. Until one night, I heard a voice from my womb: Mom, help! He’s taking all our life force! Then a boy’s voice, full of contempt: You think you can compete? Once I’m born, my real mother Renee will be the new Mrs. Robinson. You and your mom will just be cold bodies on an operating table. I rested a hand on my belly, a cold smile forming. So you all love a performance? I’ll play along till the end. The next day, I went to renowned gynecologist Dr. Alistair Torrence. “I need a C-section now,” I said calmly. “Save the girl. Preserve the boy as a specimen.” … Dr. Torrence didn’t ask why. He simply picked up the ultrasound wand and glided it over my stomach. On the screen, two tiny points of light huddled together. One was brilliant, the other faint and flickering. “Fascinating,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the monitor. “One life force is actively devouring another. This kind of energy vampirism… I’ve only ever read about it in ancient texts.” He looked up at me, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Nina, are you certain? This boy… he has what the old texts call a sovereign’s destiny. A once-in-a-century phenomenon.” My eyes were chips of ice. “All I know is that he wants me and my daughter dead.” Dr. Torrence was silent for a moment before setting the instrument aside. “I can schedule the procedure, but not now. The girl is too weak; she wouldn’t survive it. I’ll prescribe you a tonic to calm your system and strengthen her heart. As for our little ‘sovereign’… we’ll have to blunt his edge first.” I took the prescription, thanked him profusely, and left. The moment I got in the car, a vicious, twisting pain ripped through my abdomen. The monster inside was thrashing, a furious storm in my womb. Bitch! Who did you talk to? You dare try something against me? When I’m grown, the first thing I’ll do is flush your ashes down the sewer! The agony made my vision swim in black spots, and a cold sweat soaked through my clothes in seconds. I bit down hard on my lip, enduring the inhuman torment. Then, another, fainter voice whispered. Mommy… don’t be scared… I’ll give you some of my strength… A gentle warmth spread from my core, and the pain actually began to recede. Gasping for breath, the murderous intent in my eyes only deepened. My daughter. So small, and already trying to protect her mother. And that parasite, whose only goal was to drain her dry and leave us for dead. Renee. Kevin. You two bastards just wait. When I got home, Kevin was pacing the living room like a caged animal. The second he saw me, he crossed the room in three long strides and pulled me into his arms. “Where have you been? Why weren’t you answering your phone? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” The panic and fear in his voice sounded so real. I leaned against his chest, feeling the powerful, steady beat of his heart, but all I felt was a spreading chill. Such an actor. He really does deserve an Oscar. “I just went for a walk to clear my head. My phone was on silent,” I explained softly, looking up at him, my eyes welling with manufactured tears. “Kevin, I’m scared.” He froze, cupping my face in his hands. “Scared of what? I’m right here.” “I’m scared… I’m scared I’ll die on the operating table. That I’ll never get to see you or the babies.” My voice trembled as I put on the performance of a lifetime, my body shaking with fake sobs. Kevin’s heart practically broke on the spot. He hugged me tighter, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t say that! I’ve hired the best doctors in the world. Nothing will happen to you! I won’t let anything happen to you!” Hmph. Stupid woman. Scared now, are you? You should be. You’re about to die on that table! Hearing the boy’s venomous thoughts, I cried even harder. Yes, I’m terrified. Terrified I won’t get to send you all to hell myself. Seeing my distress, Kevin quickly fetched a bowl of soup. “Stop thinking such things. Here, try some of the broth I made for you.” He sat on the edge of the bed, scooping up a spoonful, blowing on it gently before bringing it to my lips. Drink up, drink up! This batch has a little something extra. It’ll weaken you, bit by bit, until you don’t even have the strength to struggle when the time comes! the boy’s gleeful voice shrieked in my head. I looked at Kevin’s concerned face, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “Oh, honey, you’re so good to me,” I said, taking the spoon from him. I brought it towards my lips, then let my hand “slip.” The bowl crashed to the floor, porcelain shattering, soup splashing everywhere. “Oh my god!” I gasped, my face a mask of apology. “I’m so sorry, it just slipped.” Kevin’s brow furrowed, his voice sharp with annoyance. “Why are you so careless?” My eyes immediately filled with tears again. I looked at him, my lower lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to… It’s just, the babies are so active today. They’re kicking so hard it hurts, and my hand just gave out. The boy, especially. He’s so strong.” A flicker of pride lit up Kevin’s eyes. “Is he? That’s my son. Strong, right from the start.” He took my hand. “You just focus on staying healthy and bringing him into this world. The Robinson family will finally have its heir.” Heir? You bet! And once I inherit everything, the first thing I’ll do is flush this bitch’s ashes down the sewer! The vicious voice echoed again, laced with an insane arrogance. I closed my eyes, forcing down the rage. He continued, oblivious. “By the way, Renee made an appointment for you at the Summit Sanctuary. The abbot there is famous for his blessings for expectant mothers and newborns. We should go tomorrow, what do you think?” The Summit Sanctuary again. In three years of marriage, Kevin and I were apart more than we were together, and we’d never been able to conceive. Six months ago, Renee had “helpfully” introduced me to the abbot at the Sanctuary, suggesting I go for a “wellness retreat.” Soon after, I was pregnant with twins. Thinking back, it was obvious. My “darling son” was their masterpiece all along. They used some kind of dark ritual to implant their embryo in my womb, all so that my daughter and I could serve as stepping stones for their son’s glorious future. I nodded, feigning agreement. Kevin cleaned up the mess on the floor. He tucked me in, placing a soft goodnight kiss on my forehead. “Goodnight, my love. And goodnight to our babies.” He stepped out, closing the bedroom door behind him. The smile on my face vanished, replaced by a mask of ice. Mommy, Daddy’s going to see the bad lady now, my daughter’s timid voice whispered in my mind. Shut up, you jinx! My mom is the one Daddy really loves! the boy’s voice snarled back. You and your useless mother are both going to die! I slowly sat up and opened an app on my phone—a baby monitor I’d installed to record milestones. I never imagined its first use would be to catch my husband in the act. On the screen, Kevin had no sooner closed my door than he slipped into the guest room next door. Renee was waiting for him, draped in a sheer lace nightgown. She threw herself into his arms. “Is she asleep?” Kevin wrapped his arms around her waist, lowering his head to kiss her. “Out cold. Must have been a long day arranging things with the abbot.” Renee traced circles on his chest with a manicured finger. “It’s never too much trouble. Anything for our son.” Her voice was a seductive purr. “I just feel so bad for you, having to pretend with that boring face every day.” Kevin chuckled, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her toward the bed. “Not for much longer. Once our son is born and drains every last drop of fortune from that mother-daughter pair, you won’t have to suffer anymore. You’ll be the one and only Mrs. Robinson. As for her… who remembers a dead woman?” The scene that followed was too vile to watch. I shut off the monitor, my face devoid of expression, and sent a few text messages to Dr. Torrence. Just then, my daughter’s weak, helpless voice came from my belly. Mommy, it hurts. He’s taking my things again. The boy’s voice was filled with the innate cruelty and arrogance he was born with. I’m taking what’s mine! A waste of space should know her place! I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t be afraid, little one. Mommy will protect you. As for that monster and his snake of a mother, I wouldn’t let a single one of them escape. The next day, I obediently followed Renee to the Summit Sanctuary. The air was thick with incense, the sound of chanting filling the halls. The abbot, a man who projected an aura of serene wisdom, broke into a wide smile the moment he saw Renee. “Miss Renee, welcome.” His gaze then shifted to me, a calculating, greedy glint in his eyes. “And this must be Mrs. Robinson. Indeed, a woman blessed with a deep well of fortune.” Renee’s chin lifted with pride. “Abbot, my friend’s fortune is in your capable hands.” “Of course, of course.” The abbot handed me a folded talisman to keep on my person, then offered me a bowl of murky water. “Madam, drink this. It will ensure the safety of mother and child, and ward off all calamities.” I took the bowl of yellowish liquid, a strange, cloyingly sweet odor rising from it. Drink it! Drink it now! This is the ‘Fortune-Transfer Charm’ my mother paid a fortune for! It’ll siphon every last drop of your luck over to me! Once you’re an empty husk, our new life begins! the boy shrieked with excitement inside me. I smiled meekly, took the bowl, and under his watchful gaze, drank every last drop. Then, right in front of him, I vomited everything onto the pristine floor. Kevin’s face instantly darkened. But before he could say a word, I clutched my stomach and let out a pained groan. “Kevin, my stomach… it hurts so much… the babies, my babies…” The annoyance on his face was immediately replaced by alarm. “Don’t panic, I’ll call an ambulance right now!” Renee rushed in at the sound of the commotion. A flash of triumph crossed her face before she masked it with frantic concern. “What’s happening? Quick, we have to get her to a hospital!” On the way to the hospital, my body was wracked with convulsions, my hair plastered to my skin with cold sweat. Kevin and Renee flanked me, murmuring useless words of comfort. But in the chaos, I could suddenly hear their thoughts as clearly as my own. Kevin: [Just give birth already. I’m so tired of this act.] Renee: [The doctor’s all set. This surgery will be the end of them both—one body, two graves.] And my “darling son” was practically dancing in my womb. Yes! Finally! I can get away from this poor, pathetic excuse for a mother! I’m going to my real mom, Renee! Once I’m born, I’ll be the chosen one, the center of the universe! As for you and your worthless daughter… you can get ready to turn to ash! I curled into a ball, feigning agony, but a razor-thin smile touched my lips. Good. Let’s see who turns to ash first. At the hospital, I was rushed straight into the emergency room. Renee had arranged everything; the lead surgeon was one of her puppets. “Mr. Robinson, Mrs. Robinson, the situation is critical. The patient is showing signs of a major hemorrhage. We have to perform an emergency C-section immediately!” the doctor announced grimly, holding out a critical condition notice. Kevin put on a flawless performance of a man falling apart, grabbing the doctor’s arm. “Doctor, please, you have to save my wife and my children!” Renee stood nearby, crying her eyes out. “Nina, you and the babies have to be okay!” An A-list actor and his B-list actress. A match made in hell. I lay on the gurney, watching their little show. [Stop the acting and sign the papers already, I can’t wait!] [Just kill the woman and the little bitch spawn so my son can be born safely!] Their thoughts were so much more honest than their tearful performances. I lifted a trembling hand and clutched the fabric of Kevin’s shirt. “Honey, I’m scared…” Kevin immediately bent over me, taking my hand in his. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. I’ll be with you the whole time.” His voice was as smooth and gentle as silk. But his thoughts screamed in my mind. [God, you’re such a good actress. If it wasn’t for your life force, I wouldn’t be able to stand touching you.] I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Kevin, do you love me?” He was taken aback for a second, then his expression melted into one of deep affection. “Of course. You’re the only person I love.” “Then… if there are complications in the surgery… if you have to choose… do you save me, or the baby?” I stared directly into his eyes. The question hung in the air, instantly freezing the atmosphere in the room. Renee’s face paled. Kevin hesitated for a long moment before speaking, his voice heavy with false emotion. “I choose you. I only want you to be safe.” [Choose you? In your dreams. Neither you nor that little bitch is leaving this hospital alive!] His inner roar was so loud it made my ears ring. I smiled, satisfied. “Okay. As long as I have your word, I can rest easy.” I was wheeled into the operating room. The moment the doors swung shut, I saw Renee lean into Kevin’s embrace as they exchanged a triumphant look. Inside the OR, the lights were a harsh, sterile white. The surgeon Renee had hired, a man named Dr. Evans, approached me, a scalpel gleaming in his hand. He looked at me as if I were already dead. Mommy, I’m scared… my daughter’s voice whimpered. Scared of what? It’s an honor for you to be a stepping stone on my path to greatness! the boy’s voice boomed, more arrogant than ever. I slowly closed my eyes. It was time for the curtain to fall. Suddenly, the operating room doors were pushed open. Leading the way wasn’t Dr. Evans, but a lean, elderly man with sharp, intelligent eyes. He was followed by two nurses who efficiently and decisively escorted the original surgical team out of the room. Dr. Evans’s face went white. “Who are you? Who let you in here?” The old man didn’t even spare him a glance, walking directly to my side. “Nina. Are you alright?” I opened my eyes and gave him a weak smile. “Dr. Torrence. You’re finally here.” Dr. Evans, seeing his plan crumble, tried to protest. “You can’t do this! This patient is in critical condition! If you delay the surgery, who will be responsible?” Dr. Torrence shot him a look that could freeze fire. “I am taking over this procedure. You can leave. Or,” he added, his voice dropping, “you can stay and observe what a real C-section looks like.” Dr. Evans scrambled out of the room as if the devil himself were on his heels. The doors closed once more. Dr. Torrence pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, his voice calm and steady. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.” I nodded, a profound sense of relief washing over me. As the anesthesia entered my system, my consciousness began to fade. Just before I slipped into darkness, I heard the boy’s terrified, disbelieving screams. What’s going on? Where are the people my mother hired? No! You can’t touch me! I am the chosen one! You’re all worthless trash! How dare you lay a hand on me! But this time, there was no one left to hear his tantrum. Outside the operating room, Dr. Evans ran to Kevin and Renee, his face a mask of panic. “Mr. Robinson, it’s a disaster! The operating room… an old man named Alistair Torrence has taken over!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394364”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day he cut off my father’s hand was my birthday. Sebastian Croft did it right in front of me. When my father’s men retaliated, taking his leg, Sebastian just looked up, his smile stained crimson in the moonlight. “Kill me,” he dared them, his voice a rasp. “Because if you leave me breathing, the next time he lays a hand on her, I’ll take his other goddamn leg myself. Try me.” From that day on, my stepfather never touched me again. Sebastian said gardenias shouldn’t be stained with blood. He took the knife from my hand and, with one clean stroke, severed my father’s illegitimate sons from their inheritance. Everyone says Sebastian Croft is drenched in blood. But he never let a single drop touch his wife. Only I knew the truth. Only I had seen the thousand-plus pages of his private journals, where one name was written over and over, an obsessive prayer. The name of a woman as pure and flawless as a gardenia. The day I threw my wedding ring at his feet, he looked as if he’d been woken from a long dream. He lit the journals on fire, his laughter laced with a sorrow so deep it was terrifying. “Don’t worry,” he said, the pages curling into black ash. “She and I… that ship sailed a long time ago.” I slid the divorce papers across the table. “It can sail back.” He laughed and tore them to shreds. “For you and me, Audrina? It’s one bed for life, one coffin for eternity.” 1 The divorce papers burned, too. So that was it. For me and Sebastian Croft, it was one bed for life, one coffin for eternity. Even in death, our caskets would be pried open just enough to face each other, the first and last thing we’d ever see. The only thing we’d ever see. It was the vow we’d made at our wedding. He walked away, grinding the ashes of my petition under his heel without a backward glance. The next time I saw him was on the evening news. It was a night dark as ink, pouring rain, and against the gloom, a girl on a flight of steps was the only spot of white in the entire world. White dress, pale skin. A natural blush dusting the corners of her eyes. The moment the camera flash went off, Sebastian yanked her into his arms, pulling her under the umbrella so forcefully that only his own jawline was visible. That, and the girl’s bare legs as he swept her up onto his hip. He never allowed his face to be photographed by the press. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them get a picture of his girl. Because he knew I’d be looking. Even from that fleeting glimpse, I got the screenshot. I sent it to my people. But there was nothing. Not a single face in any global database matched the girl. The best they could find was a potential student ID photo from an Ivy League university, but her face was obscured by a thick black redaction bar. Sebastian was protecting her. When I went back to find a replay of the news segment, it was gone. Scrubbed from the internet. All I had left was that one screenshot. The image of a girl with fear shimmering in her eyes, staring at the camera like a fawn caught in headlights as she burrowed into Sebastian’s chest. The veins on the back of Sebastian’s hand were bulging. I’d only ever seen him hold a woman that tightly twice. The first time was after our rivals murdered my mother and my uncles, dumping their bodies in the river. I was the one who dragged them out, one by one, from the bloody water. As the sun set, turning the sky to gore, the boy standing on the bank had held me just like that. He’d pressed his body against mine again and again, trying to warm my frozen limbs, his tears streaming as he begged me not to close my eyes. The second time was now, in front of a camera, terrified that the girl in his arms would be exposed. That she would fall into my hands. When he finally came home, I slid the photo across the marble tabletop. It stopped right in front of him. I sat opposite, staring out the window, and blew a slow, deliberate ring of smoke. “It’s never going to happen between her and me,” he said, his voice flat. He palmed the photograph, hiding it from view. I asked only one question. “The journal. A thousand pages. Who was she, and when?” “You don’t want to know.” His tone was devoid of any emotion. Moonlight spilled across the marble, but it couldn’t illuminate the expressions on our faces. The only sounds were the soft rustle of new divorce papers being pushed toward him, followed by the sharp, metallic click of a round being chambered. I lit another cigarette, the brief flare of the lighter catching my face. “Sign it.” A gust of wind billowed the curtains, scattering the papers. In the next instant, he was on me, his hand tearing at the silk of my dress. The fabric ripped away, revealing the gleam of moonlight on my polished steel prosthesis. “Audrina.” He plucked the cigarette from my lips. The silver of our two artificial limbs reflected the same cold light. “There is no one else on this earth,” he murmured, his voice low and intense, “who is a better match for you and me.” Sebastian didn’t sign the papers. For the next week, there wasn’t a single new lead on the girl. Only a name, gleaned from the charred remnants of his journal. Stella. But the girl herself couldn’t wait. She showed up at my door. Same white dress, same pale skin as the photograph. But this time, the natural blush at her eyes was overshadowed by the angry red love bites scattered across her neck and chest. “I’m pregnant,” she announced, her delicate hand resting on a barely-there swell. “It’s his.” My pen stopped moving across the financial report. She sat down in the visitor’s chair opposite my desk as if she owned the place. “You’ve probably seen the news. And you must know my name was in his journals long before he ever met you. He loves me, not you. If you can’t accept that, I’ll just have my private medical team move in here. With me being pregnant, who do you think Sebastian will kick out, Audrina? You, or me?” The heavy chair hit the floor with a muffled thud. The only sounds that followed were the girl’s gasp and the sharp, clean crack of my palm against her cheek. “You hit me!” Her eyes, already pink-tinged, went crimson with shock and disbelief. I smiled. Sebastian had kept her so well protected. This fall, this slap… it was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her. “No wonder you had the guts to show up here alone,” I said, advancing on her. She scrambled backward on the floor, terror finally dawning in her eyes. “No… stay away!” Her whimper struck a nerve. I loomed over her, watching the tears well up, and suddenly, the overwhelming sense of familiarity I’d felt since she walked in clicked into place. She was me. She was the eighteen-year-old me, the girl in the blood-soaked white dress, stumbling to the ground, begging them to stay away on the day my family was slaughtered. “Ah!” I grabbed a fistful of her hair, and her scream was a perfect echo of my own from all those years ago. The motion pulled her head back, exposing the delicate skin of her neck. And the butterfly-shaped birthmark, clear as day. Sebastian… he’d found another me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394363”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was in the middle of a livestream, matched with some kid who sounded like he’d just started kindergarten, when I decided to run my mouth. “Alright, kiddo,” I said, my voice dripping with gamer-girl sass, “call me Mom.” My brand-new son promptly lost his mind. “Dad! Dad, I found her! I found my mom!” 1. A dozen question marks exploded in my head. Hello? We’re live here, little dude. Eight hundred thousand people are watching. I’m a streamer who built her brand on skill, not on drama and gossip, okay? “Whoa there, little guy,” I said, trying to backtrack. “It was just a joke. You don’t have to call your dad into this.” But my sweet summer child was completely ignoring me. On screen, his little mage character, a bubbly thing called Sparkle, was just running circles around my hero. “Dad, you have to come see! My mom is right here!” I was speechless. A glance at the chat confirmed they were losing it. A waterfall of laughing emojis scrolled by, someone asking if I was hiding a secret love child. Just as I was frantically trying to deny everything, the Silas on our team—the one who’d been all flashy moves and cocky swagger since the match started—inexplicably joined the weird little ritual. He started circling my character right alongside Sparkle. Then, a message popped up in the public chat from him. A simple, quiet sentence. Yeah, she’s beautiful. 2 Excuse me? If I remembered correctly, the hero I was playing was Grizz, a mountain of a man with a beard that could hide a family of squirrels. The chat absolutely erupted. My temples started to throb. This had to be a setup. I was convinced these two were hired by a rival streamer to mess with me. I made my Grizz stomp his feet and leap out of their little circle of crazy. But just as I landed, the enemy team’s vanguard, a real heavy-hitter, seized the opportunity and slammed me, tearing through my health bar. My ultimate ability was still on cooldown. It was life or death, and in that split second, Sparkle somehow found a way to get right back next to me, spinning again. Silas stood beside us both, his character looking infuriatingly calm. He typed again. Son, does your mother need help? Then my “son’s” voice came through my headset, full of childlike earnestness. “Mom, Dad’s asking if you need help.” “…” I’m not blind! 3 I felt like they were humiliating me. Fueled by a surge of pure spite, I made Grizz jump directly into the enemy’s finishing move, basically committing glorious suicide. With its target gone, the little Sparkle character stood there for a dazed moment before the enemy vanguard sent him back to the spawn point, too. Silas, however, got away. He ran, of all places, straight under an enemy tower. Our team had given up three kills in the opening minutes of the match. Our other two teammates were, justifiably, starting to rage. ThirtyEightAndSingle: Are you three putting on a family drama for us? Is that it? BunnyWithAFang: Grizz, do you even know how to play? Did you buy this high-ranked account? I wanted to cry. I was desperate to prove that I deserved my 800,000 followers. I had to win this game. But the moment I respawned, before I’d even taken two steps out of our base, my dear son was on me again. “Mom, we have a parent-child activity day at my kindergarten tomorrow. Are you coming?” 4 I ignored him. He was persistent. “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” A vein in my forehead pulsed. “No,” I snapped. After I said it, his little character stopped moving completely. I didn’t think much of it, just relieved that the noise had finally stopped. Until a new sound trickled through my headset. It was the sound of a small child trying very hard to cry without making any noise. It was a tiny, muffled sound, like a kitten whimpering, but it struck a chord deep inside me, sharp and painful. For a flash, I was a little girl again, my small hands clutching the cold wood of a coffin, begging my own mother to please, please wake up. “Hey,” I said, my voice suddenly soft. “I… I can’t tomorrow. I’m busy. But maybe next time, okay?” I figured he was just a kid. He’d forget about it in a few days. The crying stopped instantly. About two minutes later, my son, with his character’s two enormous pigtails swinging, came bouncing back to my side. “Mom, there’s a parent-child sports festival next week. I already signed you up.” “…” Does your kindergarten have a mandatory family event every single week? 5 It was ridiculous, right? And where was this kid’s dad in all of this? Too busy farming minions in the jungle to parent his own child? “Uh, listen,” I started, trying to come up with a good excuse. “I’m in L.A. That’s probably too far. I don’t think I can make it in a week.” My son immediately piped up, “What a coincidence! I live in L.A., too!” I wanted to bang my head against my desk. Of all the cities in the country, really? “Right, but I’m in Culver City,” I pushed on, committed to the lie. “That’s probably really far from you, not convenient at all.” He got even more excited. “What a coincidence! I’m in Culver City, too!” I should have just said I lived on the moon. “Well, it still wouldn’t be right,” I said, pinning my last hope on Silas, the dad who had been silently massacring jungle monsters this whole time. He seemed like he had to be the sane one. “Your dad wouldn’t agree to it.” But then Silas typed his reply. Where do you live? I’ll pick you up next Friday. 6 My brain short-circuited. Was that something a normal human being would say? I pretended I was blind, deaf, and dumb. I couldn’t see the chat, couldn’t hear the kid. I just focused on playing my big, burly Grizz. But Silas wouldn’t let it go. He materialized beside me as if out of thin air. Address. “…” I think I have a pretty good temper. I didn’t curse him out. But my rage had to go somewhere, so I unleashed every single one of Grizz’s abilities on him. After the onslaught, Silas just stood there, completely still. For a second, I thought his game had crashed. Then he typed. I’ve slain dragons with a single glance, yet I am undone by a look from you. My Grizz, not to be outdone, automatically triggered one of his own ridiculous voice lines: “Hahahaha! A real man’s battle is right here, right now!” Silas: I have poetry and strong wine. Come with me. Grizz: “Heheheh, boss, I’ve got a thousand ways to cut your salary!” The fans in my stream chat immediately started shipping them. “…” 7 I was frozen, my character locked in a bizarre staredown with Silas. I knew some heroes had special dialogue triggers with each other, but Grizz and Silas? Seriously? What kind of twisted game design was this? I quickly made Grizz jump backward, terrified that if I stayed any longer, a shower of pink hearts would spontaneously erupt over our heads. Silas went back to the jungle, and I thought, with a sigh of relief, that he’d finally returned to normal. Just then, my stream exploded. Someone had gifted me ten “Titan Tributes” in a row, the highest-tier gift on the platform. The sudden influx of cash and hype shot my stream up to the number three spot on the entire site. I was floored, gushing with gratitude as I thanked the generous donor. “Thank you so much to… ‘MyHusband’… for the ten Titan Tributes!” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. I squinted at the screen name. This guy was messing with me. But he’d just dropped a serious amount of cash on my channel; I couldn’t exactly call him out. While I was torn between defending my honor and keeping the money, Silas drifted back over to my side. You’re welcome. I didn’t get it, but a second later, he made me understand. Another thirty Titan Tributes flooded my stream, all from the same user: “MyHusband.” A cold, dawning horror began to creep up my spine. Sure enough, Silas typed again. What’s mine is yours. 8 Then I heard my son’s voice, laced with disdain. “That’s it? You’ll never win my mom over being that cheap.” “…” So it really was the flashy Silas player who sent the gifts? Just as my brain was about to melt from the sheer absurdity of it all, my stream was hit with another tidal wave. One hundred Titan Tributes. My son’s voice returned, filled with pride. “For you, Mommy. Go buy yourself something nice.” I just sat there, numb. I didn’t know if I was stunned by the father-son duo’s performance or blinded by the fifty thousand dollars that had just been dropped on my stream. Had I stumbled into a match with billionaires? My fans were going even crazier than I was. The chat was a battlefield of theories. Some thought it was the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. Others were convinced the two were shady and had bad intentions. The most ridiculous theory? That I had orchestrated the whole thing myself as a publicity stunt to gain followers. All hell broke loose. Fans started fighting with each other—some defending me, some accusing me, and some just insulting everyone in sight. My chat looked less like a gaming stream and more like a riot. Eventually, a consensus formed. They all demanded that I go to the sports festival to prove my innocence. And at that exact moment, as if on cue, Silas delivered the killing blow. Your son got you a present. He’ll be really sad if you don’t go. Mommy, please come. I haven’t seen you in six years. 9 That father-son tag team took the raging dumpster fire that was my livestream and poured gasoline all over it. I was completely and utterly speechless. There was nothing I could say. Any denial would just make me look guiltier. At this point, the only way out was through. I had to go to this stupid sports day to clear my name. “What’s the name of the kindergarten?” I asked, my voice tight with frustration. I needed to see for myself what kind of institution was raising a child this… talented. DM’d you. See you Friday. I wanted to reach through the screen and shatter his stupid, poetic sword. But the worst was yet to come. The moment I agreed, Silas and Sparkle—that shameless father-son duo—disconnected from the game. They just left. What? What the actual— They left me to face the wrath of my hysterical fans and our two, now apocalyptic, teammates. All by myself. I don’t know what came over me, but for the remaining ten minutes of that doomed match, I found myself apologizing profusely to our other two teammates. None of it was even my fault. What had I ever done to deserve this? To make matters worse, before I could even end the stream, my assistant, clearly afraid I’d back out, posted an official announcement on all my social media. “THIS FRIDAY: TUNE IN FOR A SPECIAL LIVE BROADCAST! DINO-MITE ELLIE AND THE MYSTERY FATHER-SON DUO AT THE KINDERGARTEN SPORTS FESTIVAL!” 10 I stayed completely offline after the stream ended. That night, my parents called me. They said they wanted to see their grandson. Apparently, a gaming streamer making headlines for a secret family was big news. The embarrassment was galactic. After days of agonizing and trying to think of a way out, Friday finally arrived. For the occasion, I’d chosen an outfit consisting of a fluffy, full-body brown bear suit and a giant panda ski mask. To be blunt, I looked like a grizzly bear who had mugged a panda for its face. My agent, however, was ecstatic. He started the livestream the moment we got in the car. It was my first-ever “face reveal,” and after a week of hype, my fans were greeted with the sight of a genetic monstrosity. The chat was not kind. I didn’t care. I was clutching the “treasures” in my bag, my knuckles white, gritting my teeth in anticipation of meeting my so-called son and his father. I was going to give them a welcome they would never, ever forget. 11 The drive was short. The kindergarten was only ten minutes from my apartment. So close, in fact, that I was half-convinced they’d moved there overnight just to mess with me. It’s worth mentioning that the kindergarten had a ridiculous name: The Bumblebee Patch. I’d been sure Silas was punking me, but no, The Bumblebee Patch was a real place. As we pulled up, a man in a full tuxedo approached the car and opened my door. “Miss Ellie, I presume?” he asked politely. “The young master is waiting for you inside.” “…” So, this is how rich people play their games, huh? “How did you recognize me in… this?” I asked, genuinely confused. The butler smiled. “The master said that if someone arrived in a bizarre costume, it would certainly be you.” My agent leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “He knows you that well? Are you sure you haven’t been hiding a man—and a son—from me this whole time?” “…” Honestly? If I weren’t still a card-carrying member of the virgin club, I’d be starting to wonder if maybe I had given birth at some point and, in a fit of madness, abandoned the child. 12 The tuxedoed butler led me, the panda-bear hybrid, into the kindergarten. As soon as we stepped onto the playground, I was mobbed by a swarm of ecstatic children. “Riley, your mommy really came!” “Riley, you’re so cute! Is it because you were born from a panda?” “Riley, where’s your daddy?” “Riley, if your mom is a panda, is your dad a tiger?” “If they have a baby brother or sister, will it be a squirrel?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at their innocent questions. But what I really wanted to know was which one of them was my “son.” The sea of children parted, and a little boy in a tiny, formal suit was pushed forward. He was adorable, but also seriously overweight. A perfect little sphere of a child. Maybe he was trying to match the kindergarten’s name? His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he seemed incredibly nervous. He stammered for a moment before managing a tiny voice. “Mommy, I’m your son. My name is Riley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 13 My heart did a complicated little flip. Looking at this impossibly cute, round child, I had the strangest feeling that maybe I really was his mom. I have zero experience with kids. I racked my brain for something to say. “Do you like lions, tigers, or elephants?” My son thought for a moment. “Elephants.” “Got it.” I nodded, then dug around in my bag. I pulled out a plush, elephant-butt-shaped cushion and plopped it on his head like a hat. “Mommy?” Riley squeaked, confused. “Stand still,” I ordered in my sternest voice. The little guy immediately stood up straight, like a soldier at attention. I was very satisfied. Then, with a twisted grin, I pulled out a giant, inflatable squeaky hammer with “1000 TONS” written on the side and started whacking the elephant butt on his head. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! I chanted as I hammered away. “This one’s for the emotional distress of you calling me ‘Mom’ out of nowhere!” Squeak! “This one’s for all the trouble you caused me!” Squeak! “This one’s for the massive emotional distress of you wasting so much money on gifts for me!” Squeak! “And this one—this is for getting me reported by my own teammates after you rage-quit!” SQUEAK! When I felt I’d gotten most of it out of my system, I saw the poor kid was completely shell-shocked. I quickly took the cushion off his head, patted him gently, and put on my sweetest, kindest smile. “Now, where’s your father?” The boy, ever so honest, pointed towards a large tree in the distance. Only then did I notice a man standing there. Gripping my hammer, I stormed toward him. 14 I swear, my only intention at that moment was to either hospitalize him or, preferably, end him. But as I got closer and his face came into focus—that stupidly, unfairly handsome face—I froze. All the air left my lungs. I spun around and tried to run. I didn’t get far. A hand clamped down on the collar of my bear suit, yanking me to a halt. “And where do you think you’re going?” a voice behind me drawled, thick with amusement. “I-I-I… I have the wrong person.” I struggled, but my collar felt like it was fused to his hand. “No, you don’t,” he said. “I’m Riley’s dad. The ‘Number One Fan’ who you called ‘husband’ on your stream.” I wanted to scream, but I bit it back and forced a strained laugh. “A misunderstanding! It was all a misunderstanding! I’ll give you the money back, right now.” My hands trembling, I fumbled in my bag for the bank card I’d brought just in case and tossed it over my shoulder. A cold chuckle came from behind me. “Trying to pay me off again?” My mind stalled. Again? I wasn’t the one who started this. Before I could figure out what to say, my agent, that beautiful idiot, came charging over with his camera held high. A jolt of panic shot through me. “STAY BACK!” I yelled. But it was too late. He skidded to a stop a few feet away, and the expression on his face morphed from confusion to pure, unadulterated shock. “Holy crap, Ellie!” my agent screamed, his voice cracking. “Your husband is Leo Sterling?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394362”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“In the aftermath, we all got our Talents. Some could conjure fire, others could command the tides. My Talent? I can take away the power of anyone named John Smith. That’s it. That’s the whole damn thing. Only people with that exact first and last name. Three years went by. Not only had I never met a single John Smith, but my useless Talent had made me a target. A punching bag. A Blank. Then, one day, while I was scavenging in the filth of the Warren, I found my best friend again. She was begging for scraps. We held each other and just sobbed. Through her tears, she wailed, “”Why did everyone else get something so damn cool? Why is my only Talent… renaming people John Smith?”” I froze. “”What did you say?”” 1. After the world ended, I made a living picking through the garbage heaps of the Warren. My days were a blur of wind, rain, and a gnawing hunger that came and went like a stray dog. Getting robbed was just part of the routine. I watched the rat-faced man snatch the stale protein bar I’d just unearthed. My feet felt like they were encased in concrete, immovable. That was his Talent. He kicked me over with a laugh. “”Can’t believe there are still Blanks out there. How the hell are you still alive?”” A retort died on my lips. It wasn’t worth the beating. I scrambled to my feet, forcing a grin that felt like cracking plaster. “”That’s an amazing Talent, man. Seriously. What do they call you? I find anything good from now on, I’ll save it for you.”” “”Smart girl,”” he sneered. “”If you find anything, bring it to the alley behind the old pharmacy. And the name’s John… Strong.”” My eyes shot wide. “”…Strong.”” After the son of a bitch swaggered off, the tears finally came. When the Change happened, the world went crazy. Animals mutated, plants turned predatory, and every surviving human woke up with a Talent. Society recalibrated itself overnight, with the powerful at the top and everyone else at the bottom. Some Talents were god-tier, like pyrokinesis or weather control. Others were mundane, like duplicating paper clips or moving small objects with your mind. And then there was mine. The power to strip any man named John Smith of his Talent. Three years. I hadn’t met a single one. That was the closest I’d ever come, but of course his name had to be John Strong. What good was a Talent like that in this eat-or-be-eaten world? Before the Change, I was a graphic designer in a high-rise. Now, I was less than nothing. I didn’t know how much longer I could last. Cursing under my breath, I started back toward my shelter—a collapsed corner of a bus station, open to the elements. As I left the alley, I saw a bag someone was carrying tear open. A box of Pop-Tarts tumbled out. My eyes lit up. I dove for it, my fingers just brushing the cardboard when someone else lunged from the other side, grabbing the other end. Neither of us let go. Suddenly, the other person let out a desperate howl. “”Please, just let me have it! I haven’t eaten in five days, I’m going to die!”” That voice… I looked closer. The person in front of me—hair matted, face gaunt and smudged with dirt, reeking of stale sweat—was my long-lost best friend. “”Anna?”” Her eyes widened. “”Chloe?”” We fell into each other’s arms, the stupid box of Pop-Tarts forgotten as we cried. “”Where have you been? I looked everywhere for you!”” I sobbed into her shoulder. “”Some group grabbed me,”” she gasped. “”For research. They let me go when they decided my Talent was useless.”” Anna explained her ordeal while demolishing the stale pastries. Shortly after the Change, some shadow organization started kidnapping people to study their Talents. But Anna’s was so pathetic, they deemed it worthless and threw her out. I had a hard time believing that. More pathetic than mine? “”Don’t say that,”” I said, trying to comfort her. “”No matter how useless your Talent is, it can’t be worse than mine.”” She shook her head emphatically. “”Impossible.”” “”Trust me,”” I insisted. “”No, you don’t get it. Mine is the bottom of the barrel.”” We were still arguing about who was the bigger loser when a little kid floated past us down the street. Actually floated. Flight. That’s when Anna completely broke down, snot and tears and pastry crumbs flying from her mouth. “”Why?! Why does everyone else get to be a goddamn superhero, and all I can do is rename people John Smith?!”” The hand patting her back stopped dead. My whole world tilted on its axis. “”What did you say?”””

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394361”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I woke up with a five-year-old son I didn’t know. And a husband of six years, who, just yesterday, had been trembling as he told me he loved me for the first time. Before I could even begin to process what was happening, my phone rang. It was him. Caleb. His voice was cold, a stranger’s voice. “I’m with Stella for her birthday. Don’t call again. I don’t care if you beat Noah bloody, I’m not coming home.” He hung up. “Get your pathetic little tricks under control,” he’d said, just before the line went dead. “Behave.” A moment later, the boy—my son, Noah—shuffled into the room, his small body a canvas of faint bruises. He was trembling as he held out a thin, leather riding crop. “Mommy,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. “You can hit me now. I won’t cry.” A slow, cold smile spread across my face. I took the crop from his shaking hand. “Noah,” I said, my voice smooth as glass. “Do you know where those two are?” 1 “Well, Caleb. You look like you’re having the time of your life.” The riding crop was coiled in my hand. The heels of my stilettos clicked against the gleaming white marble, each sharp tap a countdown to the end of his good fortune. There he was. The boyish blush I remembered was gone, replaced by the hard, confident lines of a man in a bespoke suit. He was a universe away from the young man who had nervously confessed his love to me only yesterday. Caleb’s face tightened when he saw me. A flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Ava. What the hell are you doing here? Get out.” Beside him, a woman in a perfect cocktail dress looped her arm through his. It was a gesture of pure provocation, draped in a costume of grace. “Ava, honey,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “Since you’re already here, why don’t you stay for my party?” She turned her wide, innocent eyes to Caleb. “Don’t be rude to our guest, Cal. Even if she wasn’t invited.” Her tone was all sugar, but her eyes, when they met mine, were glittering with triumph. Caleb’s expression softened as he looked at her, pinching her cheek playfully. “Alright, Stella. It’s your birthday. Whatever you say goes.” His gaze snapped back to me, hard and cold. “Stella’s a good person. She’s willing to forgive you. That doesn’t mean I am.” He took a step forward, lowering his voice to a menacing growl. “If you’re going to stay, you’d better stay quiet. You make a scene, Ava, and I swear you’ll regret it.” The whispers started around us, a venomous little tide. “God, that psycho’s here. Is she going to drag the poor boy out again to beg Caleb to come home?” “Having a mother like that has to be the worst luck in the world. If I were Caleb, I’d have divorced her ages ago, just to give the kid a shot at a normal life.” “Did you hear what happened last time? Caleb had a late dinner with a client, and she accused him of cheating. Beat the kid half to death just to force him to come back. I wonder if the poor thing is even okay.” “She’s a menace. A complete disaster. I just hope she doesn’t fly off the handle tonight.” Hearing the whispers, Stella seemed to grow taller, her spine straightening with self-satisfaction. She addressed the crowd with performative sympathy. “Please, everyone, don’t say that. Ava is Noah’s mother, after all. She wouldn’t really hurt her own child… ah!” Her sentence ended in a sharp scream. The riding crop had sliced through the air, the crack echoing like a gunshot. In an instant, Stella was clutching her face, a fiery red welt blooming on her cheek. She howled in pain. The smile on my lips only widened. “You little tramp,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to keep your mouth shut?” Rage erupted on Caleb’s face. He lunged toward me. “Ava, how dare you touch her! I’ll—!” CRACK. The crop swung again. Caleb’s thin, gold-rimmed glasses flew from his face, skittering across the marble. A bloody line appeared on his handsome cheek. “Caleb,” I purred, stepping closer. “Did I ever tell you what happens when you cross me?” When he’d confessed his love, I’d told him. I’d warned him. If you ever, ever cross a line with me, I will destroy you. He had simply smiled, his eyes full of devotion. “Ava,” he’d said, his voice thick with emotion. “If I ever do anything to deserve it, you can punish me however you want. I won’t say a word. I swear.” For me, waking up in this nightmare, that promise was made yesterday. But for this Caleb, six years had passed. And promises, I was learning, could fade to nothing. “You’re insane,” he hissed, his face contorted. “Completely insane! Security! Get this crazy woman out of here!” I let out a soft laugh. “Caleb,” I whispered. “Do you want to see what a real crazy woman looks like?” 2 “It’s not going to work, Ava! You can’t use the boy to threaten him anymore, so now you’re trying this?” Stella shrieked, the initial shock giving way to her usual arrogance. “You’re wasting your time! Caleb is sick of you! He loves me!” “Is that so?” I smiled, grabbing a fistful of her perfectly styled hair and shoving her face-first into the enormous birthday cake. Her screams became muffled, gurgling sounds as her head disappeared into layers of cream and sponge. “Ava, let her go!” Caleb roared, his voice trembling with fury. “Let her go, or I swear to God I will end you!” He reached for me, trying to pull me away, to save his precious Stella. I met his furious eyes with a look of pure scorn. In one smooth motion, I pulled a small, wicked-looking paring knife from my purse and drove it straight through the back of his outstretched hand. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat. I watched the color drain from his face, his expression a mask of agony and disbelief. I twisted the knife slightly, just to be sure. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. “What’s wrong, Caleb? I thought you were so happy. Where’s that beautiful smile you save just for her?” Just moments ago, when I walked in, he’d been standing by her side as she blew out her candles, his dark eyes filled with the same adoration he once reserved for me. His eyes had been full of love. A genuine love. “You’re a psycho,” he gasped, his voice shaking. “Let… go…” His eyes burned with a hatred so pure it was almost beautiful. “Mommy…” A tiny, trembling voice cut through the chaos. Noah. He was standing near the entrance, frozen. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. With a sharp tug, I yanked the knife from Caleb’s hand. Then, as if discarding a piece of trash, I flung the sputtering, cake-covered Stella to the floor. She landed in a heap, her eyes, nose, and mouth clogged with sticky frosting, gasping for air like a dying fish. Caleb clutched his bleeding hand, his body wracked with pain and shock. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, the veins in his neck standing out. He wanted to help her, but he was useless. I ignored the murderous look he was giving me and arched an eyebrow at my son. “Noah. How did you enjoy the show? I expect a five-hundred-word report when we get home.” “Ava! He’s five years old!” Caleb bellowed, trying to stand on the moral high ground while his hand dripped blood onto the marble. “You drag him here to watch this… this madness? Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what this will do to him?” I scoffed. In front of everyone, I announced coolly, “Only the strong get to be my son.” My eyes narrowed. “The weak… they’re just your son, Caleb.” Noah’s small frame trembled. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a new confusion, but the raw fear he’d shown me earlier was gone. “This is absurd!” Caleb spat, his voice laced with venom. “Someone like you… you don’t deserve to be a mother! A psycho like you belongs in a goddamn asylum!” I started to laugh, a genuine, delighted sound that echoed in the silent room. “If that’s the case,” I said, my smile widening. “Then let’s go to hell together.” After all, neither of us is an angel. 3 On the drive over, memories had flooded my scrambled brain—a highlight reel from a life I hadn’t lived. I learned that Caleb’s first betrayal happened when I was pregnant. Stella had shown up at our door, the faint bruises of passion on her neck, to inform me that Caleb was in love with her. She told me to step aside gracefully. Blinded by rage, I lunged at her. In the scuffle, I fell down the stairs. The fall induced premature labor. And just like that, Caleb’s affair was public knowledge. He stopped hiding it. He started taking Stella everywhere, to galas, to dinners, to board meetings. I screamed. I cried. I begged. He just looked at me with the detached pity one might reserve for a deranged animal. “Ava, look at yourself,” he’d said, his voice flat. “Just look in a mirror. Ever since you got pregnant, you’ve let yourself go completely. What man would want… this?” He started staying out all night. He let Stella send me pictures of them together, taunting me. The baby—Noah—cried constantly. Between the betrayal and the exhaustion, I felt my mind begin to fray. The pressure cracked me open and I became the psycho he’d accused me of being. Eventually, I learned the only way to get Caleb to even look at me was to hurt our son. Only by threatening Noah could I trigger the tiny, dusty scrap of fatherly love buried deep inside him. Now, as Caleb’s face cycled through shades of white and purple, a cheerful waltz began to play over the event hall’s sound system. It felt like an ovation for my performance. “Watch closely, Noah,” I announced, my voice ringing with manic energy. “Lesson number one. This is how you drag the people who betray you down to hell!” I laughed, a wild, liberating sound, and seized a chair. With all my strength, I hurled it into a long table laden with exquisite food and crystal glasses. Glass shattered everywhere. The guests shrieked, their screams a discordant harmony with the soaring waltz. Anything that could be smashed, I smashed. Anything that could be thrown, I threw. A beautiful, elegant birthday party was reduced to a war zone in minutes. “Enough!” Caleb finally roared, his composure completely shattered. “You’re fucking insane! If this is what you want, then fine! Fine! I want a divorce!” He still didn’t get it. He was still trying to command me from a position of power. I saw the resolve in his eyes, the finality of his decision. And I heard myself laugh again, a low, bubbling chuckle. “A divorce?” I purred. “Caleb, darling. Do you really think you have that right?” When I first met Caleb, he was the charity case my parents had taken under their wing. A scholarship kid from some forgotten rural town. When my father’s driver brought him to our estate, he was all sharp angles and jutting bones, swimming in clothes that didn’t fit. The slightest sound made him flinch. Back then, he called me Miss Ava. “He has every right!” Stella, her face now a grotesque mask of frosting and rage, slowly pushed herself up. Her hand went to her flat stomach. “Caleb isn’t the boy you picked up off the street anymore. He doesn’t need your family’s charity.” She smiled, a truly vicious sight. “And besides, you’re not the only one who can give him a child. I’m pregnant. Caleb and I are going to have a new family.” The pure, unadulterated bliss in her eyes told me one thing. My previous lesson had been far too gentle. A delighted laugh escaped my lips. I lunged, grabbing her by the hair again. The knife in my hand was a silver blur. I plunged it deep into her lower abdomen. “Lesson number two, sweetie,” I whispered, my voice a sing-song. “How to eliminate a threat before it takes root.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394360”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I found my birth parents ten years too late. All they left me was a house filled with my own baby pictures and mountains of missing-child flyers bearing my face. The grief and injustice I had swallowed for twenty years erupted in that single moment. I spun around and slapped my husband, Caleb, so hard the sound echoed in the empty room. “This is your fault! All of it!” “If you hadn’t pushed for Lila to take my adoption spot, I never would have been left to rot in that place for five more years!” “For her, you let our son die. For her, you let my parents die searching for me. I will never, ever forgive you. I’ll haunt you from my grave.” That was the day we finally shattered for good. I targeted his every weakness, and he went for my jugular. It was only at the very end, as his own life faded, that he showed a flicker of remorse. He left a note, promising to make it all up to me in the next life. But when I opened my eyes again, I was a child, staring at that same, coveted adoption slot. And this time, I gave it to Lila myself. 1 “Mom, Dad, if you’re going to get me a sister, pick her! She’s a hard worker, I can tell. That way, you’ll finally have a worthy heir.” The moment I heard those words, I knew. Caleb was back, too. I thought of the suicide note he’d left behind and let out a soft, humorless laugh. He was a man of his word, I’ll give him that. In my last life, I was consumed by ambition. I was sick of being poor, helpless, of screaming into a void that never answered back. All I wanted was to be adopted by a wealthy family. I schemed and fought and clawed my way into the Graysons’ line of sight, and it worked. They were impressed with me. I was one day away from escaping that hellhole when Caleb showed up, holding Lila’s hand. He believed every lie she spun. That I bullied her. That I was a promiscuous child who seduced the staff. That I was a master manipulator, an actress… My dream shattered that day. As Caleb led Lila away, he turned to the rest of the orphanage and announced, “Clara is a curse. She’ll bring you nothing but bad luck. I’d stay away from her if I were you.” In that instant, I fell from one hell into another, where I suffered for five more years. Lila, meanwhile, became the cherished daughter of the Grayson family, cradled in the palm of their hands. Now, standing before Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, I heard this new, regretful Caleb say to me, “This time, you’ll be my sister. I’ll be good to you, I promise. You won’t have to be jealous of anyone ever again… At the very least, I won’t let you suffer here for another five years.” I understood. He was trying to soothe the ghost of my past self. He had eventually learned the truth about Lila’s lies, and the guilt had eaten him alive for decades. My five lost years were a wound he could never close. Mr. and Mrs. Grayson nodded, just like before. They liked me instantly. But this time, I wanted nothing to do with Caleb Grayson. I certainly didn’t want his charity. I was about to refuse when the door burst open. A younger Lila stumbled in, crying, her dress torn. A cut on her arm was bleeding. “Lila! What happened? Are you okay?” Lila’s eyes darted toward me, full of suspicion, before she fell to her knees before the Graysons. “Sir, Ma’am, are you here to save me? Please, I don’t want to die! I really, really don’t want to die!” She was copying me. The orphanage director was a monster. I had used that exact performance to save myself once. Lila had always been lucky, one of fate’s favorites. She’d never truly suffered, so she’d never been one of his targets. In my past life, seeing her performance made my composure crack. I had grabbed her, demanding to know what she was doing, and in doing so, earned the Graysons’ disgust. This time, the reborn Caleb knew she was lying. He knew it was an act. And yet, I saw the flicker of pity in his eyes. He couldn’t help it. “Who did this to you? I’ll make them pay.” Lila wouldn’t risk it. She was afraid that if she wasn’t chosen, she’d be left to face the director’s wrath. I blinked, then stepped forward, my voice calm. “It was the director. He likes the pretty ones. Lila is the prettiest one here.” “What? That animal!” Mr. Grayson’s hand clenched into a fist. “Oh, you poor dear. Come here, dry your tears.” Mrs. Grayson’s heart went out to her. Caleb stood beside them, his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze lowered. I knew him too well. He had changed his mind. “Mom, Dad, let’s adopt Lila.” “Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, you should adopt Lila.” Caleb and I spoke at the exact same time. 2 “Clara, you…” Caleb stared at me, dumbfounded. He knew how desperately I had wanted to be saved, to escape this nightmare. But now… I ignored the complex guilt in his eyes and put on a mask of cool rationality. “Sir, Ma’am, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an only child. I’m not sure I’d want to share my new family. So, thank you, but no.” The Graysons looked startled, then disappointed. As they were leaving, Lila made a point to walk over to me. She tilted her chin up, a smug, triumphant smile on her face. “I told you, Clara. You can’t compete with me. I’m going to be a rich man’s daughter now. And you? You can stay here and rot. If you have to blame someone, blame yourself for being too stupid to call out my bluff.” Lila walked away, laughing. After she was gone, a figure emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. A pale, handsome boy looking completely lost. Caleb looked like his entire reality had been shaken. He never imagined that his pure, innocent little victim could be so… shameless. He looked at me, his expression a tangled mess of confusion and a silent plea for help. I knew that look. He was relying on me, wanting me to come over and explain it all, to make it make sense. I turned my back on him and walked away. “Clara.” I paused for a half-second. “You’re back, too, aren’t you?” I didn’t answer. “Clara, I’m sorry. You know how it is. Lila’s just a kid. She’ll learn. She’ll change.” “Oh. Okay.” I smiled. What did that have to do with me? I had no intention of ever being involved with them again. “Clara!” A note of panic entered his voice. He grabbed my arm, frantically digging through his pockets and pulling out a handful of crumpled bills. “Here, take this. I’m sorry about this. I owe you. Within half a month… no, five days. Three days, I swear, I’ll find a way to get you out of here.” “I don’t need it.” “Clara, I will save you! Just wait for me!” Caleb rushed off, not to deny me the chance to refuse, but because Lila had tripped and cried out in pain a short distance away. I smiled to myself. Of course. Thank God I hadn’t placed a single shred of hope in Caleb Grayson. After Lila left, I don’t know what she said to the director. But his cruelty escalated. His methods grew viler, his threats more immediate, and I almost buckled under the pressure. Three days passed. Then five. Half a month… then a whole month… Caleb never came. But I did it. At the cost of a broken arm, I managed to record a video of the director’s crimes and got it to the police and a local news reporter. As the police led the director away in handcuffs, the boys who had always been his favorites surrounded me. “It was you, wasn’t it, Clara? You little snitch.” “I’m gonna kill you. The director’s gone. What are we supposed to do now? Starve?” “Get her! Kill that loud-mouthed bitch!” “Get her!” I curled into a ball, trying to protect my injured arm and my head, the pain overwhelming. I had expected this. The five boys beating me were his sons. Of course, they would defend their father. Suddenly, the lead boy picked up a rock, raising it to bring down on my head. In a flash, someone was standing over me. The rock came down. “Ah!” A cry of pain. Caleb was hurt, shielding me. 3 My eyes widened. “Caleb! Are you okay?” Blood streamed down from his forehead, blurring his vision. He wiped the blood from his face with one hand. He looked weak, but he was smiling, a look of pure joy on his face. “This time… I finally saved you. Clara, I was on time. I finally saved you!” At his words, the flicker of concern and guilt in my heart vanished. In our last life, our son, so small, so full of love for us. Because of Lila’s lies, Caleb had abandoned me and our child in the freezing wilderness. I watched our son die in my arms and then wandered like a ghost through the mountains for three days. When the rescue team found me, I had lost my mind. I dedicated my life to destroying Lila, and Caleb, naturally, protected her. We became true enemies. I knew his deepest pains, and he knew my fatal flaws. Our lives were a tangled mess of revenge and resentment for decades, until the day he lost both his legs saving me. The proud, arrogant man was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Overwhelmed with guilt, I had decided to let go of the past and truly be with him. But he used his sacrifice as a weapon. Pale and weak in his hospital bed, he had looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and begged, “Clara, for the sake of my legs… let Lila go.” In that moment, my soul evaporated. I remember the silent tears streaming down my face as I whispered, “Okay. I promise.” Now, in the orphanage yard, Caleb was ecstatic. Even with his head bleeding, he wouldn’t let go of my hand. “Clara, I told you I’d protect you.” The next second, I was shoved to the ground. Smack— Lila slapped me hard across the face, again and again. “You’re a curse! Stay away from my brother! He’s my brother!” She gently helped Caleb to his feet. “Lila, don’t do this. Apologize to Clara. Now.” At that, Lila burst into tears. Caleb could never stand to see her cry. He immediately started cooing, comforting her. I ignored the triumphant smirk on Lila’s face, dusted myself off, and turned to leave. “Stop! Who said you could go, you curse?” Lila’s spoiled nature was on full display. “Stay away from my brother. I won’t let you hurt him.” “Lila!” As I turned back, Caleb instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. He always thought I would hurt Lila. He always forgot that I was the one in the more precarious position. I rattled off a few names and a string of numbers. Lila was clueless. It meant nothing to her. Her glare only intensified. But Caleb understood. It was the beginning of his parents’ financial decline. In our past life, I was the one who managed the Grayson family business. It took me years of work, connections, and money to uncover that information. “Clara, you…” “Thank you for saving me today. But don’t do it again. Caleb, I don’t owe you anything. I hope you’ll keep your distance from me from now on.” “…” Caleb was speechless, as if his soul had been ripped out. He couldn’t process it. He probably never imagined that the woman who had loved him so deeply in one life would want nothing more than to be rid of him in this one. 4 Soon, the state took over the orphanage. They improved the facilities, hired new, professional staff. The old director was sentenced to five years, which meant all of us kids were spared five years of his abuse. The other children, the ones who had both bullied and protected me in our past life, now saw the benefits I had brought them. They started to flock around me, trying to win my favor. And the director’s five sons? They became the new targets of the bullying. I watched, satisfied. I’ve always been one to repay my debts. The next month, Caleb came to find me in a hurry. He said Lila had been sick, and he’d been too busy taking care of her to see me. He looked down, apologizing. He was always like this. Choosing Lila, abandoning me, and then offering a crumb of warmth… like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. “Clara, I found a school for you. And a family that’s willing to adopt you.” “That’s not necessary. Thank you,” I said, my tone polite but distant. The state had already arranged for all of us to attend a local public school. And as luck would have it, Lila and I were in the same class. Within three days, the entire grade knew the rumor that I had “seduced the 40-year-old orphanage director.” Boys would tug on my bra strap in the hallway; girls would shoot me looks of disgust and ostracize me. Soon, they had a nickname for me: “The Group Home Slut.” The insults were constant. This was all Lila’s doing. I checked the time. My birth parents, whom I had painstakingly managed to contact, should be arriving in the country to get me any day now. Feeling emboldened, during a break between classes, Lila threw her pencil case at the back of my head. “Hey, Slut,” she yelled. “Nice new shirt. Which old man did you have to screw to get that?” The class erupted in laughter. “Yeah, what a whore.” “So trashy…” I stood up and walked directly to her desk. Under her smug, defiant gaze, I grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her towards the janitor’s closet. “Ah! Ahhh! Let go of me! Let me go!” I gave her a vicious smile. “Your mouth is so filthy. Always making up names for me. Lila, you and I both came from that orphanage. The Graysons wanted to adopt me first. I’m the one who gave you my spot! The director was after you first. I’m the one who protected you. And this is how you repay me? With rumors and bullying? You ungrateful little snake.” “No! Ah! No—” The moment she opened her mouth, I shoved her head into the dirty mop bucket. I started talking faster, listing all of her two-faced deeds—how she’d turned friends against each other, spread rumors that forced our last teacher to quit… As I spoke, the other students stopped trying to intervene. Some even cheered. Others started whispering, confirming my stories among themselves. It was all true. “Clara, don’t you dare hurt Lila!” Someone charged at me from behind. I lost my balance and fell. My left arm, the one that had just healed, hit the ground hard. My face went white. I thought I heard the bone snap again. Caleb helped Lila up, then saw me on the floor, his face a mask of shock and regret. Lila clung to him, sobbing. “Brother, get her expelled! Clara bullied me! Make them expel her!” “Okay, brother promises.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Of course. You’re as predictable as ever, Caleb.” Caleb looked down. “Clara, you were in the wrong first. Besides, I’ll make it up to you.” “You won’t have to. Because I…” Our teacher burst into the room, beaming, oblivious to the tension. “Clara!” she announced loudly. “Your birth parents are here to see you! They said they’re taking you abroad to live with them!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394359”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“I took Raine in when she had nothing. I taught her how to play the long game in a negotiation, how to be a shark in the boardroom. And then, I watched her star rise until it eclipsed my own. They say the first thing a blind man does when he regains his sight is throw away his cane. So, I wasn’t surprised when I overheard her telling a friend: “Finn? He’s… rigid. A little dull. And let’s be honest, he’s not exactly young anymore.” 1 I stood outside the door to the VIP lounge, a dry itch scratching at the back of my throat. I could picture it perfectly: the way her eyes, the color of stormy skies, would narrow just slightly, the careless, dismissive tilt of her head as she said the words. I was the one pushing for something that was never meant to last. Asking a soul that young, that bright, to pause its flight for me. Perhaps because I’d been bracing for this exact moment for years, the feeling wasn’t sharp agony. It was a dull, quiet ache, overshadowed by the strange relief of a weight finally settling. The other shoe had dropped. The only question left was how to extricate myself from this… arrangement. This sponsorship that had curdled into something I no longer recognized. It had to be clean. And it had to be final. Unable to formulate a plan, I walked down the hall to the men’s room and lit a cigarette, my reflection a stranger under the harsh fluorescent lights. The man in the mirror wore a well-tailored coat, but two strands of hair, meticulously styled with pomade that morning, had fallen across his forehead in my rush to get here. I saw the fine lines at the corners of my eyes that no amount of expensive moisturizer could erase. The longer I was with Raine, the more I felt it. The seven years between us weren’t just a number; they were a chasm. She was a bonfire, burning with the brilliant, fierce light of youth. And I had already crossed the threshold into my thirty-fifth year, a place of quiet embers and carefully managed energy. My stamina, my drive… they just couldn’t keep up. A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. After a moment, I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray by the door, waving the smoke away from my coat. Then I walked back to the lounge and pushed open the door. 2 The cacophony of laughter and shouting died in an instant. Only the music, a throbbing bassline with a tragically soaring vocal, continued to bleed from the speakers. My eyes found her immediately. She was lounging on a plush velvet couch, one arm draped casually over the back. A handsome kid was tucked into her side, nestled close. He had positioned himself like a young predator, his arm forming a possessive circle, marking his territory. I recognized him from the file I’d run. Leo. In person, he was leaner than in his photos, radiating a golden, sun-kissed confidence. He blinked, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity as the vibe in the room shifted. “Finn? Mr. Cole? What are you doing here?” someone I vaguely knew stammered out. Someone else scrambled to turn off the music, fumbling with the controls and accidentally cranking the volume higher. The soulful, remixed pop song now echoed through the room, making the scene feel even more absurd. Finally, one of the drunker guys just yanked the plug from the wall. Total silence. The air crackled with awkwardness. My presence, as always, was an intrusion on their world, a stark reminder of a life they hadn’t yet begun to imagine. I offered a practiced, easy smile, lifting my wrist to check my watch. “It’s getting late. I finished up at the office early and figured I’d come pick Raine up.” My gaze flickered to her. She seemed frozen for a second, a small frown creasing her brow. The hand she had resting on the kid’s shoulder moved, covering his eyes as he stared at me. Leo just pouted, leaning his head against her shoulder in a gesture of playful defiance. An intimacy that felt utterly natural, completely oblivious to my presence. Her silence was the only answer I needed. She was young. She was allowed to be thoughtless. And I… in a few days, I would be thirty-five. The dignity of adulthood kept my smile in place. “Actually,” I added, “something just came up at the office, and I have to head back. I ordered some food for you all. It should be here soon. Don’t drink too much on an empty stomach.” “Thanks, Mr. Cole…” Leo, hearing the respectful tone from the others, chirped in brightly, “Thanks, Mr. Cole! Hey… that name sounds familiar. Are you the old guy Raine was talking about?” He slapped his hands over his mouth in a caricature of shock, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Oh, my God, sorry. You’re not as old as she made you sound. Definitely got that whole… distinguished vibe. Actually, maybe ‘Mr. Cole’ is better, you know? Has that silver fox ring to it.” The boy was so young that even his malice had a certain clumsy charm. Still, the casual, toothless attack found a chink in my armor, and a tiny splinter of pain lodged itself there. It was bearable. Nothing like what it could have been. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I lowered my eyes, lighting another cigarette, the small ritual a familiar comfort. After a long drag, I met Raine’s gaze. “Raine,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Clear the room. We need to talk.” 3 Her hand fell away from Leo’s face. Her gaze, dark and unreadable, swept over me. She knew that tone. It was my final offer. Perhaps she was genuinely afraid I might do something to her new boy toy. She was silent for a beat, then rose to her feet. “Everyone, out.” “Raine, come on…” Leo whined, not ready to give up. Raine shot him a look, her voice dropping to ice. “Get out.” The boy shot me a venomous glare before trailing out of the room with the others. The moment the door clicked shut, a heavy sigh escaped my lips. I watched her through the haze of smoke, a silhouette just three steps away. Not too close, not too far. A perfect, calculated distance. The same distance that had been between us when we first met. She would never know how far I had traveled to reach her that day. She’d been wearing clothes that were clean but faded from a hundred washes, her head bowed over a sink full of dirty dishes. Her hands were raw and swollen from the hot water, the kind of cold-weather damage that cracks and bleeds. I walked up to her. The girl looked up, her eyes wary, like a cornered animal. “Do you want to come with me?” I’d asked. Back then, I was just starting out, my own finances stretched thin. But I put on an air of wealth, terrified she’d see the desperation peeking through the seams of my ill-fitting suit. Raine’s pupils dilated, her chapped lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll pay for your tuition,” I’d said. “You can focus on school.” I was young and arrogant, believing, like my own father, that love and money were two sides of the same coin. I’d placed our entire relationship on that transactional scale, only realizing years later that it had tainted everything, reducing a genuine impulse to a sordid cliché. My inexperience blinded me to the painful struggle in her eyes. When she finally smiled at me, I was just ecstatic that I could help someone I was… drawn to. She signed the contract. A sponsorship agreement. But we both knew what it really was. Only with time, as I navigated the brutal landscape of the corporate world, did I begin to understand the bitterness and humiliation that must have been coiled beneath that smile. Pain, I learned, can have a delayed reaction. And the chasm between us grew wider with every passing year. I still instinctively transferred half of every bonus I ever made into her account. But I knew she never touched it. She was earning more than I was now. A rising star in her field, a titan in the making. I saw her name in the headlines all the time. 4 “Raine.” I heard my own voice, distant and strained. She didn’t react, her dark eyes fixed on me. “This Saturday, our contract expires,” I said, my tone gentle, controlled. “Until then, I don’t want to see a repeat of tonight.” Still, she said nothing. Over the years, she had grown quieter and quieter with me. The space between us filled with unspoken things. We were like courteous strangers sharing a home. Finally, she spoke. “Smoking is bad for you. You promised me you’d quit.” I nodded, extinguishing the cigarette. She bent down, pulled a tissue from her purse, dampened it with a bit of water from a glass on the table, and took my hand. She held my wrist, carefully and methodically wiping the ash from my fingertips. “The contract is ending,” Raine said, her voice low. “Are you going to renew it this time?” I pulled my hand back. “No. It’s time for you to be free.” “Your birthday is this Saturday.” I shook my head, managing a small laugh. “I’m too old for birthdays.” She watched me with those dark, impenetrable eyes. I could no longer read what was happening behind them. After a silence that felt heavy enough to suffocate, she asked, “You’ve been counting down the days, haven’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact. A fact she already knew. I nodded. Once the contract was over, we could finally escape this twisted, unhealthy dynamic. We could go our separate ways. Whether her path was smooth or rocky, it would no longer have anything to do with me. “Okay.” Just as I expected. She agreed without a fight. The truth was, when I first started counting down the days, it was with a different plan in mind. I’d imagined that once the contract was dissolved, I would finally confess everything. I would lay my wretched, sincere heart bare before her. But now… now I knew her happiness was more important. As she’d said, I wasn’t young anymore. I couldn’t hold a free soul captive for my own selfish desires. Raine stepped forward and adjusted the collar of my coat. “Are you coming home now?” I gestured to my phone. “No, something came up at work. I have to go back.” She gave a flat, emotionless “hmm.” “I can give you a ride,” she offered. “No, you’ve been drinking. Besides, I drove.” “Okay,” she said. She let her eyes fall. “I thought you were coming to get me.” I turned back to her. “What?” Raine repeated herself, her voice perfectly even. “I thought you were coming to take me home, Finn.””

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394358”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel