At dinner, my husband Julian suddenly spoke up. “Don’t you think,” he began, his fork hovering over his plate, “that our new housekeeper is in a rather tragic situation?” I looked up from my meal. “What do you mean?” He frowned slightly, a troubled look in his eyes. “You haven’t noticed? She’s a single mother with five sons. Her father’s a gambling addict, and her mother has cancer.” My eyes drifted to Phoebe, who was currently bent over, mopping the floor in a short maid’s uniform and black stockings. Before I could respond, Julian cleared his throat. “I was thinking of giving her a raise. Say, twenty thousand a month.” He continued, gaining momentum, “And a three-month bonus at the end of the year. A four-day work week, premium health and dental for her entire family, plus a 401(k).” He laid it all out in a single breath, then looked at me with grave importance. “That way, she can support her family and focus on her work here without any distractions.” I set down my fork and dabbed my lips with a napkin, my movements slow and deliberate. “Let’s just fire her,” I said coolly. “Anyone overhearing you might think you’re setting up a kept woman. Don’t you think?” 1 “I most certainly do not!” His composure finally snapped. “Eleanor, what is with the snide remarks?” “As a woman,” he pressed on, his voice rising, “can’t you find an ounce of empathy for what Phoebe is going through?” I looked at Julian, a genuine laugh almost escaping me. “You’re the Director of my brother’s hospital, managing a staff of thousands. What’s your monthly salary? Does it even compare to the package you just proposed for her?” He faltered, then tried to pivot. “I’m talking about basic human compassion, Eleanor. Do you have any at all?” I shook my head without hesitation. “I’m not a saint.” As the future head of the Vance family corporation, compassion was a luxury I couldn’t afford. “Either she goes, or we get a divorce. Your choice.” I had laid it on the line. He had to understand I was giving him a chance to clean up his own mess. If I had to step in, he would lose everything. But instead, he slammed his hand on the table. “You want a divorce just because I want to give our housekeeper a raise?” he roared. “Is it because you paid for my medical degree and got me the job at your brother’s hospital? Am I destined to be beneath you for the rest of my life? As your husband, don’t I even have the right to decide a housekeeper’s salary?” Julian was always the picture of calm. Even when a distraught patient held a scalpel to his back, he hadn’t lost his cool. I stared at him. “So you choose her. Is that it?” His lips tightened into a thin line as he glared at me. Just then, Phoebe scurried over, her head bowed. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “I think… I think you’ve misunderstood things between me and Julian.” She called my husband by his first name. “Julian.” “He’s so successful and handsome, like a movie star. Just being associated with him feels like I’m tainting his reputation. I’m a divorced mother of five. No man would ever want me. What could they possibly see in me?” Her low-cut uniform showcased her generous cleavage, and the black stockings hugged her long, slender legs. I thought of the out-of-place pillow in Julian’s study. The anime maid printed on it was a dead ringer for Phoebe. And his phone wallpaper, the one he’d had for years… it was an animated version of her, wasn’t it? A cold smile touched my lips. I looked at Julian. “Phoebe’s asking what you see in her,” I said. “Let me guess. Is it her great figure and pretty face? Or maybe this whole pathetic, damsel-in-distress act?” I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “Or is it the five sons? You’ve always wanted a son, haven’t you? Can’t have one of your own, so you figured you’d try playing daddy without any of the hard work?” “Eleanor!” Julian shot a panicked glance at Phoebe before rushing over to cover my mouth, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “I have azoospermia,” he hissed. “Do you have to broadcast it to the entire world?” I shoved him away, my laugh sharp with irony. “What are you afraid of? That Phoebe will find out and be disgusted by you?” He averted his eyes. “It’s a private matter between a husband and wife. It’s not appropriate to discuss it.” “Besides,” he added quickly, “didn’t you arrange for that top specialist to fly in for me? I’m sure it can be fixed. We’ll have our own children. Why would I need someone else’s?” As if on cue, Phoebe spoke up, her voice a mask of innocence. “Well… all my friends say I’m just incredibly fertile. I don’t really know what they mean by it.” “But I have five sons—one set of twins and one set of triplets. Even I think it’s pretty amazing.” A faint blush colored her cheeks. “I always think that… with me… even if a husband had… issues… he could probably still have a baby.” A flash of something—hope? excitement?—lit up Julian’s eyes before he suppressed it. He stiffly put an arm around my waist, creating a deliberate distance between himself and Phoebe. “Phoebe, don’t say things like that again,” he said sternly. “Even without children, Eleanor is the only wife I will ever have.” The way he said it… it sounded like I was the one who was barren. As if with Phoebe, he would have no problem at all. A wave of nausea washed over me. Just two weeks ago, I had flown halfway across the world to consult with that specialist for him. And while I was gone, he had secretly moved Phoebe into our home. When I’d returned, she was serving burnt, inedible dishes for dinner. Julian, normally so picky about his food, had devoured three bowls of rice. The vintage sapphire earrings he’d won at auction—the ones I thought were for my birthday—were now dangling from Phoebe’s ears. And every night, he would wait until I was asleep before coming to bed, as if he couldn’t bear for me to touch him. I took a deep breath and pointed at Phoebe. “Julian, I’m asking you one last time. Are you sure you want to keep her here?” He pushed me away, his patience gone. “Are we still on this? I already told you my position! Why do you have to keep making baseless accusations and causing drama? Do you enjoy grinding my dignity into the dirt?” The push sent me stumbling back against the staircase railing. A sharp pain shot through my lower back, and I gasped, unable to straighten up. Julian rolled his eyes and came over to pull me up. “Oh, stop it. Don’t play the victim. The fragile damsel act doesn’t suit you. You didn’t earn your ‘tough girl’ reputation for nothing.” In college, he was walking me back to my dorm when a heavy ceramic planter fell from a window ledge above. Without thinking, I shoved him out of the way, taking the full impact on my head. I’d laughed and told him I was fine. I ended up with five stitches and a new nickname. Now, he used it as an insult. I flinched away from his hand. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy.” His face hardened, his hands balling into fists. “You’re just determined to be impossible today, aren’t you?” “I’ve said what I needed to say. It’s her or me.” With that, I turned and walked upstairs. Julian started to follow, but Phoebe let out a small, choked sob. “I get it. No one’s ever liked me. Everyone says I’m slow and stupid. They all look down on me.” Her voice was a pathetic whimper. “That’s why my ex-husband left me to raise five boys all by myself. My dad hits me when he loses at poker, and my sick mom calls me worthless when she’s in a bad mood. Even my own children say I’m useless.” “And now… now even the ma’am hates me. You and her are fighting, getting a divorce, all because of me. Maybe I should just die.” She turned and made a show of running towards the wall. Julian lunged, grabbing her just in time. The pity in his eyes was so thick it was practically dripping. “Phoebe, don’t. I’ve never looked down on you.” “You’re not slow,” he soothed. “You’re… you’re adorable.” Phoebe’s tears magically vanished, replaced by a tentative smile. “Really?” Julian reached out and stroked her hair, raising his voice so I could hear him from the top of the stairs. “Of course. Not like some people, who walk around with a permanent scowl, all business and no warmth. There’s nothing feminine about them. Who could ever love someone like that?” Phoebe let out a little giggle and shot a glance in my direction. “Julian, that sounds a little bit like the ma’am.” “The first time I met her, she was in a pantsuit with her hair pulled back so tight… I almost called her ‘sir’.” Julian laughed along with her. “Here’s a little secret,” he whispered conspiratorially. “The staff at the hospital call her ‘The Warden’ behind her back.” My feet froze on the stairs. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to break free. I snatched a vase from a nearby table and hurled it down at them. “Julian, get your whore out of my house!” “Ah!” Phoebe shrieked. Julian instantly threw himself in front of her, shielding her with his body. The vase shattered against his back. His first instinct, however, was to steady Phoebe, making sure she didn’t fall. “Eleanor! Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with!” he spun around, his eyes red-rimmed and furious. “I have no family connections, no background, and I can’t even give you a child! So go ahead, hit me, scream at me, belittle me all you want! I don’t care! But leave innocent people out of it!” “Phoebe is the kindest, most genuine woman I have ever met! She’s only working as a housekeeper to support her family. She has a bachelor’s degree, for God’s sake! She could have a much better job!” He grew more agitated with every word, his voice turning to ice. “In my eyes, a useless, silver-spoon princess like you isn’t fit to touch the hem of her garment!” Every word was a knife, every sentence drew blood. He had no family, no background, and he was sterile. I had defied my parents, ignored all the warnings, and married him anyway. The price was that within two years, I had to double the family company’s profits. For those two years, I never had a full night’s sleep. I worked myself to the bone, living and breathing the business. I became the man he never was. And I did it. I succeeded. And now he was telling me I looked down on him. That I was useless. That I was a joke he and his mistress could laugh about together. Something inside me snapped. I stormed into his study and slashed the anime maid pillow to ribbons. I grabbed everything within reach—picture frames, potted plants, the desk lamp—and threw them at them. He shielded Phoebe, easily dodging the projectiles. “Eleanor, I am sick of living like a guest in the Vance family’s shadow! I am a capable man! I am the youngest hospital director in this country!” he yelled. “Did you really think I needed to grovel for a job at your brother’s hospital? Let me tell you, I’ve had offers from top institutions begging me to join them!” “If you keep acting like a lunatic, then fine! Let’s get a divorce! You’ll be the one who regrets it!” I gripped the railing, my knuckles white, steadying myself. “Fine by me!” Phoebe trembled in his arms. “Julian, couples fight. The ma’am has a difficult personality, but if you just put up with it, it will pass.” “Being a divorced woman is hard,” she whimpered. “People look down on you… like they do with me.” Julian scoffed, not even bothering to look at me. “I don’t care what happens to her. She brought this on herself. Not every woman deserves to be cherished.” A profound, soul-crushing exhaustion washed over me. I let go of the railing and silently continued up the stairs. Julian stared after me, as if he hadn’t expected me to just walk away. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, and he opened his mouth to call out to me. But then Phoebe’s phone rang. “What? Noah has a fever?” “Okay, okay, I’m on my way to the hospital right now.” She hung up, her eyes wide with panic. “Julian, Noah has a 104-degree fever. What do I do?” The color drained from Julian’s face. “Noah? But he was fine at the amusement park yesterday.” “I’ll go with you,” he said without a second thought. I listened as the front door slammed shut behind them. My legs finally gave out, and I crumpled to the floor. His relationship with Phoebe had progressed to taking her children to amusement parks? Or was it possible… that one of those children was also his? The thought was a venomous bite. I dug my teeth into my lower lip until I tasted blood and dialed my brother’s number. “Marcus, I need you to run a background check. On Julian and a woman named Phoebe Lane.” “A check? What for? Is he cheating on you?” “I think he might have an illegitimate child.” My brother gasped. “Are you sure? I thought he couldn’t…” All the strength drained out of me, and my throat felt tight. “Phoebe says she’s… incredibly fertile.” Even as I said the words, they sounded ridiculous. A claim with no scientific basis, yet it settled in my stomach like a lead weight. “Marcus,” I continued, my voice flat, “the hospital director position is up for review every five years. It’s time for Julian to step down.” “The hospital has been losing money for years under his leadership. That performance clause in his contract… is the penalty high enough to bankrupt him?” There was a pause on the other end. “Ellie,” Marcus asked gently, “are you okay?” No. I was not okay. My heart felt like it was being slowly flayed. But I could not tolerate even a hint of impurity in my love. If I found it, I would grind it to dust. “Marcus, find me the best divorce lawyer you know. I want Julian to walk away with nothing. I know it’ll be difficult.” In our world, prenups were standard. But I hadn’t made Julian sign one. I had believed he wasn’t with me for the money. I had believed he would never betray me. How naive I’d been. After I’d made the calls, a message from Julian appeared on my phone. Eleanor, everything I said earlier… I was just angry. Please don’t take it to heart. Noah has pneumonia. I have to stay at the hospital with him tonight. I really want to come home, but he’s only four and he won’t let go of my hand. I just can’t bring myself to leave him. I typed back a swift reply. I don’t care. Pack your things tomorrow. I want you out of my house. A single, large question mark appeared in response. Eleanor, are you really going to push me to this? Are you trying to shove me into another woman’s arms? Fine. You win. I paused, then typed one last message. On our wedding day, I told you that if you ever betrayed me, you would lose everything. Do you remember? It was at our wedding. He had gently lifted my veil, his eyes shining like a whole galaxy of stars, and promised me, “There will be no betrayal. Not until the day I die.” And now? A cold, red exclamation point appeared on the screen. He had blocked me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394114”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At 10 PM, my fiancé Greg was still “working late.” Scrolling through TikTok, I found a viral trend: “A Toast to Myself.” A delicate-faced girl raised a glass of milk, her voice trembling: “First toast to me—for shamelessly getting his number after four days of pursuit.” A man in stripes appeared, head cropped out: “Second toast to me—for traveling through a blizzard just to see him for a moment.” “Third toast to him,” she whispered, tears welling. “The man forced to marry another… I wish him happiness.” My blood turned to ice. The striped shirt was the one I’d bought Greg. 1 The video was short, ending on a close-up of the girl’s tear-filled eyes. The comment section had exploded. 【OMG, my heart breaks for her. It’s so sad when soulmates can’t be together.】 【What are these ‘cruel realities’? Spill the tea, girl! We’ll help you figure it out!】 【Is she talking about Stonebridge? I remember that blizzard last Christmas. It was insane. All the trains and buses were shut down. The fact that she made it through that is a testament to true love.】 Most of the comments were celebrating their epic, tragic romance. But a few users pointed out the red flags. 【Idk, something feels off. She’s being super vague.】 【Why won’t the guy show his face? Is it because he doesn’t want to, or because he can’t?】 【^^^ Exactly what I was thinking. Hiding his face is shady AF.】 But those comments vanished as quickly as they appeared. Lying there in the dark, a deep, unsettling coldness seeped into my bones. The man in the video looked too much like Greg. He owned the exact same striped t-shirt. But that alone wasn’t proof. But what about the finger? The moment the man in the video raised his right hand, I saw it. The missing tip of his right index finger. Greg had the same scar. It happened during our second year of vet school, when we were interning together. A vicious dog lunged for me, and he threw himself in front of it to protect me. The dog had torn off a piece of his flesh. The incident left him with deep-seated trauma. After graduation, he switched careers entirely, leaving veterinary medicine behind to teach at a community college in Ashton. Then, last summer, he moved back to Stonebridge, where I lived, taking a job as a technical consultant at a biotech firm. We officially moved in together. A few weeks ago, he proposed. Everything… every single timeline… it all lined up with the video. And I remembered last Christmas all too well. The blizzard had paralyzed the city, shutting down everything. Yet, Greg had called to tell me he was stuck at the office, working overtime. I didn’t buy it—what kind of company would be so inhumane as to force employees to work in that weather? I went out to find him, but I slipped on the ice and fell hard. Blood bloomed against the stark white snow, a crimson stain spreading from between my legs. A stranger rushed me to the hospital. It was there I learned I’d been two months pregnant. Two months before, Greg and I, a little drunk and reckless, had been together without protection. I’d taken the morning-after pill, but it hadn’t worked. I never even knew our child existed before they were gone. And through it all, Greg’s phone was unreachable. Hours later, he finally dragged himself into the hospital room, his body heavy with exhaustion. He wrapped his arms around me, begging for my forgiveness. “Sophie,” he’d whispered, “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep at the office. We can have another baby, I promise. Just… just don’t leave me.” It was a pathetic excuse, but back then, I actually believed him. Now, snapping back to the present, I finished the video and immediately called him. It went straight to voicemail. I sent him a text. “Greg, if you don’t call me back right now, we’re done.” Two minutes later, my phone rang. His voice was thick with sleep. “Sophie? What’s up? I must have dozed off.” The same excuse. But this time, I wasn’t buying it. My voice was eerily calm. “You seem to fall asleep a lot during your overtime shifts. Doesn’t your boss mind?” Greg let out an awkward laugh. “It’s fine, he doesn’t care if I catch a quick nap now and then.” I hummed a noncommittal “uh-huh.” “Are you coming home tonight?” I asked. “Probably not,” he hesitated. “There’s still a ton of work to get through. You should get some sleep, Sophie. Be good.” I was about to say something else, but then I heard it—a soft, almost inaudible moan from his end of the line. The call ended abruptly. I felt like I’d been plunged into ice water. 2 As a grown woman, I knew exactly what that sound meant. Nausea churned in my stomach. I grabbed the matching smartwatches we wore. A Valentine’s Day gift from Greg a few months back. I never liked wearing anything on my wrists, so I’d only put it on for a few days to be nice. Greg, however, never took his off. And the watches had a live GPS tracking feature. I opened the app. His location popped up: an upscale apartment complex about three miles away. My heart hammered against my ribs as I threw on some clothes and rushed out the door. Security at the complex was tight; you couldn’t even get past the main gate without a key card. I found a spot to wait nearby and ordered takeout on my phone. I put in the correct address and Greg’s name, but a fake phone number. Thirty minutes later, the delivery guy showed up with the food. All deliveries had to be left at the security booth. “Hey,” he grumbled to the guard, “this number’s not working. Can you check if a guy with this name actually lives here?” The guard took the order slip, glanced at the resident directory, and accepted the package. He picked up the intercom phone, presumably to call Greg. A few minutes later, Greg appeared at the gate, dressed in casual loungewear. Even though I’d prepared myself, the sight of him sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest. He picked up the food, a confused look on his face. “This isn’t mine. I didn’t order anything.” The guard smiled politely. “The name and address are correct, sir. Maybe you should double-check.” Greg paused, then pulled out his phone to make a call. His back was to me, and his voice was too low for me to hear what he was saying. But he was tapping his foot lightly on the ground—a tell-tale sign he was in a good mood. A moment later, a girl came down to the gate. It was her. The girl from the video. She threw herself into Greg’s arms, her voice a playful pout. “I didn’t order anything, but I am hungry. Let’s go out and eat.” Greg smiled, running his fingers through her hair in a gesture of pure adoration. They left the takeout with the guard and walked out of the complex, tangled up in each other. As they passed the gate, Greg’s eyes suddenly flicked in my direction. Thankfully, I’d pulled my hat down and had a mask on. A cold dread settled over me. Greg was cheating. The man I had loved for eight years, the man I was supposed to marry in a month, was having an affair. And the worst part? This probably wasn’t the first time. The lies had likely started the moment he moved back to Stonebridge. 3 I followed them, keeping a safe distance, my phone recording everything. The girl rubbed her lower back, her voice a syrupy whine. “It’s all your fault, you know. You wore me out. My back is killing me.” Greg playfully tapped her nose. “My fault, my fault. It’s just… the thought of being away from you makes me crazy.” When was the last time he and I had been intimate? Three months ago? Six? After the miscarriage, I’d developed an aversion to sex. I couldn’t even stand to look at him some days. By the time I started feeling like myself again, he was the one pulling away, always using the excuse of being too tired from work. We had been together for eight years. Our passion had slowly faded into a comfortable, familial bond. Everyone told me this was normal, that the deepest love eventually settles into a quiet companionship. But I refused to accept that. I remembered the fire in his eyes when he loved me, and I couldn’t bear the placid indifference that had replaced it. One night, I’d decided to end it. I was ready to tell him we were over. But as if he’d read my mind, Greg suddenly dropped to one knee, pulling out a delicate ring box. He asked me to marry him. In that moment, all my resolve melted away. I followed them to a small noodle bar and lingered outside the window, watching. Greg meticulously wiped down their table and chairs with a sanitizer wipe. He snapped open a pair of disposable chopsticks, carefully sanding off any tiny splinters. When their food arrived, he seasoned her bowl with a dash of soy sauce and vinegar before handing it to her. Her noodles had no cilantro or green onions, and not a hint of chili. You see, he knew exactly how to be the perfect boyfriend. He just didn’t want to be that person for me anymore. She smiled sweetly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear with her left hand. And on her wrist, a smartwatch. The exact same model as mine. I stood there, frozen, for a long time. I took one last photo and turned away. Greg Hayes. I was done with him. But before I walked away for good, I was going to make him pay for every last lie. 4 The next day during my lunch break, I started digging through the girl’s Instagram profile. In the comments of yesterday’s video, someone had asked what “cruel realities” were keeping them apart. She’d replied with just four words: “A gap in our status.” What kind of status gap? Greg was just an ordinary guy. His master’s degree was his only real accomplishment, and even that was commonplace these days. Unless… was she referring to the status gap between a mistress and a soon-to-be-married man? That made a twisted kind of sense. It was something you couldn’t exactly talk about openly. Then another comment caught my eye. 【Girl, you are gorgeous. Why’d you have to chase a guy for four days to get his number? Is he that hot or something?】 Her reply: “It wasn’t just that. He’s also someone I deeply admire.” Admire. The pieces started clicking into place, and my head began to throb. The professions that inspire admiration are few and far between. And Greg had taught at a community college in Ashton for a short time after graduation. He was only there a year before he quit and came back. I’d assumed he was unhappy with the job and didn’t press him for details. With a growing sense of dread, I scrolled through her entire feed. She was an oversharer, with nearly a hundred posts documenting her life. Finally, in one of her earliest posts, I found a clue. It was a photo of a much younger-looking girl standing in front of a stone tower. The caption read: My favorite kind of cardio is hiking up to this view. I saved the image and ran a reverse image search. The results came back instantly. It was a landmark in Ashton. The post was dated April of last year. Who, I wondered, had taken that picture for her? A cold sweat broke out on my skin. I found the contact number for the community college where he used to work. I told the person on the other end that I was looking for a former instructor named Greg Hayes. The moment I said his name, the voice turned hostile. “We have no instructor by that name here.” “Please,” I begged, letting my voice crack. “He’s my fiancé. I haven’t been able to reach him for days, I’m so worried.” The woman on the phone, hearing the desperation in my voice, softened. “Honey,” she said gently, “you should stop looking for him. He was fired from the college last year.” The line went dead. I just stood there, stunned. Not resigned. Fired. A second later, a text message came through from an unknown number. Listen, you should probably divorce him. The reason your husband was fired? An inappropriate relationship with a student. The message hit me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me numb and shivering. There was no doubt in my mind. The girl in the video was his former student. I put my phone down, my movements stiff and robotic. I tried to stay calm, to breathe, but the violent trembling of my hands betrayed me. 5 “Dr. Reed, your next surgery is in ten minutes.” My assistant’s voice snapped me back to reality. I had almost forgotten about the major procedure scheduled for this afternoon. An animal’s life was waiting for me. I couldn’t afford to waste my energy on Greg. I pulled the engagement ring from my finger and placed it in my desk drawer. Four hours later, I walked out of the operating room, exhausted but satisfied. The dog’s owner thanked me profusely. After turning down his offer of a gift, I sat alone in my office, trying to unwind. My fingers unconsciously found their way to the ring in my drawer. It was from a special jeweler—the kind where a man can only ever custom-order one ring in his entire lifetime. I couldn’t fathom how Greg could be entangled with another woman while simultaneously ordering this symbol of eternal devotion for me, all without batting an eye. His capacity for deception was truly remarkable. I rubbed the cool metal between my fingers until it warmed to my touch. Suddenly, I noticed something. On the inner band, there was a tiny, almost invisible inscription. I squinted, holding it up to the light. It was a combination of letters and numbers. 【EH LUV LS 4EVER】 My hand flew open as if I’d been burned. The ring slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the floor with a sharp, mocking sound. How dare he? How could he propose to me with a ring he had custom-made for someone else? A tidal wave of rage and betrayal crashed over me. Tears I had been holding back for so long finally broke free, streaming down my face. I buried my head in my arms, trying to muffle the ragged sobs. I only stopped when my assistant knocked, asking if she could come in to clean. I hastily wiped my eyes. She entered cautiously, then bent down and picked up the ring. “Dr. Reed, you dropped this.” I took it from her, my fist closing tightly around it. After work, I didn’t go home. Instead, I drove to the only boutique for that particular jeweler in the city. I handed the ring to the clerk. “I’d like to inquire about the customization record for this piece,” I said calmly. “I’m not happy with this inscription.” The clerk looked up the order on her computer, a puzzled expression on her face. “Miss Shaw, our records show you requested this engraving yourself. You approved it in person. Is there a problem?” Lily Shaw. So that was her name. I forced a smile and shook my head. When I got home, Greg was already in the kitchen, prepping dinner. He heard the door open and called out cheerfully, “Sophie! I’m making your favorite, my signature shredded chicken!” I didn’t answer, just dropped my bag and sat down at the table, my face a cold mask. He brought the dishes out from the kitchen, one by one. To any outsider, he was the perfect fiancé: handsome, good-tempered, a great cook, with a respectable job. His performance was so flawless it had fooled my entire family, and it had almost fooled me. He placed the final dish, the shredded chicken, in the center of the table. I slammed my chopsticks down. “Why is there no cilantro? No green onions? And no chili?” Greg’s smile froze for a split second before returning. “Oh, look at me,” he chuckled, “my brain’s been so fried with work lately, I must have gotten it mixed up.” It couldn’t be easy, juggling a full-time job and two different women. “Oh?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “So who is it that doesn’t like cilantro, green onions, or chili?” He froze, his back to me as he reached for the spice rack. A clatter of glass jars shattered the silence as they fell to the floor. As Greg scrambled to clean up the mess, I got up to help. A shard of glass sliced my finger, and a bead of blood welled up. He immediately abandoned the mess and rushed to get the first-aid kit. As he was wrapping a bandage around my finger, he stopped, his eyes fixed on my hand. “Sophie… where’s your ring?” “The ring?” I said, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, I lost it.” His reaction was explosive. “You lost it? Sophie, that was a one-of-a-kind ring! I can never order another one!” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “A man can only buy one ring, but that doesn’t mean he’ll only love one woman, does it?” Greg stared at me, a flicker of panic in his eyes. To quell his suspicion, I swallowed my disgust and wrapped my arms around him. “Greg, I’m sorry, it was my fault. Will you… will you buy me another ring?” He nodded, relief washing over his face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394113”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The news of John Jiang and Aurora White’s engagement went viral, met with a chorus of blessings from the entire internet. Everyone expected me to have a public meltdown. After all, I’d spent the last ten years chasing John, a pathetic, devoted puppy at his heels. They all thought I was hopelessly in love with him. What no one knew was that I had been waiting for this day for a decade. I wanted them to get married more than anyone. The wedding was a spectacle, with hundreds of cameras and a live stream hosted by a major influencer. [I can’t be the only one crying rn. Finally seeing Mr. Jiang and Aurora get their happy ending. That other woman must be absolutely fuming, LOL.] [It wasn’t an easy road for them. So happy my girl Aurora is finally getting married!] [If it wasn’t for that toxic witch, Mr. Jiang would have married my goddess years ago. But I guess we have her to thank for making Aurora realize her true feelings.] [I’m so emotional! Mr. Jiang, you have to treat her like the queen she is!] [Really hope that crazy woman doesn’t try to ruin things today.] The comments flew by. After a few, I lost interest. It was all either fawning over the happy couple or trashing me. The old me would have fired back, but ten years of this had built up an immunity to the hate. I hid in a quiet corner, my eyes scanning the venue. Please, please let this wedding go off without a hitch. To minimize my presence, I’d chosen an outfit completely out of character for me—tasteful, elegant, understated. For today, I was playing the part of a lady. The venue was buzzing. I could see John’s parents up front, alongside Aurora’s, and my own father with his new wife. Familiar faces from our social circle dotted the crowd. A massive screen overhead cycled through John and Aurora’s engagement photos, filled with the kind of radiant smiles he’d never once given me, no matter how much I’d begged. Finally, the officiant took the stage. The ceremony was beginning. It’s no exaggeration to say I was more nervous than the bride and groom. My entire future hinged on this. I was so done with being the universally despised, obsessive stalker. Call me toxic, fine, I could live with that. But the obsessive stalker label? Unbearable. John, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, stood at the altar, his eyes fixed on his approaching bride with a look of profound adoration. “Look at the way he’s looking at her. He’s so in love.” “OMG, that look is killing me.” “The goddess is so beautiful.” Aurora White was a beloved, award-winning actress, the nation’s sweetheart. John, in a grand gesture, had given away 100 tickets to her fan club, allowing them to witness the wedding in person. The girls whispering beside me were probably some of them. “Look, they’re exchanging rings!” My attention snapped back to the stage. John had just slipped the wedding band onto Aurora’s finger. Now it was her turn. My breath caught in my throat as I watched her move in slow motion. But just as the ring was about to slide onto his finger, she stopped. Her eyes found mine across the crowded room. She’d spotted me. I never expected her to let me off the hook, not even on a day as important as this. Sure enough, she raised the microphone to her lips. 2 “Thank you all so much for coming to celebrate with me and John,” she began, her voice smooth as silk. “But there’s one person I especially want to thank. Someone you all know.” Every head in the room followed her gaze, turning towards my corner. For a moment, they didn’t recognize me. “As many of you are aware, the road for John and me has been a long and difficult one, filled with obstacles.” Yes, obstacles I had personally created. It was part of my mission, but there was a healthy dose of personal satisfaction in it, too. “Jasmine,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “I know this must be hard for you. But I want to say that true love doesn’t follow a timeline. You were by John’s side for a long time, but what he felt for you was sisterly affection, not romantic love. I truly hope you can find someone who will cherish you.” She turned back to John. “And thank you, my love, for always standing by me.” I could feel the hostile glares, the heat of their judgment. A few people even moved closer, surrounding me, their faces contorted with anger. This was exactly what Aurora wanted. To drag me into the spotlight and publicly shame me one last time. Finally satisfied, she picked up the ring again and, without another moment’s hesitation, slid it onto John’s finger. Seeing that, a weight I’d been carrying for ten years finally lifted from my shoulders. “They’re married now,” one of the fans next to me sneered. “If you try to cause any more trouble, Mr. Jiang won’t be so lenient.” I turned to her and nodded earnestly. “Don’t worry. I hope they’re locked together forever.” Ding— [Congratulations, Host! Aurora White and John Jiang are successfully married. Mission complete. Grand Finale achieved!] [Confetti! Party time!] [Host, your mission is over. It’s time for me to go.] [Where will you go now?] The voice, which only I could hear, belonged to the system that had appeared ten years ago. A system whose host was Aurora White. It was through this system that I learned my role in this story: the toxic female side character. I tried to change my fate, but it was useless. So, if I couldn’t beat them, I’d join them. I would play my part to perfection. All to reach this moment. All to see the system leave. [I’m off to a new world!] [Okay, 1807. Thank you… for giving me a new life.] [No problem, Host! Take care of yourself. I won’t be back.] [Okay!] The voice faded. 1807 was gone. And with it gone, I could finally become the truly toxic side character. As I turned to leave, my eyes met Aurora’s on the stage. I gave her a small, knowing smile. Your fairy tale is officially over. 3 The first thing I did when I got home was throw out everything from my past life. Then I called the movers. After that, I sent a single text to the contact pinned at the top of my chat list. By the time I was done, it was past midnight. For ten long years, I’d diligently played my part. If the main couple’s romance needed a little conflict to heat things up, I was their go-to tool. But now the story was over. The plot’s control over me was gone. Who knew what could happen after the final chapter? Everything I’d been forced to give away as a plot device, I was going to take back, piece by piece. Starting with John’s position at the company. Three days passed, and the buzz around the wedding of the century was still going strong. Aurora was already leveraging the publicity to break into international markets. Then came the day for the newlyweds’ traditional visit to the bride’s family. I went too. I could hear the laughter from outside. I didn’t need to go in to picture the happy family scene. But I was here to spoil the mood. Aurora was the first to see me. “Jasmine, you’re here! We were just talking about you. It’s been so long since we all had dinner together.” She smiled sweetly. “Come, join us.” “I’d love to,” I said, my own smile genuine. Seeing their forced happiness made me feel so much better, like the air itself was sweeter. “Now that you’re here,” my father, David Shen, said sternly, “try to get along with your sister. And don’t pull any of your usual stunts. They’re legally married now. If you interfere, you’ll be nothing but a homewrecker.” I looked at my biological father, truly looked at him, and found it hard to believe a parent could say such things to their child. But I’d heard worse from him. Now that I no longer cared, the words couldn’t hurt me. “Of course. I would never do something so degrading as to pursue a married man.” The color drained from my father’s face. Luckily, the housekeeper announced that dinner was ready, breaking the awkward tension. But as soon as I sat down, Aurora spoke up again. “Oh, that’s where Mom usually sits. If you like that spot, Jasmine, I’m sure she won’t mind moving.” I gave her a half-smile. She returned it with one of her signature gentle expressions, but I knew the ugliness that lay beneath. My stepmother, Clara, just waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Let Jasmine have the seat if she wants it.” Even John chimed in, his voice laced with disapproval. “Jasmine, you’re still so stubborn.” 4 SMACK! My palm hit the table, the sharp sound silencing the room. “This is my house. Since when do I need an outsider’s permission to sit at my own dinner table? If you want to eat, eat. If not, get out.” The sudden outburst stunned everyone. No one, least of all John, expected me to fight back. Everyone knew I was hopelessly in love with him. In the past, I was rebellious with everyone but him. He used to gloat about it, how the spoiled heiress would do anything he said. They all thought I was incapable of defiance. But they seemed to have forgotten the person I was before. I still had my edges; I’d just hidden them for ten years. Now that I was free, I was going to be comfortable, no matter what. “Jasmine, you’ve lost your mind!” My father slammed his own hand on the table, the sound even louder than mine, making my palm sting. “Do you want me to throw you out?” I discreetly rubbed my hand under the table. The dramatic gesture was satisfying, but painful. The old me, the one from the script, would have been terrified, her eyes welling with tears. The toxic side character’s primary motivation was a desperate need for her father’s love. He’d always used that against me. But the script was over. “Dad, you seem to be forgetting one small detail,” I said sweetly. “This villa is in my name. Jasmine Shen.” He looked like I’d struck him. Clara, sensing the shift, quickly interjected. “Jasmine, don’t joke like that. The deed is locked in the safe. Your father can’t handle these kinds of games.” My father seemed to recover, his hand tapping the table again. “You ungrateful brat!” Fine, if they didn’t believe me, I wouldn’t waste my breath. “Martha, serve the food!” “Right away, Miss Shen!” “Don’t call her Miss Shen, call her the second miss!” But Martha was already on her way to the kitchen. The food was, as always, delicious. Aurora’s face was pale. The title “Miss Shen” had clearly struck a nerve. “Are you planning to add Aurora to the family registry, Dad?” I asked conversationally. Aurora was my father and Clara’s daughter, born three months before me. “I should probably remind you that the ‘Shen’ in the Shen Corporation comes from Serena Shen, not David Shen.” Serena Shen. A gentle, brilliant woman who made the fatal mistake of falling for a man from a humble background who saw her as a stepping stone. Her story, of course, did not have a happy ending. 5 Since they didn’t believe the villa was mine, I decided to give them a little surprise. I called a realtor and had them evicted. Then I called a cleaning service to scrub the entire house from top to bottom. The meticulously manicured flower gardens were torn up and replaced with a vegetable patch. The old Jasmine Shen could never have been the owner. But Jasmine Shen, at eighteen, could be. While they were busy living their lavish lives, I was quietly biding my time, waiting for the right moment to strike. When my phone rang again, I simply turned it off. As much as I wanted to gloat, villains always die from monologuing. The priority now was to bring down the main characters. Aurora had just started filming a new movie. John was busy trying to establish his authority as the new CEO. I decided to give him a little push from behind. Let them tear each other apart for a while, and then I’d swoop in and pick up the pieces. My father and Clara eventually tracked me down. All those years as a CEO hadn’t been for nothing. He tried to slap me the moment he saw me, but I blocked his arm and redirected the blow to Clara’s face. I’d wanted to do that for a very long time. She was the one who broke my mother. She had shown up at our house while my mother was bedridden, Aurora in tow, and presented a paternity test, declaring herself the new mistress of the house. The shock had literally killed my mother. And then, Clara had the audacity to say, “I didn’t know she was that sick.” Three months after my mother’s death, Clara moved in. That was the first time I met Aurora, and the first time I heard the system’s voice. I refused to believe it. I leaked the story of my father’s affair to the press. It caused a scandal, but then Aurora went on a live stream, crying about her parents’ tragic love story. She painted them as childhood sweethearts torn apart by a wealthy heiress—my mother—who forced my father into a loveless marriage. She spun a tale that not only exonerated them but also turned my dead mother into a villain. That was when Aurora’s career took off, transforming her from the nation’s daughter to the nation’s goddess. And I, unknowingly, had helped her get there.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394112”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 In my past life, I ruined my family. My billionaire parents, bankrupt and broken, threw themselves from the roof of their skyscraper. My CEO brother was framed and jailed. My sister took her own life. Reborn, all they wanted was revenge. My brother’s eyes were dark with malice. “This time,” he vowed, “we’ll make her wish she were never born.” The next second, he heard my innermost thoughts. [My brother is so handsome, like a prince from a fairy tale! I have a fruit candy in my pocket. I want to give it to him. I wonder if he’d like it?] My brother froze. My sister offered a smile that was pure ice. “Little monsters are always good at pretending. Once we get her home, the truth will come out.” But I just gazed at my sister with pure adoration, clapping my tiny hands. [When sister dances, her skirt flies up like a fairy’s wings! I love it!] The family stared at my three-year-old self, a heavy silence falling over them. [Wait, was she really this cute as a child?] [How are we supposed to get revenge on… this?] … When the fabulously wealthy Vance family came to the orphanage, their eyes were all fixed on me, sharp and unyielding. I shrank back, my small hands twisting the hem of my worn-out dress. [Are these my long-lost family? They’re all so beautiful. I’m so happy!] [But… why do they look so angry? Is it because I don’t look like them?] My father gave me a single, cold glance. “Take her.” The orphanage director, Mama Ellen, beamed, her rough hand pulling me from the bench with a sense of urgency. “Nora, darling, quickly now! Go with your mommy and daddy! Your good life is just beginning!” I stumbled forward, dazed and confused. My mother flinched back half a step, as if I were carrying some deadly plague. My brother’s brow furrowed even deeper, the disgust in his eyes practically spilling over. Only my sister, Monica, extended a hand to me, her lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile. “Come now, little sister. Let’s go home.” Home? Hesitantly, I reached out with my own grimy little hand. [Am I finally going to have a home of my own? Sister’s hand is so white and clean. My hand is so dirty… will I get her dirty?] [But I’m so, so happy!] The very instant my fingertips were about to brush against hers… CRACK! The dim, yellow bulb overhead exploded without warning! A shower of fine glass rained down. “Ah!” my sister shrieked, snatching her hand back, her face draining of color. My father reacted instantly, pulling my mother and sister behind him as his sharp gaze locked onto me like a weapon. My brother, Liam, stepped forward, physically shielding them from me. “Hah! After all that nonsense you were just thinking, I almost believed you’d changed. But you’re the same as you were in our last life—a curse that exists only to harm us!” I stared at him, bewildered, my hands clutching my dress. “Brother,” I whispered, “I… I didn’t say anything.” All four of them looked at me, their faces a mask of stunned disbelief. “It’s my fault! That old light should have been replaced ages ago,” Mama Ellen explained frantically, pulling me close to check for injuries. “Nora, are you hurt?” A shard of glass had nicked my ankle. It stung. But I just stood there, frozen, staring at their guarded, hostile expressions. It felt like a piece of that glass had lodged itself in my chest, a dull, aching pain. [The light broke?] I thought, my mind a blank. [Was it because I reached for my sister?] [I’ve always been unlucky. Are they going to hate me because of this?] 2 A wave of overwhelming despair crashed over my tiny body. I thought, just like all the other times, my bad luck would get me abandoned again. But they still took me to the car. They still took me home. My brother, Liam, sat in the front passenger seat. He shot me a cold look through the rearview mirror. I flinched and immediately looked down, my fingers twisting the rough fabric of my dress. [Is brother looking at me?] [Does he think I’m dirty? Does he hate me?] “Yes, she is annoying,” Liam muttered under his breath. I looked up, confused, but he was already staring out the window, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. When we arrived at the house—no, the mansion—my eyes went wide, my mouth falling open slightly. [Wow.] [It’s just like the castle in a princess storybook!] The car glided to a stop under the grand portico of the main house. The driver quickly got out and opened the door. My father stepped out first, followed by my mother. Liam vaulted out gracefully, turning to help our sister. And that’s when it happened. As my sister, Monica, was getting out, the delicate satin ribbon on her shoe somehow snagged on a small, barely visible hook under the door, a hook meant to secure the floor mat. “Oh!” she cried out as her balance gave way, and she pitched forward. “Monica!” my mother screamed, her voice thin with terror. Liam moved like lightning, lunging forward and grabbing her arm just before her face could smash against the hard marble steps. Even so, the shock of the fall left Monica pale and trembling. She collapsed against her brother, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “What happened?!” my father, Marcus Vance, demanded, his voice sharp. The driver, sweating profusely, knelt to inspect the car. “Sir! It’s this hook for the mat. It’s never exposed like this! I don’t know how…” Inevitably, everyone’s gaze fell on me as I was the last one to get out of the car. I stood frozen, my heart pounding with fear. [Why is sister crying? Seeing her cry makes me so sad. But why is everyone looking at me? Did I make her fall?] My father’s heavy gaze rested on me for a few seconds. “Forget it. Let’s go inside. Mr. Kingston, take her to her room.” The butler stepped forward. “This way, little miss.” I was given a room at the far end of the third-floor corridor. It was large and beautifully furnished, with a soft white rug, a corner piled high with stuffed animals, and a large bay window overlooking the garden. But it was too empty, too quiet, and too far away. A long, silent hallway separated me from my parents’ master suite, from my brother’s and sister’s rooms. Mr. Kingston’s voice was polite but distant. “Little miss, this will be your room. The washroom is over there. Someone will call you for meals. You are not to wander the house without permission, and you are especially not to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Vance, or the young master and miss.” He then exited, closing the door softly behind him. Click. The sound echoed in the silence. It felt like I was the only person left in the world. [Don’t wander… don’t disturb them…] [Is it because… if I get close to them, I’ll bring them bad luck?] Used to being bullied at the orphanage, I buried my face in the thick duvet and began to cry, muffling the sobs. I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand, but the tears just kept coming. No! Stop crying! Crying doesn’t help. It only makes people hate you more. I sniffled, forcing the tears back. 3 My gaze fell on the small bag I’d brought from the orphanage. I went over and opened it. Inside, aside from a few old clothes, was a dented plastic water bottle with a little yellow duck printed on it. I picked it up and hugged it to my chest. It was a gift from a kind older girl at the orphanage—my only possession. [Mama Ellen said drinking warm water is good for you. Daddy was coughing the whole way here in the car…] There was still some warm water left in my bottle. This tiny, fledgling desire to do something, anything, for him temporarily overshadowed my fear and sorrow. Summoning every ounce of courage I had, I clutched my little yellow duck bottle and carefully turned the doorknob. The hallway was carpeted, and my footsteps made no sound. Holding my breath, I tiptoed towards what I hoped was the master bedroom. My heart pounded like a drum. Finally, I reached the door. It was slightly ajar, a warm light spilling out from within, along with the murmur of voices. “It’s too bizarre! I swear I heard her talking, but I watched her mouth, and it didn’t move. Are we… are we hearing her thoughts?” That was Liam’s voice, full of disbelief. Monica’s voice was calm. “And what if we are? You, of all people, should know what she’s really like.” My mother, Isabelle, agreed. “I’m telling you, she’s playing games. It’s just another one of her demonic little tricks!” [Who are they talking about? Is it some super-duper evil villain?] I raised a tiny, indignant fist. Then I heard my father cough again. Wiping my sweaty palms on my pants, I gently pushed the door open a little wider and peeked inside. The whole family was sitting there, a united front. Liam looked up and saw me, a smirk twisting his lips. “Well, speak of the devil.” I offered him a sweet smile. [My brother is so handsome, just like a prince in a fairy tale! I’m so lucky to have such a handsome brother. Everyone must be so jealous of me!] Liam, hearing my praise, looked flustered for a second. I turned my attention to my father. He was looking at a document, his expression grim, and he let out another small cough. My fear forgotten, I clutched my little bottle like a treasure and scurried towards him on my short legs. “Daddy! Water! It’s warm!” I shouted, trying my best to lift the bottle up to him. But in my haste, my foot caught on the edge of the plush rug. “Whoa!” I yelped as the little yellow duck bottle flew from my hands. CRASH! The water splashed directly onto the important-looking documents in front of my father. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his eyes like chips of ice. “It’s warm water,” I whimpered, my voice trembling. “For Daddy to drink…” “For me to drink?” His gaze turned lethal. He shot up from his chair, snatching the bottle away from me with a look of utter disgust. “Who knows what kind of filth you put in this!” “Didn’t manage to poison us in the last life, so you’re trying a new method this time? Why? Why, after being given a second chance, are you still so wicked!” Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. [There’s no filth… it’s clean, warm water. Mama Ellen said warm water helps a cough. I don’t want Daddy to cough. My bottle is clean…] My father’s hand, which had been raised as if to strike me, froze in mid-air. He stared at my tear-streaked face, at eyes that held nothing but hurt and confusion, not a hint of malice or calculation. Finally, with a deep, frustrated sigh, he lowered his hand. He didn’t hit me. But somehow, I felt he was even angrier than before. 4 A few days later, the family had guests coming over. My mother had laid out a breathtakingly beautiful dress, covered in shimmering sequins. [Mommy would look like a fairy princess in that dress!] [Oh! One of the little stars is dusty! It’s not shiny anymore!] My sharp eyes spotted a single sequin near the hem that had a speck of dust on it. Mama Ellen had always said that beautiful things must be cherished; they weren’t beautiful anymore if they were dirty. I felt my pocket. Inside was my small handkerchief, washed so many times it was pale, but it was clean. I took a deep breath. The moment my mother left the room to choose her accessories, I scurried over, knelt down, and began to gently wipe the dusty sequin with my handkerchief. “What are you doing!” “My dress! What are you doing to my dress!” My mother’s voice was shrill with fury. “I knew it! Are you trying to ruin my dress on purpose?” The shock sent me tumbling backward onto the floor, the little handkerchief falling from my grasp. My mother was trembling with rage, about to scream for the staff to drag me away and lock me in my room. [No, I was just trying to wipe the sequin clean for Mommy. The handkerchief is clean, Mama Ellen washed it for me…] She stared down in disbelief at the tiny, terrified child cowering on the floor. Then she looked at the hem of her dress where I had wiped it. The dust was gone. And the little handkerchief, though old, was indeed spotless. A wave of profound absurdity washed over my mother. She opened her mouth to say something scathing, but in the end, all that came out was a frustrated sigh. “Just stay away from my things!” After the incidents in the study and the dressing room, the atmosphere in the house shifted. The four of them would sometimes gather in hushed tones, discussing things I didn’t understand, using words like “inner voice,” “coincidence,” and “her act is too convincing.” Eventually, they reached an unspoken agreement: as long as the little jinx stayed in her lane and didn’t cause trouble, they could coexist peacefully. The notice for my siblings’ school trip to the amusement park was stuck to the refrigerator. It was a colorful flyer with a huge Ferris wheel and a carousel. Every time I passed it, I would stop, my feet seemingly nailed to the floor, and stare at it with a secret, greedy longing. [An amusement park! So many colorful houses! And horses that go round and round! And big balloons that float in the sky!] [I wish I could go! Just once…] My mother, Isabelle, happened to catch my expression. The look in my eyes—a pure, timid yearning—pricked her like a tiny needle. “Ahem.” She cleared her throat. Her tone was still cold, but her words took an unexpected turn. “Well, since you’re living here now… Monica, Liam, take her with you tomorrow. It’ll keep her from causing trouble around the house.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394111”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My last life ended with my wife’s lie. She painted me as a serial killer, and no matter how I screamed my innocence, the world wouldn’t listen. The victims’ families took their revenge on my own, an eye for an eye, their methods brutal and absolute. Some were tortured, others vanished without a trace. And I was trapped behind bars, powerless to stop any of it. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back on the day my wife was supposed to walk into the police station and ruin my life. After calling in an anonymous tip to the police that someone would die today, I tried to investigate why my wife would frame me, only to find she had vanished into thin air. But on my way home, I saw it: a bank, surrounded, a robbery in progress. And a spark of an idea lit up my mind. “That’s right,” I said to the officer. “I’m volunteering. I’ll take the pregnant woman’s place as a hostage.” … The police negotiator stared at me for a few seconds, his mind catching up. “You know the guy in there has a makeshift gun, right? This is real. You could actually die!” There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by genuine concern. He was worried I didn’t grasp the stakes, that I’d back down once reality hit. I just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. If I die, just give me a ‘Good Samaritan’ award or something.” I’d already died once, a humiliating, suffocating end. This time, I wasn’t asking for a blaze of glory. I just wanted a death—if it came to that—that wasn’t tied to the label of a monster. An end that wouldn’t drag my family down into hell with me. That was enough. “Alright. We’ll make the most of this opportunity. Please, try not to be nervous.” The negotiator spoke with grave intensity as he strapped a bulletproof vest onto me. It was my first time wearing one; the novelty of it was so strange I almost felt like I was at a cosplay convention. While the police team radioed the robber inside the bank, I waited in the wings. “No way! If it’s a woman, you send in another woman to swap!” the robber’s voice crackled through their speaker. “This guy’s obviously one of your undercover cops!” I had to roll my eyes. Seriously? With my slender build, you could hardly compare me to a trained officer. “Quit wasting time,” I yelled, stepping past the line of police and into the open space between them and the bank. “Watch closely!” Then, I started shedding clothes, one piece at a time. My jacket, the vest, my wool sweater, my pants, my socks, even my leather shoes hit the pavement until I was standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers. “Is this good enough for you, buddy?” I shouted, then turned to the nearest officer and presented my wrists. “Cuff me.” The move left everyone—robbers and cops alike—speechless. “That woman is about to give birth,” I projected my voice towards the bank. “Think about it. Why would she be at a bank instead of a hospital? Because she’s got no one to help her. Her life is already hard enough, and she’s been fighting for that baby. Are you really going to be the ones who let her die because you won’t make a simple trade?” I took two steps forward. The robber inside didn’t react. Dressed like this, who could possibly suspect me of being a threat? “I’m carrying nothing. The cuffs are real and they’re tight. And hey, if I were an undercover cop, you should be happy! That would mean you have a cop as a hostage. They’d have to be even more careful with you then, right?” I kept pushing, the tension in the air so thick you could taste it. Everyone was holding their breath. If this didn’t work, nothing would. Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, the robber’s voice came back. “Get in here. Hands up. No funny business!” A wave of relief washed over me so powerful I could have sprinted inside. In just a few more hours, the murder from my past life would be committed. And soon after, my dear wife, Eliza, would go to the police with her web of lies. They would find the supposed murder weapon in my home, covered in my DNA. They would find a witness who swore they saw me near the crime scene. They would even produce a seamless chain of security footage tracking my every move from my front door to the alley where the body was found. This time, I was going to forge an alibi so ironclad it would shatter every single one of those lies. As I entered the bank, they were letting the pregnant woman go. She was trembling, but she kept looking back at me, whispering her thanks. “You’re a good man. Thank you!” “If you really want to thank me,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “then help me out after this is all over.” She froze, confused. She had no idea what I was asking for. But I knew that soon enough, she would. “Get in here, you!” The robber was cautious, keeping to the blind spots where the snipers outside couldn’t get a clean shot. The moment I was dragged inside, something hard slammed against the back of my head. “You’re really not a cop?” I could feel the cold, dark barrel of the gun pressed against my spine. “Really. Check the cuffs yourself, see how real they are.” I struggled against the restraints, and the steel only bit deeper into my wrists. Satisfied, he moved around to face me. He didn’t look like a hardened killer, just a desperate man. He sized me up. “You’re not scared of dying, kid?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “What’s the point? I’d be scared of a meaningless death, but dying to save someone? That’s not meaningless at all.” I shrugged, looking him straight in the eye. He stared at me, dumbfounded. “You talk like you’ve died before,” he finally managed to say. “Let’s see how tough you are when you’re really about to bite it.” “You’re right about one thing,” I said with a long sigh. “I have died once before.” The memory of it, the searing injustice of being executed as the most monstrous serial killer of the century, sent a fresh wave of bitterness through me. “What are you, a lunatic?” he muttered, looking at me strangely. “Get over there and sit down.” I didn’t bother explaining. All I had to do was stay right here, in this bank, until morning. Then, it wouldn’t matter who died tonight. It wouldn’t have anything to do with me. This time, I’d have an army of witnesses. The hours crawled by. Outside, the sky bled from blue to orange to black. The negotiations grew more heated, the standoff stretching to its breaking point. “Cut the crap!” the robber screamed into his phone. “You give me what I want, or I’ll kill one of them right now just to show you I’m not playing!” His nerves were fraying. He was alone, but the other three hostages—all women—were bound together, completely helpless. “Hey, take it easy, man,” I said casually from my corner. “You don’t seem like a bad guy. No need to burn it all down, right?” His eyes snapped to me. He grabbed me by the arm, dragged me to the glass doors of the bank, and shoved me into view of the police and the news cameras. “Listen up!” he bellowed. “I want an armored SUV! You’ve got five minutes to decide. For every minute you’re late, I’m taking one of his legs!” The scene was already being broadcast live by a dozen livestreamers and news crews. The story had gone viral; there was no containing it now. “Wait a second… isn’t that guy in his underwear Leo Shaw? The chairman of Shaw Corp’s son?” “Holy crap, I think it is! I interviewed him once for a business channel!” Hearing the murmurs ripple through the crowd, I finally allowed myself a small smile. That’s right, I thought. Come on, get a good shot of me. Make sure you get my good side. The news spread like wildfire across the internet. The kidnapper, overhearing the commotion, pieced it together. His eyes went wide with a mixture of shock and terror. “You… you’re the son of that billionaire?” He was excited, but also afraid. This could mean a much bigger payday, but it also meant bringing down a whole new level of hell upon himself. I shrugged, feigning indifference. “My name doesn’t change a thing.” Meanwhile, my father had gotten the news. He arrived in a screech of tires, leaping from his car before it had even fully stopped and charging the police cordon. Officers rushed to intercept him. “Sir, you can’t go in there! It’s too dangerous!” a few of them shouted, physically restraining him. “My company pays millions in taxes! We’ve built half this city!” my father roared, his voice raw with panic. “And you let my son walk in there to die? What the hell kind of police work is this?” The officers, understanding his anguish, patiently tried to explain. “Mr. Shaw, your son went in voluntarily. He said he wanted to help. We are doing everything we can to ensure his safety.” My father froze. He knew me, my personality. He couldn’t fathom why I would ever do something like this. Shaking his head, he grabbed a megaphone from a nearby officer and raised it to his lips. “You in the bank, listen to me! Whatever you want, however much money, I’ll give it to you!” he boomed. “Just don’t hurt my son! In fact, let me take his place! I’ll trade myself for him!” A warmth pricked my eyes. In my last life, he was always the first one there, my shield against every storm. This time, I wouldn’t let him suffer for me. Not again. I turned to the robber. “Don’t listen to him!” I said sharply. “Think about it. A father will always save his son. But what son saves his father? You let me out, and I’ll let you do whatever you want with the old man. Then all that inheritance is mine, right?” The robbers exchanged confused glances, stunned by my cold-blooded logic. But the more they thought about it, the more it seemed to make a twisted kind of sense. They refused my father’s offer. Their curiosity got the better of them. Why would a rich kid, who could have anything he wanted, throw himself into a situation like this? It didn’t make sense from any angle. “Are you actually crazy?” one of them finally asked. I couldn’t help but laugh at their expressions. “Not crazy. Just wanted to experience a different kind of life. Look, you’re not here to kill anyone, you just want money. I get it. I’ll cooperate. I’ll even help you get paid.” They looked at each other, still unable to grasp my motives, but they dropped the subject. By now, dozens of online influencers had set up their gear, broadcasting the standoff to hundreds of thousands of viewers. The internet was buzzing with speculation. Why would the heir to the Shaw fortune volunteer as a hostage? Some thought it was a publicity stunt, others a sign of some hidden agenda. But most people saw a hero, someone willing to sacrifice himself for a stranger. Then my mother arrived. When she understood what was happening, she collapsed into tears, her pleas echoing from beyond the police tape. “Please, don’t hurt my boy! We’ll give you anything you want, I’m begging you!” Hearing her voice sent a pang of grief through me. I remembered her horrific death in my past life, a direct result of my conviction, and my resolve hardened. I had to protect her. The police presence outside had swelled, sealing off the entire block. The robber, seeing the growing army of uniforms, started to panic. He made his demand: five million dollars in cash, within the hour, or he’d start shooting. An hour? That wasn’t nearly enough time. I needed to stay here all night. “No!” I shouted. “Don’t give it to them!” The robbers, enraged, moved towards me, ready to strike. “Wait, calm down,” I said quickly. “I’m on your side. Trust me.” They paused, watching me with suspicion as I explained. “You can’t ask for that much cash in an hour. The only way they can get it that fast is with brand new, consecutively numbered bills from the vault. The second you try to spend that money, you’ll be caught. It’s a waste of time.” The robbers looked at each other. He had a point. “Damn, the rich kid is smart,” one of them muttered. “We didn’t think of that. So what do we do?” I pretended to think for a moment. “You need old, used bills. Untraceable. But that takes time to gather. Give them more time. Tell them you want used cash, and you’re willing to wait.” It made perfect sense to them. The leader turned and yelled his new demand to the police outside. “You have three hours! And I want used bills only! If the money’s not here by then, we’re done talking!” I let out a silent breath of relief. Three hours. That should be enough to get me past the critical time frame. Outside, my father comforted my mother. “I’ve already got people getting the cash ready. Don’t worry.” He pulled the lead officer aside. “Do you have a plan?” The officer nodded grimly. “We have an asset on the inside, Mr. Shaw. We can resolve this. And even if that fails, we have contingencies. They aren’t getting away. Our primary job is to ensure the safety of the hostages.” My father’s shoulders sagged with relief. Inside, my cooperation had earned me some trust. The robbers left me untied, telling me to just sit in a corner and stay out of the way. That’s when one of the other hostages, a young woman, crept closer to me. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “I’m going to help you.” I was startled, wondering who she was. But then I saw her hand tense, ready to make a move. “Don’t do it!” I hissed, my voice sharp. My sudden warning made her flinch and pull back, missing her chance to take down the robber nearest to her. When he had moved away, she turned to me, her eyes flashing with anger. “What was that?” For her, it had been a perfect opening. “Just wait for the ransom,” I said, putting on a thoughtful expression. “If you make a move in here, the other hostages could get hurt, right?” My calm reasoning threw her off. She hesitated, unsure. Reluctantly, she settled back to wait. The three hours passed in agonizing slowness. Finally, my father appeared, carrying two large suitcases, escorted by police. The robbers’ eyes lit up, their greed overriding their caution.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394110”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was about to leave the restaurant my brother owned when the manager stopped me, her smile tight and professional. “Excuse me, miss. You haven’t paid your bill.” I didn’t recognize her; she must have been new. I offered a polite smile in return. “It’s fine, just put it on the owner’s tab. He’ll know.” Her eyes raked over me, a flicker of contempt in her gaze. “Miss, this is a three-Michelin-star establishment. We don’t do ‘tabs’.” She slid a printed receipt onto the table in front of me. I glanced down. The total was fifty thousand dollars. Luminous Cutlery Maintenance Fee: $3,000. Exclusive Air Purification Fee: $5,000. VIP Emotional Soothing Service: $10,000. And a dozen other ludicrous charges. I had no idea my brother was running such a scam. A laugh, sharp with anger, escaped my lips. “I am Mr. Thorne’s sister. If there’s an issue, have him take it up with me at home.” But she wouldn’t let it go, her voice dripping with scorn. “Can’t afford it, don’t pretend you can. Now you’re trying to claim you’re related to Mr. Thorne?” I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to my assistant: Tell my brother: either she’s fired, or I pull my funding. 2 “Miss, let’s not waste everyone’s time. Please pay,” the manager said, her tone sharp and certain. She’d already pegged me as some vain gold digger trying to dine and dash. A few heads had turned in our direction, sensing drama. I frowned, having no patience for this foolishness, and dialed my brother’s number directly. A cold, automated busy signal. I tried again. Same result. What is that idiot doing on a workday? I put my phone down and looked the woman square in the eye, enunciating each word with deliberate calm. “I will say this one more time. My name is Isabelle Thorne. I am the sister of your boss, Todd Thorne.” “His phone is busy right now, but you can check his personal account. My photo and information are linked to it for verification.” I thought that would be the end of it. Instead, upon hearing my name, the manager, Tiffany, burst into a shriek of laughter. It was a high, grating sound that drew even more attention. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “Still keeping up the act? I’ve seen your face before. It was all over my Todd’s social media.” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You shameless bitch, seducing my man behind my back.” “And now you have the nerve to waltz into his restaurant and try to charge a meal to his account? Is your skin made of concrete?” For a moment, I was stunned speechless. I glanced at her name tag—Tiffany Reed. This was her. The girlfriend Todd had been hiding, the one he’d never even shown me a picture of. How could his taste be this appallingly bad? It hit me then. The fifty-thousand-dollar bill wasn’t a mistake. It was a calculated, premeditated humiliation. Before I could speak, her patience snapped. “Since this lady wants a free meal, we’ll have to restrain her until the police arrive!” She gestured behind her. Two hulking security guards who had been standing by stepped forward. One clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my protest, while the other twisted my arms behind my back with brutal efficiency. I struggled, but the disparity in strength was immense. My resistance was useless. Ignoring my furious glare and the shocked gasps of other patrons, they dragged me toward the back of the house. I was thrown into a supply closet that reeked of bleach and stale mop water. The door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. 3 In the pitch black, Tiffany didn’t say a word. She simply lifted her stiletto-heeled foot and drove it into my stomach. The pain was explosive, coiling through me, and I crumpled to the floor, my stomach churning. “That’s for spending my man’s money!” she screeched, her voice distorted by rage. “That’s for trying to steal him!” She loomed over me, a dark silhouette. “Get her!” she ordered the guards. “And don’t hold back.” Her two lapdogs didn’t hesitate. A relentless storm of fists and feet rained down on me. I bit my lip, swallowing the groans of pain. It felt like my bones were being shattered, inch by inch, my organs knocked out of place. Her shrieking continued. “Who the hell do you think you are? Just another piece of trash throwing yourself at him!” “I told you, I’m his sister!” I gasped out. “If you don’t believe me, call Todd right now! I’ll talk to him!” She ignored me. The beating continued until my vision started to swim. Only then did she raise a hand to stop them. She pressed the point of her heel into my shoulder, her voice a triumphant purr. “You should have just paid the bill. And now, you’re going to pay another fifty thousand.” “This is what you get for seducing my man and trying to live off his money.” Her tone was smug. “Don’t worry, I’m not afraid of killing you. Todd will clean up any mess I make.” Curled on the floor, I forced the words out. “It’s my own money… I told you… ask him…” Her face darkened. She kicked me again, and the guards resumed their assault. I knew then that nothing I said would matter. If this continued, I might actually die in this filthy closet. After I coughed up a mouthful of blood, I used the last of my strength to fumble for my phone. “Stop… I’ll… I’ll pay.” Pleased with my surrender, she signaled for the guards to stop. She crouched down, patting my swollen cheek. “See? Was that so hard? You just had to learn the hard way.” “One hundred thousand dollars. Not a penny less.” I lay on the cold floor, gasping for air, my lungs on fire. I ignored her and dialed my best friend, Maya. She answered immediately. “Maya, I need you to bring two hundred thousand in cash to Todd’s restaurant.” My voice was a ragged whisper. “Right now.” Maya paused on the other end, her voice sharp with concern. “Isabelle? What’s wrong? You sound…” “Don’t ask. Just hurry.” I cut her off and ended the call. At the mention of “two hundred thousand,” Tiffany’s eyes lit up with a flash of pure greed. She probably thought I was so terrified that I was doubling the payment to beg for mercy. The smirk on her face was sickening. “Smart girl.” 4 Maya was impossibly fast. Minutes later, the closet door was thrown open. She strode in, flanked by two of her own bodyguards. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw me—the blood on my lips, my torn clothes, my pathetic state on the floor. She rushed forward to help me up. I shook my head, silently telling her not to speak. I took the bank card and password she held out and tossed it to Tiffany. With the card in hand, Tiffany didn’t press her luck. She waved a dismissive hand. “If this is a fake, I have ways of finding you. Now get out.” Ignoring the searing pain that shot through my body with every movement, I let Maya help me limp out of that disgusting place. At the entrance, I turned to her. “Thank you, Maya. I’ll pay you back as soon as I sort this out.” “Forget the money,” she said, her eyes filled with worry. “Isabelle, what the hell happened to you?” A bitter laugh escaped me. “My little brother found himself a real keeper. It’s time I had a little chat with him.” I took out my phone and dialed the restaurant’s Vice President. He was the one who actually ran the place, a man I had personally headhunted. He was loyal to me, and me alone. He answered on the first ring. I didn’t waste time with pleasantries, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “You have ten minutes to fire a manager named Tiffany Reed. Otherwise, the Thorne family withdraws all investment. Not a single cent will remain.” The VP sounded like he was about to have a heart attack. He must have heard the weakness and the steel in my voice. He agreed immediately, too terrified to even ask why. I hung up and, without a moment’s hesitation, hailed a cab to the nearest police station. With cold, clear logic, I recounted the events of the last hour to the attending officer. After giving a detailed statement, I went to the hospital for an official injury report. Holding that thin piece of paper, the quiet fury of betrayal inside me roared into an inferno. I needed an explanation. And I needed it from Todd himself. My assistant tracked him down to his villa—the villa I had bought for him. My own driver and bodyguards had arrived, and we drove there directly. But as we pulled up, the sound of deafening music and raucous laughter spilled out from the house. He was throwing a party. That’s why he hadn’t answered his phone. The front door was ajar. On a strange impulse, I paused before going in. Soon, I heard a familiar female voice, choked with tears. It was Tiffany. She was playing the victim for a crowd, painting herself as the poor, innocent girlfriend bullied by a vicious homewrecker. “…I just asked her to pay the bill, and she threw a hundred thousand dollars in my face and then had me fired…” “Todd, she’s horrible! She has no respect for you at all!” “She just wanted to humiliate me! She wants us to break up!” Inside, Todd’s sycophantic friends chimed in with righteous indignation. I heard my brother’s voice, loud and soothing, dripping with affection as he comforted her. “Don’t worry, Tiffany. I will never let you suffer like this!” Then, as if to prove his devotion, he made a grand promise to the room. “When I find that woman, I’ll make her kneel and apologize to you!” The crowd of rich idiots roared their approval, boasting about how they’d make me pay. “Just say the word, Todd! We’ll go drag her out here right now!” “Yeah! Teach her a lesson about who’s boss!” I had heard enough. I raised my hand, and my bodyguard kicked the door clean off its hinges. The music screeched to a halt. The laughter died. Dozens of stunned eyes snapped to the doorway. “No need to drag me out,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence. “I’m right here. Who was it that wanted to teach me a lesson?” 5 The air was frozen. The only sound was the sharp click of my heels on the marble floor as I walked, step by step, toward the couple entwined on the sofa in the center of the room. The expression on Todd’s face was a masterpiece of conflicting emotions. Shock, followed by a wave of pure, unadulterated fear. The color drained from his face. He instinctively started to let go of Tiffany, to stand up, but his gaze fell on her tear-streaked face, and he hesitated. In the end, a pathetic, blustering bravado replaced the fear. He remained seated, staring at me, as if a hard glare could mask the panic in his eyes. Tiffany, on the other hand, recognized me instantly. Her pupils contracted, but she quickly remembered where she was—this was Todd’s turf, surrounded by his friends. She burrowed deeper into his embrace, her sobs growing louder. “Todd, that’s her… She’s the one who bullied me…” she wailed, all while shooting me a look of venomous triumph. See? her eyes said. He’ll always protect me. I ignored her. My focus was solely on my dear brother. “Todd. I’m talking to you. Weren’t you just saying you were going to make me kneel and apologize to your girlfriend?” His throat worked, but no words came out. He was afraid of me. He always had been. He knew who really held the power in this family. His friends exchanged confused glances. One of them, a bleach-blonde idiot trying to impress Tiffany, stood up. “Who the hell are you? You can’t talk to Todd like that!” “You’d better apologize to Tiffany, or else—” He never finished his sentence. One of my bodyguards took a silent step forward, placing himself between me and the loudmouth. The sheer intimidating presence was enough to shut him up. I walked right up to Todd and looked down at him. “So, you’re not going to give me an explanation.” He finally found his courage, or a cheap imitation of it. He stood up, pulling me aside. “Sis, what are you doing?” he hissed, his voice a mixture of pleading and annoyance. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my friends? Tiffany didn’t mean it, she just has a temper. Can’t you just let it go?” I looked at him, and a wave of disbelief washed over me. Let it go? After she had me beaten and extorted me for a hundred thousand dollars, he wanted me to just let it go? “Todd Thorne,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Are you joking with me?” “I…” He faltered, his eyes darting away. Just then, the sound of sirens cut through the night, growing louder and louder, shattering the party’s phony atmosphere. Everyone froze. A moment later, several uniformed police officers walked grimly into the villa. The lead officer scanned the room, his gaze landing on me. “Are you Ms. Isabelle Thorne?” I nodded. “I am.” He produced a warrant and turned to the trembling woman behind my brother. “Tiffany Reed, you are under arrest for assault and extortion. Please come with us.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394109”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The baby I gave birth to was wrong. My husband, Adams, held the swaddled bundle up to me, his face glowing with a fervent joy. “Look, Clara. She’s perfect. Our daughter is just perfect.” But I took one glance and shoved her away. Her eyes were brown. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice as cold as the sterile room. “I don’t want a child with brown eyes.” … Both Adams and I have blue eyes. Our daughter’s were a flat, muddy brown. I couldn’t stand it. “I want a divorce,” I repeated. “I’m not raising this child. If you want her, you can raise her yourself.” Adams stared at me, his smile collapsing into disbelief. “Clara, what are you talking about? This is our daughter! The baby you carried for nine months!” I slapped his hand away, my gaze fixed on the clock ticking on the wall. “Her eyes are brown. I hate brown eyes.” His face froze. The other new mothers in the ward, drawn by the commotion, stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Honey, you can’t be serious, can you?” one of them said gently. “I heard the nurses talking. Your labor was brutal. They all thought you’d need a C-section, but you gritted your teeth and pushed her out yourself.” “How can you just throw away a child you fought so hard for?” Another woman chimed in, her voice coaxing. “That’s right, Clara. We all saw you, every day, playing classical music for your belly, talking to her. What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” But no matter what they said, I just shook my head, my expression a mask of indifference. Seeing their words had no effect, they turned on Adams. “Mr. Miller, could this be postpartum depression? How have you been taking care of your wife?” “You need to pay attention to her! You’re so wrapped up in the baby, you’ve forgotten the real hero here!” The words hit Adams like a physical blow. He slapped his own forehead. “Clara, honey, I’m so sorry. I’ve been neglecting you.” “Do you want something to eat… Oh, God, what an idiot I am, you can’t eat yet. I’ll get you some broth from the nurses! Honey, can you hold the baby for a second? I’ll be right back…” “Get that thing away from me.” My voice was flat, but the disgust in my eyes was unmistakable. Adams froze mid-motion. “Clara, what is wrong with you? Please, you’re scaring me.” His voice trembled. “Are you just exhausted from the birth? Maybe… maybe I should get a psychiatrist to talk to you? We can figure this out, okay?” He knelt by my bedside, his eyes wide with panic. The other women in the room murmured among themselves about what a good, caring husband I had. “Clara’s so lucky.” “I know, right? He’s barely left her side since she was admitted.” “That baby was born into a good home.” My brow furrowed. “I’m not depressed. Get this child out of my sight. I don’t like brown eyes. You’re ruining my mood.” The room fell silent. “Waaah!” As if sensing the suffocating tension, the baby began to wail. Adams immediately started bouncing her, a clumsy, frantic dance. “Clara, what’s wrong with her? What do I do?” The woman in the next bed, a second-time mom, offered some advice. “She’s hungry. She needs to nurse. Let her mother feed her!” Adams looked at me, his face a mask of desperation. “Clara, whatever you’re upset about, can we please talk about it later? Our daughter needs to eat. She’s crying from hunger.” The other mothers couldn’t bear it. “Honey, the baby is innocent. Whatever’s wrong, you can’t let the baby starve.” “Just feed her first. You can sort everything else out later, okay?” But I just kept staring at the clock, my heart pounding. *No. The time isn’t right.* In a sudden movement, I snatched the baby from his arms. “Clara, you’re finally willing to…” Before he could finish, I bolted from the bed and ran to the window. “Divorce me right now, or I’ll throw her out!” The baby in my arms, as if sensing the danger, began to scream. The color drained from Adams’s face. “Clara, don’t! Calm down, please, put the baby down…” “Call your parents. Tell them to bring our marriage certificate and birth certificates. And a divorce agreement. If you haven’t signed it in half an hour, I’m dropping her.” My voice was unnervingly calm. “Clara! Okay! I’ll do anything you want, just put the baby down!” Adams cried, his hands outstretched but his feet rooted to the spot, terrified to move closer. The ward erupted into chaos. “Ma’am, please, calm down! It’s normal to have mood swings after giving birth. We can help you!” a nurse said, inching toward me. “Is she insane?! Call security! Call the police!” “Clara, don’t do it! We can talk this through! The baby can’t take this!” I watched the nurse’s slow approach, my eyes narrowing. I shifted the baby further out the open window. “Stop!” Adams screamed. “Clara, I promise! I’ll do it! I’m calling my parents right now!” He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking violently as he dialed. Not only did his parents come, but mine did as well. The moment my mother-in-law saw the baby dangling halfway out the window, her legs gave out and she collapsed. “Clara, what are you doing? That’s your own daughter!” My own mother was sobbing. “Sweetheart, all the fertility treatments you went through, all the pain… you finally have her. Why are you doing this?” My father’s face was beet red. “Honey, don’t do something you’ll regret. You want a divorce, you want anything, Dad supports you! But don’t be rash! Even if you don’t want the child, think about yourself! If that baby dies, your life is over!” I saw the documents in my in-laws’ hands and pulled the baby back an inch. But then my gaze hardened, and I pushed her out again. “Sign it. Or I drop her.” “But why?” my mother-in-law wailed, clutching her chest. “We were all so happy! Why do you suddenly want a divorce?” My father-in-law helped her up, then shot Adams a venomous glare. “Clara, you tell me. Did Adams do something to wrong you? I’ll teach him a lesson right now!” I just shook my head, repeating the same line like a broken record. “Her eyes are brown. I don’t like them. I don’t want to raise her. You can have her. I want a divorce.” Seeing me like this, my mother broke down completely. Just then, doctors and more nurses burst into the room. They looked at me with alarm, then turned to Adams. “From the looks of it, your wife is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis. Has anything happened recently that might have triggered this? We need to know so we can calm her down.” Adams stomped his foot in frustration. “Clara and I have been so happy, I can’t think of anything… wait. Could it be…?” He looked at the baby, then back at me, his expression pleading. “Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said I was hoping for a boy. Is that it? Please, put the baby down. We’ll only have this one daughter, I swear. No more kids, ever!” My mother latched onto this. “Clara, is it that you don’t want to raise a baby? I’ll do it! I’ll raise her for you, I’ll put it in writing right now!” My dad added, his face flushed, “I was wrong to pressure you to settle down! I’ll never mention it again!” My mother-in-law was practically hysterical. “Clara, it’s my fault! I shouldn’t have argued with you about breastfeeding versus formula! It’s just a few cans of formula, we can afford it!” Everyone stared at me, their faces a mixture of fear and pity. “Young lady, look at how much your family loves you,” a doctor said softly. “For your own sake, please, just put the baby down.” “That’s right, you won’t even have to raise her. You can just be a mom without any of the work. It’ll be so easy.” I glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. “You still don’t get it. It has nothing to do with any of that. I just hate brown eyes. I told you, sign the divorce papers, and I’ll give you the baby.” I took another step toward the window. The air in the room seemed to vanish. “Okay! I’ll sign! I’ll sign!” Adams shouted, snatching the papers. He scribbled his name and held the agreement up for me to see. I looked at the black ink on the white paper, my expression flickering for a moment. The nurses took another cautious step toward me. “Read the terms out loud!” I snapped, clutching the baby defensively. They froze. Adams, his voice cracking, began to read. The agreement was fair. All assets were to be divided equally. When he finished, he stared at me, his eyes begging. “Honey, I’m an idiot. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’ve signed the papers. I did what you wanted. Can you please put the baby down now? She’s innocent!” Everyone was moved by the raw desperation in his voice. But I was still watching the clock. *Not enough. It’s still not enough.* “This is just a piece of paper! You could still back out on the day!” I shouted. “Get someone from the courthouse here. I want the divorce finalized on the spot. Or you can forget about ever seeing this baby again!” Adams’s face fell. Now everyone was certain. I was completely insane. “Ma’am, please calm down!” The door was thrown open and several police officers rushed in. “You called the police?” My voice turned to ice. The lead officer held up his hands placatingly. “Ma’am, stay calm! You said you wanted someone from the courthouse, right? We’re contacting them for you right now!” I stared at them, my grip on the baby unwavering. “Hurry up. Or I’m jumping down with her.” The officer nodded quickly, pulling out his phone. He showed me the number he was dialing and put the call on speaker so I could hear. My attention was completely fixed on him, terrified he would rush me and grab the baby. Then, I saw him make a subtle hand gesture behind his back. *A hand gesture?* I knew something was wrong. I whirled around, but it was too late. I was tackled from behind. The lead officer lunged forward and snatched the baby— They had officers waiting on the scaffolding outside the building. He was just a distraction. “Let me go! Let me go!” I thrashed with all my might, but it was useless. The baby was safe. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. My eyes were locked on the clock. With a surge of adrenaline, I broke free from the officer holding me down and lunged for the one holding the baby. “Give her back to me!” My mother-in-law shrieked and grabbed a handful of my hair. “What else are you trying to do to my granddaughter—” “Adams, hold her down! Don’t let her go crazy again!” While his mother pulled my hair, my father-in-law pinned my arms, and Adams threw his weight on top of me, forcing me to the floor. “You tried to kill my granddaughter! You monster!” my mother-in-law screamed, yanking my hair and slapping me, tears of relief streaming down her face. My own parents rushed to stop her, but in the end, they held my legs down. “Honey, why are you doing this to yourself?” But I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at the clock. What time was it? 2:59 PM. *Almost there. It’s almost time.* Five… four… three… two… one… *“Bing-bong. The time is now three P.M.”* The hospital’s automated announcement echoed through the halls. My body went completely limp. *Thank God. It’s time.*

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394108”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day my tycoon father, Richard Sterling, finally acknowledged me, he tossed a black card at my feet. It came with one rule: “Spend whatever you want, but only Lily gets to call me Dad.” I clutched that limitless card, my hand trembling, and cautiously bought myself a simple dollar soft-serve cone. I was savoring the sweet, cold bliss on my tongue when Lily, the girl who had stolen my life, dropped to her knees before me. “Sister,” she wailed, tears streaming down her face, “are you mocking me? Showing me that soon, I won’t even be able to afford something this cheap?” In a flash, my brother, Caleb, slapped me. Twice. The sting was sharp, but his words cut deeper. “You may have his money, Anna, but you’ll never have his love. Lily is my only sister.” Then my father sealed my fate, snatching a cup of tea from a nearby table and splashing the scalding liquid across my face. “Someone so common,” he sneered, “has no place in the Sterling family.” As punishment, they exiled me, shipping me off to a forgotten, war-torn desert outpost to fend for myself. Ten years later… I burst into the grand ballroom, clutching a fresh ice cream cone, and collided with Caleb. He was immaculate in a bespoke suit, the very picture of wealth and power. “Still haven’t learned a shred of class after all these years, have you?” he muttered, his lip curling in disgust. I had no time for his games. “Let go of me. My father’s waiting, and this ice cream is going to melt.” He looked down his nose at me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Father? Who gave you permission to use that word? The only Sterling heiress is Lily. No one will ever take her place!” I rolled my eyes. As if I was talking about his father. I was talking about my adoptive father, the Sheikh who had saved me, a man with a legendary sweet tooth. I couldn’t wait for him to try this flavor. I craned my neck, frantically searching the crowd for a familiar face. This was supposed to be my brother’s engagement party. The butler had given me this address. Caleb’s grip on my arm tightened. “This hall is filled with the elite of Ashmore. Someone like you will only bring shame to the Sterling name.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I’m not a Sterling. How could I possibly embarrass you?” He winced as if I’d struck him, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down. “Spoken like a true country hick. All you have are sharp words and a chip on your shoulder.” I wrenched my arm free and tried to step past him. A security guard blocked my path, his eyes raking over me with undisguised contempt. “This isn’t a soup kitchen for every stray cat and dog.” He turned to his colleague, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Look at this beggar, trying to crash the party for a free meal. Doesn’t she know her place?” I glanced down at myself. In my rush, my custom-made pink dress had become smudged and dirty. Caleb’s voice dripped with disappointment. “So, just because the family won’t accept you, you throw your life away and become a beggar? Have you no shame?” “Get lost!” the guard barked. I frowned, my patience wearing thin. “I’m here for my family’s engagement party.” My brother—my real brother—was expanding his business back in the States and had found a suitable match for a strategic union here. My father and I had flown in directly from our mountain retreat to celebrate with him and my future sister-in-law. A strange, knowing smile touched Caleb’s lips. “Family? You claim you have no designs on the Sterlings, yet you dare call yourself one of us?” A flicker of confusion crossed my mind. Was someone from the Sterling family also getting engaged today? “Ten years abroad and you still haven’t learned your lesson,” he continued, his tone turning righteous. “I was actually going to be merciful, convince Dad to let you back into the family. But now I see you’re completely unrepentant!” I scoffed inwardly. So, he remembered I’d been gone for a decade. When I first arrived in that desolate corner of the Middle East at twelve, I was utterly alone. I cried myself to sleep every night, the sounds of distant gunfire and roaring jets a constant, terrifying lullaby. I lived under the shadow of death. Then, by a stroke of luck, I found a man left for dead after an ambush. I nursed him back to health, fighting for scraps of food in the refugee camp and always giving him half. When he was finally strong enough to stand, he took me “home”—to a gleaming, eighty-story skyscraper that pierced the clouds. I was speechless. I learned then that the “war” was a turf dispute between powerful tycoons. The man I had saved, my adoptive father, had been left for dead by his rivals. My saving him gave him the chance to rise again, to crush his enemies and absorb their empires. After that, the fighting in our region stopped. I was seen as a lucky charm, a bringer of peace. I became known to all as the Sheikh’s daughter, the Oil Princess. If the Sterlings had shown even a flicker of concern for me in those ten years, a single phone call, they would have known. They would have known I’d been adopted by one of the most powerful men in the world. Just as I was about to speak, a bright voice cut through the tension. “Big brother, it’s my special day! No fighting, okay?” A girl in a frilly pink dress emerged from the ballroom, glowing like the morning sun. But when I saw her face, a violent tremor shot through my body. She looked just like Martha, the woman who had kept me captive in a landfill. For eight years, my world was nothing but mountains of refuse. I ate sour, rotting scraps to survive and slept on a pillow of garbage. My eyes opened each day to an endless horizon of trash. I was finally rescued when social workers tracked me down and returned me to the Sterlings. That’s when I learned the truth: I was the real Sterling heiress, swapped at birth by that monstrous woman. The first time I saw Lily, dressed in silks and lace, I had burst into tears, begging Richard not to send her away. I knew the horrors of the life she was meant to have, and I couldn’t bear for anyone else to suffer it. The moment Lily’s eyes met mine now, the hatred and jealousy in them were raw and unfiltered. She deliberately stumbled, crashing into me. My ice cream cone splattered onto the marble floor. “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry, Anna,” she simpered, her voice sickly sweet. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I stared down at the milky puddle. In the landfill, you could find almost any kind of trash, but never ice cream. I used to dream about what it tasted like. That’s why, when I got that black card, the very first thing I bought for myself was a cheap, one-dollar cone. And I remembered the hell that followed. Seeing me stare at the mess, Lily’s eyes danced with triumph. “I was just so excited to see you! I was telling Daddy just the other day how we should bring you back for my engagement party.” She flashed her hand, showing off a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. My heart stopped. I had personally chosen that ring. It was a gift for my future sister-in-law. Don’t tell me… my brother’s fiancée is Lily? Caleb wrapped a protective arm around her, stroking her hair. “How did this beggar even sneak back into the country? It must be because our Lily is just too kind-hearted!” He shot me a venomous glare. “Aren’t you going to thank her? You have no manners at all!” he spat. I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “Manners? How could I, when I had a father who wouldn’t raise me and a brother who disowned me? All for the sake of a fake.” The guests who had gathered at the entrance began to whisper among themselves. “I heard the Sterlings had a long-lost daughter. Could that be her?” “What a tragedy. Her whole life stolen by an imposter. If not for that, she’d be the one marrying the Oil Prince today.” “You—!” Caleb raised his hand to strike me again. But as his eyes met mine, he hesitated, his hand falling to his side. His voice softened slightly. “Fine. How much can an ice cream cone cost? I’ll pay you back ten times over.” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t need your money.” No amount of money could buy back the love I had lost. He clenched his fists. “If you didn’t have Mom’s eyes, do you think I’d give you a second glance after all your pathetic stunts? You can kneel and beg all you want today, but I will never acknowledge you as my sister!” He angrily pulled out his phone to transfer me the money, then froze. The screen showed an error message: This bank card has been frozen. “How is this possible?” he stammered. “You haven’t been using the money the family sent you?” His gaze shifted, a flicker of something—surprise? Pity?—in his eyes. The card had been useless since the day I arrived in the desert. Did he really think I had been living off the Sterlings’ charity all these years? Seeing his expression, Lily’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Sister, ten years ago, you were so desperate to get rid of me that you let a vagrant into my room…” I felt the world tilt. That was her lie. Her vicious, unforgivable lie. “I’ve finally managed to forget that trauma and find my happiness,” she sobbed. “Why won’t you let me go? I never meant to steal your life!” A chilling smile spread across my face. “You should thank your lucky stars you did. That house was so small, I could barely breathe.” Ten years ago, I had screamed myself hoarse trying to explain, to make them believe me. All I got for my trouble was a slap from the people I thought were my family. Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Is this girl insane? The Sterling mansion is one of the grandest estates in Ashmore. She could barely breathe?” “No wonder they disowned her. A social climber like that would only tarnish their name.” “I bet she only crawled back because she heard the Sterlings were making an alliance with the Al-Hamad family.” “You can’t blame her. That’s real royalty. Ten Sterling families combined wouldn’t equal a fraction of the Sheikh’s wealth.” Caleb shielded Lily protectively, his eyes filled with disgust for me. “How long are you going to keep up this act? Even if we share the same blood, I won’t let you hurt her!” “Today is Lily’s engagement. Get out!” Her special day? What a joke. My brother chose this date because it was the one day I had off. He never even wanted a big engagement party. “It’s just a business arrangement,” he’d said. “Purely transactional.” I was the one who insisted he make it public, to give my sister-in-law the respect she deserved. I stood my ground. “Are you sure you want me to leave? Because if I go, this engagement party is over.” Lily’s face twisted in fury. “Who the hell do you think you are!” Realizing she’d dropped her mask, she quickly composed herself. “Sister, you must have heard of my fiancé during your time in the desert. After all, he is the famous Oil Prince.” “Of course, I’ve heard of him,” I replied coolly. At my admission, a smug, arrogant look spread across her face. “Heard of him?” I continued, my voice level. “We see each other every day. We grew up together.” A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the room. Lily’s eyes darted to the necklace I was wearing, and her pupils constricted. “Where did you get that necklace?!” she shrieked, lunging forward and ripping it from my neck. The chain scraped my skin, and I cried out in pain. “Give that back!” I shouted, a surge of panic rising in my chest. Lily held the necklace up, comparing it to her diamond ring. It was a perfect match. The necklace and ring were a set, my adoptive mother’s favorite jewelry before she passed away. I remember the day the Sheikh brought me home. I was so timid, hiding behind him, peering out at the vast, opulent villa. His wife had knelt down and gently wiped the grime from my face with a warm towel. It was the first kindness I had known since birth. I had thrown myself into her arms, greedily soaking in a mother’s love. Lily’s eyes were now blazing with fire. “You filthy slut! You dare to seduce my fiancé?” “What are you talking about? Give me back my necklace!” I reached for it, desperate to retrieve the last thing I had of my mother. Her face was a mask of pure malice. “The money he spent on you should have been mine!” Caleb looked from her to the necklace, confused. “Lily, it’s just a piece of plastic, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. “Caleb, I’ve seen this necklace on Liam before! And now she has it! She’s doing this on purpose, trying to steal him from me!” “So she’s a mistress!” someone sneered from the crowd. “I knew she looked like a cheap tramp.” “And she’s a Sterling? I guess their family isn’t as prestigious as they claim.” Caleb stared at me, his face a storm of disappointment. He slapped me, hard. “I was going to ask Dad to let you work here as a maid!” he raged. “But you’re out here doing this… this filth! Just because Lily took your place, you have to ruin her life’s happiness?” My cheek burned. “Do you have any idea what my eight years in that landfill were like?” I shot back, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “That was supposed to be her life!” My eyes stung with unshed tears. I pulled out my phone to call my brother and tell him to call this whole sham off. Before I could dial, Lily snatched the phone from my hand. “Look, Caleb! Her phone wallpaper is a photo of her and Liam! And she still denies being his mistress!” she screamed. “No wonder a beggar like her is so arrogant!” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “So this is the ‘class’ of a Sterling heiress? Spreading rumors and accusing people of sordid affairs?” Caleb’s eyes widened in disbelief. Lily paled. “That’s impossible…” I snatched my phone back and quickly dialed my brother’s number. “Hey, Anna, where are you?” Liam’s warm voice came through the speaker. “Brother, I’m at—” Before I could finish, Lily grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked. I screamed in pain, and the phone clattered to the floor, shattering into pieces. She wrapped her hands around my throat, squeezing. “You slept with him, didn’t you!” she shrieked, her face contorted with hate. “Calling him ‘brother’… how disgustingly intimate.” My vision started to blur. I clawed at her hands, desperate for air, my eyes pleading with the silent onlookers. “I’m not a mistress,” I gasped, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Liam is my brother. I am the Sheikh’s daughter!” The entire room erupted in laughter. “The Sheikh’s daughter? Buying a dollar ice cream cone?” “That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year! Why not just say you’re the President’s daughter while you’re at it?” Lily stomped her foot. “Caleb, look at her! She’s turning our family into a laughingstock!” Caleb’s face flushed with shame at the jeers. He kicked me hard in the stomach. “You shameless piece of trash!” I flew back several feet, landing hard on the marble. I coughed, a spray of blood speckling the white floor. No one would help me. No one here would save me. I clenched my fists, praying, begging for my father and brother to appear. “You’ve disgraced the Sterling name! Today, I’m going to clean house!” Caleb roared. A group of security guards closed in around me. My heart seized in my chest. I squeezed my hands tight, my prayer growing more desperate. Please, please hurry. “Insolence! What do you think you’re doing?” a deep voice boomed. Suddenly, the crowd parted. A fleet of luxury sedans had pulled up silently behind me. The guards scrambled, fawning as they rushed to open the car doors. An old man, radiating an aura of immense power, stepped out of the lead car. I looked up, my heart soaring with a desperate, fragile hope. And in that instant, my hope shattered and plunged into a bottomless abyss. It wasn’t my adoptive father. It was my biological one. Richard Sterling. For a split second, as his eyes met mine, I saw a flicker of paternal love. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by his usual cold authority. Lily ran to him, clinging to his arm. “Daddy, my sister is bullying me!” Without a word, without a single question, Richard strode forward and struck me across the face. Twice. The slaps were loud and sharp in the stunned silence.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394107”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

From the fragmented memoirs of Alistair, Scribe of the Forgotten Histories, circa 872 A.E. (Aethelgard Era): …and among the scrolls recovered from the Sunstone Citadel’s ruin, one codex stands apart. Bound not in leather but in some strange, vellum-like material, it tells a story of cyclical tragedy. It speaks of a knight, a curse, and a world undone. The script is maddening, shifting between high verse and what appear to be cold, analytical notations. I have transcribed what I can decipher, though I fear the full truth of it is lost to the ages. It begins with an execution… 1. The day they bound me to the Divine Execution Array, I was reborn as the fallen paladin of a forgotten age. Behind them, Lian, the Order’s cherished prodigy, watched me with a triumphant smirk. My mentor, High Mentor Lyra, swung her blade, severing the tendons in my wrists and ankles. “Traitor,” she hissed, her voice colder than the steel of her sword. “For your arrogance, for your cruelty to a brother-in-arms, for casting young Lian into the Abyssal Maw—do you confess your sins?” Sins? I, who had shattered my own Spiritual Roots¹ to defend this very Order from a demonic horde—was that a sin? A voice, not my own, screamed in the hollows of my soul. You are the 108th Soul. If you fail, this pact is void, and I shall be unmade! Play the part! Remind them of their love for you, you fool! A slow smile touched my lips. In the next instant, I reversed the flow of my inner light, channeling it all toward my Golden Core. “I confess,” I whispered, my voice carrying across the silent plaza. “Every dark deed was mine. Kill me. Let it be done.” Who says death isn’t its own form of victory? The chains sizzled against my skin, etched with runes meant to purify by fire. A buzzing filled my head, but it wasn’t fear. It was the damned whispering of the Pact I was bound to. 【Trial Integrity Critical. Subject’s Trust Metrics at Nadir. Initiate Protocol Omega. Choose Thy Path:】 【A. Prostrate Thyself. Beg for Absolution. Pity is a Weapon.】 【B. Argue Thy Case. Seek the Truth, Though It May Slay Thee.】 【C. Maintain Thy Silence. Let Their Doubt Be Thy Shield.】 I couldn’t even be bothered to open my eyes. As the 108th soul to walk this path, I had witnessed the echoes of the 107 who came before me. Their failures were my scripture. Beg, and they would call it the confession of a guilty soul. Argue, and they would name it the sophistry of a cornered liar. Silence, and they would see it as the stubborn pride of a fallen man. Every path led to the same abyss. Beyond the shimmering heat of the Array stood the three women who had once defined my world. My mentor, the High Mentor of the Order of the Empyrean Sun, Lyra. Her beauty was legendary, like a sculpture carved from starlight, but now her eyes were filled with disgust, as if gazing upon a masterpiece defiled by filth. “Traitor. Have you any final words to stain the air with?” My sister-in-arms, Seraphina. Once the closest person to me in the world, she now stood with her jaw clenched, her gaze fixed on the ground at my feet. “Silas… just confess. Please. If you show remorse, the High Mentor and I will plead for mercy on your behalf.” And my betrothed, Princess Isolde of the Silver Throne. Draped in the silks and jewels of her station, her voice was a cascade of icy contempt. “Silas Vallen, you are a profound disappointment. To be so consumed by envy… you possess none of the honor required of a future Prince Consort.” Behind them, nestled in the protective embrace of the other knights, was Lian. His shoulders shook with feigned sobs, but when his eyes met mine, they gleamed with undisguised victory. 【WARNING! THE PACT DEMANDS A CHOICE! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL TERMINATE THE TRIAL!】 Terminate? Finally. The words I’d been waiting for. I slowly lifted my head, my gaze passing over each of them, calm and clear. They were braced for my denials, perhaps even for a final, desperate curse. I was done playing their game. “I have nothing to say.” My voice was raw, my connection to the Light sealed, but the words were sharp. Lyra’s face hardened. “Still you defy us.” I laughed, a dry, rattling sound. I looked at them, and for the first time, I didn’t see people. I saw lines of code. Puppets of Fate. “Mentor, you taught me the art of the blade, how to purge the unholy, but you never taught me that the hearts of men are more treacherous than any demon.” “Seraphina, do you remember? Who pulled you from the jaws of the great wyrm? Who took the blow that would have ended you? Your life is a debt owed to me.” “Your Highness,” I said, my eyes finally settling on Isolde. “Our betrothal was always a contract. You desired my celestial bloodline to secure your throne’s divine right. I sought your kingdom’s blessing to protect this Order. Do not pretend it was ever a matter of the heart.” They stared, stunned into silence. This was not in their script. The Voice in my head shrieked. 【WARNING! SUBJECT DEVIATING FROM FATED PATH! CATASTROPHIC FAILURE IMMINENT!】 Catastrophe? Wonderful. I closed my eyes, shutting out their shocked faces. I began to draw upon the last embers of my power, forcing them inward, backward, toward the nexus of my soul. Better to erase myself from the board than to be their pawn. “Silas! You would not dare!” Lyra was the first to realize. A crushing pressure, the weight of her authority, slammed down on me, trying to pin my spirit in place. But it was too late. The light reversed, converging on the alchemical magnum opus within me. The Golden Core, the culmination of a century of Soul Forging, began to glow like a dying star. To shatter one’s own Core was the most violent and final act a knight could perform. It offered no rebirth, no passage into the Light. Only oblivion. The color drained from Seraphina’s face. “No!” she screamed. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed Princess Isolde’s regal features. Nothing they had anticipated was happening. I wasn’t begging. I wasn’t bargaining. I was choosing the one path they hadn’t accounted for. I was choosing to prove my innocence with my own annihilation. As a bitter smile stretched my lips, the first crack appeared in my Golden Core. 2. But I did not die. My body felt like it had been ground to dust and hastily glued back together. The forge of my soul, where my Core once burned, was a cold, empty void. I forced my eyes open. Through a halo of hazy light, I saw three familiar faces. Their expressions were a chaotic masterpiece of shock, confusion, and a subtle, rising anger at being deceived. “You’re awake,” Lyra said. Her voice was brittle, stripped of its usual authority. The look in her eyes was one I had never seen before: doubt. “Why would you do such a thing? Attempt to shatter your own soul simply to prove a point?” I looked at her, wanting to laugh, but I lacked the strength to even smile. There she is, I thought. My mentor. Even now, she clings to her judgment, twisting my final act of defiance into a motive she can comprehend: pride. “High Mentor,” Lian sobbed, leaning weakly against Seraphina. “It’s all my fault. If not for me, Brother Silas would never have…” Seraphina’s body went rigid. She started to comfort him, but her hand froze in mid-air. Her gaze snapped to me, her brow furrowed in a tormented knot. “But… Silas, you shattered your own ancestral blade to save me from that archdemon. You told me the bonds of the Order were worth more than life itself. How could that man… how could you possibly try to harm a novice out of simple jealousy?” Before anyone could answer, Princess Isolde stepped forward, her shadow falling over me. She sneered. “Bonds of the Order? Seraphina, your naivete is astounding.” Her eyes, sharp as obsidian shards, bored into me. “You hate me that much, don’t you, Silas? You hated that I showed Lian my favor. You would rather destroy your power, our betrothal, everything—just to spite me with this grand, tragic gesture. To make me regret it for all my days. Is that it?” I listened to their theories, and a sense of profound, weary absurdity washed over me. Proving a point? A crime of passion? Each of them had taken my incomprehensible action and molded it into a story that fit their narrative, a story that preserved their own innocence. The truth was irrelevant. All that mattered was what they chose to believe. My silence became my confession. The three of them fell quiet, the air thick with suffocating tension. Even Lian’s sobs subsided as he sensed the situation spiraling beyond his control. Finally, Lyra broke the silence. She waved a tired hand, her voice heavy with judgment. “Enough. There may be more to this than it seems. But your extremism is a fact.” She turned her back to me, her voice turning to ice. “Take him… to the Glacial Keep. Shatter what remains of his Core and let him contemplate his sins in the cold.” Shatter my Core. The Glacial Keep. I closed my eyes. The tiny spark of life they had forcibly rekindled within me seemed to freeze at those words. Fine. If I couldn’t die, I would simply wait in a different kind of darkness. 3. They threw me onto the floor of the keep. My bones cracked against the Millennial Ice with a dull thud. The pain was immense, but it was nothing compared to the agony of my Core tearing itself apart. My vision blurred. The faces of those who had condemned me swam in my mind: Lyra’s cold mask of righteousness, Seraphina’s disappointed sorrow, Isolde’s venomous accusations. And Lian’s face, a perfect portrait of innocence concealing a rot that ran soul-deep. After an eternity, the great iron door of the keep ground open. It was not just Seraphina this time. High Mentor Lyra, Princess Isolde, and several of the Order’s Elders entered. Lian followed in Lyra’s wake, casting a timid glance at me, a flicker of cruel satisfaction in his eyes. I was leaning against the ice wall, too weak to stand. An Elder stepped forward, holding a crystal vial. His voice was devoid of emotion. “Silas Vallen, to prove Lian’s innocence and to grant you a final chance to prove your own, you will drink this Draught of Truth.” I looked at the vial and let out a low, ragged laugh. Just what I needed. My laughter echoed strangely in the silent dungeon. Isolde frowned. “What is so amusing? Do you feel no remorse, even at death’s door?” I ignored her, raising my gaze to Lyra. “Mentor, if this proves my innocence, what then?” Lyra’s expression was unmoved, as if she were addressing a stubborn rock. “If you are innocent, the Order will grant you justice.” Grant me justice. How generous. Without hesitation, I took the vial and, to their visible surprise, drank it in one motion. As the elixir took hold, my tongue felt like a foreign object in my mouth. Lian stepped forward, his confidence absolute. He asked in his soft, gentle voice, “Brother Silas, why did you push me into the Serpent’s Pit? What did I ever do to offend you?” It was a masterfully crafted question, framing the verdict as a forgone conclusion. All I had to do was explain my motive. Every eye was on me, awaiting the expected answer. I lifted my heavy eyelids and looked at his pitiable face. The magic of the draught worked through me, and I heard my own voice, calm and detached, speak the truth. “I did not push you.” 4. Lian’s expression froze. An Elder immediately interjected, his voice sharp. “Lies! Then why did you repeatedly sabotage him, steal his opportunities, and destroy his alchemical reagents?” My gaze drifted slowly across the room, from Lyra to Seraphina, to Isolde. In my eyes, their faces began to dissolve, resolving into meaningless strings of data. “I never harmed him,” my voice was hollow, honest, and filled with a weariness they could never comprehend. “I was only trying to complete the trial, so I could go home.” “Go home?” Seraphina took a step closer, a tremor in her voice she couldn’t hide. “Silas, you’re speaking nonsense. The Order is your home.” “No.” I shook my head. The elixir made lying impossible. “This is not my home. And you… you are all just puppets of Fate in my trial.” “Puppets?” The word detonated in the silent keep. They stared at each other, their faces blank with confusion. “What is this heresy you speak of?” Isolde demanded. Lian’s triumphant smile was now a rigid mask of shock. He had prepared for denials, for pleas, for anything but this incomprehensible madness. But Lyra’s face turned ashen. Her eyes locked on mine, and a terrifying, murderous intent blazed within them. “The whispers of the Void…” she breathed, each word a shard of ice. “So, you were not merely tempted. Your soul was taken. A soul-snatcher from the Outer Dark wears your face. No wonder you became this… monstrosity.” I looked at her and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Behold their logic. What they cannot understand, they label demonic. She had found her answer. And in doing so, she had sealed my fate. Lyra slowly raised her sword—Whispering Gale—the same blade she had once used to teach me my first stance. Its tip glowed with holy light, aimed directly at my forehead. “Abomination,” her voice echoed through the keep, cold as the abyss. “Today, I shall personally purify your stolen soul and end this corruption!” I closed my eyes and let a faint smile touch my lips. Good. Finally.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394106”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the princess of Manhattan’s elite. Less than a year after marrying the city’s brilliant up-and-comer, his empire crumbled. After the divorce, I saw the ending to my story—and went running back to him, begging to remarry. He just frowned, his lips a thin, cold line. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sterling.” “The Penn name is in the gutter. We’re not fit for a Sterling anymore.” Standing beside him was his childhood friend, her smile a blinding glare. I cradled my stomach and forced a weak smile. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll just find a new dad for the baby?” His eyes widened, a storm crashing through their depths. “What. Did. You. Say?” 1. They had me on the operating table. The icy chill of the steel seeped through the thin gown, electrifying every nerve. Suddenly— Flashes of a life I’d never lived seared through my mind. In those visions, I followed my parents’ plan and remarried, taking a husband they’d hand-picked. Less than six months later, my parents died in a freak car accident, and my new husband shipped me off to a foreign country and left me there. Penniless and alone, I wandered the streets, so hungry I was forced to scavenge through trash cans for scraps. The stench of rot and sour decay, the slimy, grimy feel of filth—it was a world of suffocation and absolute despair. In the end, a homeless man snatched the spoiled food from my hands and shoved me to the ground. Snow fell from a grey sky, blanketing my gaunt, motionless body until I was completely buried. The image froze, burned into my memory. Just then, the surgical light above me flared to life. “Hello there. Just relax your legs for me,” a nurse’s voice said, sounding distant and warped. I shot upright with a gasp, a sob caught in my throat. “Wait—I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” When I stumbled out of the room, my mother rushed to my side. “Aurora? Is it over already?” “No…” I shook my head, my body still trembling from the vision. Tears streamed down my face. “Mom, I can’t go through with this.” If I lost this baby, I would die a horrible death. I had to find Jason Penn. I had to get him back. 2. I raced to the rundown walk-up he had moved into. The rust-eaten door of the building reflected my frantic, pale face. For a terrifying moment, it morphed into the same face from my vision—shriveled and purple from the cold. I shuddered, a wave of pure dread washing over me. Just then, I heard the sound of laughter from down the street. I quickly ducked into the shadows beneath the stairwell, peering out just in time to see Jason walking up with another woman. He was carrying a bag of groceries, his attention fixed on her as she spoke. “I’ll keep an eye on the project for you. Don’t think you’re getting away with just buying me dinner.” “How are your parents adjusting to the new place?” “If you need anything, I can always come over. I picked up some serious cooking skills abroad these last few years. You’ll have to let me show them off.” … The woman’s voice was bright and cheerful, her words easy and confident. And Jason—the same Jason who was always so cool and distant—was actually responding to her. I bit my lip, a hot knot of anger tightening in my chest. The ink on our divorce papers was barely dry, and he’d already moved on. But if I didn’t remarry him… I would lose everything. I would die on the streets. The horrific images flashed again, like pop-up ads from hell. A line of rainbow text wiggled across my vision like a caterpillar: ~Ooooh, this is what happens when you get divorced~ My whole body trembled. Fear was a giant black shroud, smothering me, stealing the air from my lungs. Oh God, this is terrifying! The instinct for survival overrode everything else. Gritting my teeth, I lunged out from my hiding place, about to call his name. “Jul—” Click. The door slammed shut. I stared at it, deflated. Then, suddenly, it opened again. A pair of long, powerful legs stepped out. I froze, stunned. 3. Jason stood in the dim hallway, his cool gaze landing on me, tinged with the annoyance of being interrupted. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice ice. He’d always been reserved, keeping a certain distance from the world. But in the year we were married, whenever we were alone, he had been gentle with me. This cutting, cold tone was a first. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. “I… I came to see you,” I stammered. “I want… to get… back…” “What? I can’t hear you.” “I said I want to remarry you! I want us to get back together!” I squeezed my eyes shut and yelled, the words tumbling out in a single, desperate rush. In the faint light of the hallway, a flicker of shock crossed his face, so fast I might have imagined it. He didn’t speak. The air grew thick and heavy, the only sounds the stifling silence of the stairwell and the frantic drumming of my own heart. He glanced at the apartment door, which was still slightly ajar, and reached back to pull it fully closed. Then he started down the stairs, one step at a time. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, yet they carried a crushing weight, like the low pressure before a violent storm. I held my breath, my nails digging into my palms. The horrifying visions of my death still pulsed at the edge of my mind. He stopped an arm’s length away from me. His eyes locked onto mine, their depths as cold and dark as a frozen lake. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sterling,” he said, his tone flat, each word precise. He paused, his voice devoid of all emotion, a simple, brutal statement of fact. “The Penn name is in the gutter. We’re not fit for a Sterling anymore.” 4. Not fit… Those words were like shards of ice, piercing straight through my heart. A wave of shame washed over me, and my face burned with heat. After his company had filed for bankruptcy, right when he needed me the most, I had listened to my parents and asked for a divorce. And now, not even a week after it was finalized, here I was, shamelessly begging him to take me back. It was absurd. It was offensive. It probably looked like I was toying with him. But… “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m here because…” I tried to explain, my thoughts a jumbled mess. The words died on my lips. What could I possibly say? That I’d seen the future? That if I left him, I would die a miserable death? If he didn’t already think I was playing games with him, he’d surely think I was insane. Tears welled in my eyes, and with a single blink, they spilled over, tracking hot paths down my cheeks. “Why are you crying?” He frowned, a flicker of impatience in his voice. “Isn’t a divorce exactly what you wanted?” His Adam’s apple bobbed, as if he wanted to say more, but he just pressed his lips into a tight line. “We’re over, Aurora.” “Go home. The great princess of Manhattan doesn’t belong in a place like this.” He gave a slight, dismissive nod, a clear gesture of farewell. The moment he turned to leave, I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Don’t go!” I cried, my voice trembling. “I—I really need you!” “Ever since we signed the papers, I haven’t stopped thinking about you, about us. I… I realized I can’t live without you. Can we please get back together? I can’t do this without you!” Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I felt his muscles tense, coiled with a powerful, restrained energy. He looked down, his gaze falling on my hands clasped around him. His eyes were searching, probing, a dangerous current swirling beneath the icy surface. After a moment, he raised his hands and slowly, deliberately, began to pry my fingers away. My heart leaped into my throat. He turned his head, his dark eyes bottomless. “And why should I?” he asked, his lips barely moving. His voice was like a blade forged in ice, striking the deepest part of my soul. He paused, each word a clear, cold-blooded question. “What is marriage to you, Aurora?” “A tool you can pick up and discard whenever you please?” His words were slow, sharp as daggers. “Or do you think that just because Jason Penn has lost everything, he’s now a pawn for the great Aurora Sterling to play with as she sees fit?” “…” The world went silent. I opened my mouth several times, but no sound came out. He was right… Why should he? Jason watched my speechless form, and the last flicker of emotion in his eyes died out, replaced by a deep, hollow stillness and… weariness. “Can’t answer that?” A mocking smile touched his lips. “In that case, getting back together—” “Is. Not. Happening.” The three words were an execution, leaving no room for appeal. 5. The air was frozen solid. The weariness in his eyes had shattered any words I might have had. Just then, a faint noise came from upstairs. The closed apartment door creaked open a few inches. The voices from inside were muffled by the distance, but they still carried clearly to my ears. “…You’re cooking tonight. What on earth is that boy doing out in the hallway? I’ll go get him.” “It’s okay, Mrs. Penn. I’ll go.” A woman’s clear, warm voice drew nearer. I stiffened. The blood seemed to drain from my body, leaving my fingertips icy cold. For some reason, my heart began to ache with a sharp, insistent rhythm. My eyes were glued to the sliver of light spilling from the doorway. In my peripheral vision, Jason hadn’t moved. He was still turned slightly towards me, his gaze cold and probing, pinning me in place. It felt like he was trying to see through me, to uncover some hidden truth. But what was he looking for? To see how pathetic I was after being rejected? Or… something else? I nervously wet my dry lips, my gaze drifting uncontrollably back to the door upstairs. It opened a little wider. A slender, pale hand rested on the frame. The woman’s voice came again, laced with a familiar intimacy. “Jason? Are you out there?” Jason finally broke his stare. He turned to face the stairs, his jaw tight, his tone final. “Go home, Aurora. And don’t come back.” Without another word, he started up the stairs. He’d just reached the first step when I couldn’t stop a small, pathetic sniffle from escaping. His stride faltered. His tall frame went rigid for a second before he turned back, his expression a mixture of resignation and annoyance. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. “I… I don’t know how to get home,” I whispered. His brow furrowed. “Where’s your driver?” I shook my head, my voice shrinking. “I took the bus…” Jason turned completely around. He stared at me, his Adam’s apple moving slightly. “…Why?” he asked. His voice was raw, still holding its usual chill, but there seemed to be something else layered beneath it. I looked down, wringing my hands, feeling a strange pang of guilt, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. “I wanted to try,” I answered meekly. “Try what?” “To see… if I could handle it. A life without drivers and town cars, just buses and subways. After we… get back together.” I confessed, glancing up at him shyly. “You know… to practice!” The air was still for a moment. Jason just stared at me, his eyes as deep and unreadable as a well. Something flickered across their surface, like a stone dropped into dark water, sending out the faintest of ripples before the ice closed over it again. I couldn’t decipher his expression. I only knew that his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like a drawn bowstring. Tight, but still so handsome. The thought surprised even me. Upstairs, the light from the doorway shifted. The woman’s voice called out again, a note of confusion in it. “Jason? Is everything okay?” Her voice was like a switch. The unreadable emotion in Jason’s eyes froze over, leaving only a chilling coldness. He pulled his lips into a smirk, the curve laced with an indescribable mockery. “You probably can’t even read a bus map, Aurora. What are you talking about, ‘practicing’?” “Stop being naive. You and I don’t walk the same path anymore.” “Go home. Live the life you’re supposed to live.” With that, he refused to look at me again. He turned and strode up the stairs, his back rigid and resolute, never once looking back. 6. I stood frozen in place. The door upstairs was now closed. The walls of the old walk-up were thin. I could faintly hear the murmur of conversation from inside. It was July. The air should have been hot and heavy. So why did I feel so cold? My chest felt tight, my nose stung. He seemed… angrier than before. But I was just telling the truth… As the suffocating feeling closed in, the pop-up visions flashed through my mind again. But this time, things were different. I hadn’t remarried. Instead, I was heavily pregnant, and the man who was supposed to be my second husband shoved me down a flight of stairs. A pool of crimson spread beneath me as my eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. I saw my parents running towards me, their faces contorted in horror… That vision was even more terrifying than freezing to death on the street. I instinctively clutched my stomach. Go back to the life I’m supposed to live? No, no, no! What life was that? Without Jason, there was no life for me, just a variety of gruesome deaths. He wouldn’t remarry me because he didn’t think I was sincere. I had to prove it to him. If he rejected me once, I’d come back twice. If he rejected me twice, I’d come back four times! I would wear him down. 7. And so, I went back. Again and again. Soon, everyone—upstairs, downstairs, and half the neighborhood—knew that Jason Penn’s ex-wife was begging him to take her back. But every time Jason saw me, his face was a cold mask of rejection. Only occasionally, when I was clumsily trying to help, his gaze would linger on me for a moment, his brow deeply furrowed. He looked at me with a complex, searching expression, as if I were the one who had ruined his family, not the business partner who was now on the run. His parents were as kind as ever, but even they tried to dissuade me. “Aurora, you’ve lived in luxury your whole life. Your parents couldn’t bear to see you suffer, and neither can we.” “Look at your hands. Just from peeling garlic, you’ve broken a nail.” “Please, listen to us. Don’t come back tomorrow.” I just smiled, shaking my head. “But I don’t feel like I’m suffering at all! Everyone has to have a first time for things, right?” “I’ll get better, I promise!” I said that, but the truth was, the person who was actually a natural in the kitchen was Molly. All I could do was stand outside and watch. I couldn’t help it; lately, the slightest smell made my stomach churn. Watching Mrs. Penn and Molly interact like mother and daughter filled me with a thick, nameless envy and a sour ache in my heart. When no one was looking, I slipped out of the apartment. As I closed the door behind me, I looked up and saw Jason coming home. His eyes were cold, and his voice was even colder. “What’s wrong?” I shook my head, feeling utterly defeated. I couldn’t possibly tell him I felt like a complete failure, could I? He took the last two steps, stopping just inches from me. “If you can’t handle it, just go home,” he said, his deep voice tinged with what sounded like a sigh. I stared at him, stunned. I lifted my chin, defiant. “I can handle it! This isn’t suffering! I just…” “I just feel… useless. Like I can’t help with anything…” My voice trailed off, laced with a frustration I couldn’t hide. I hated that, compared to Molly, I was so completely incompetent. Molly’s family and the Penns used to be neighbors. She and Jason had known each other since they were kids. Her family moved overseas after high school, so she must have come back as soon as she heard about his company failing. That kind of loyalty, showing up when things were at their worst, made me—the ex-wife who filed for divorce the second he went bankrupt—look so much worse. “Anyway!” I paused, my voice firm. “I’m not leaving! Not until you agree to remarry me!” I quickly turned my head away. Tears pricked my eyes, but I bit my lip, refusing to let them fall. His gaze swept over my face, and he remained silent. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “I know.” Know? What did he know? The reason I couldn’t go into the kitchen had nothing to do with my abilities. It was because I was carrying a tiny life inside me! He didn’t know anything at all! 8. My morning sickness was getting worse. My mother couldn’t stand to watch it anymore and suggested I just use the pregnancy to force Jason into remarrying me. I refused. What if he was cruel enough to reject the baby too? I couldn’t risk it.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394105”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel