After the company team-building event, I hitched a ride back to the office with my colleague, Eva, to put in some overtime. That same night, Eva’s boyfriend, using her account, went ballistic in the main company group chat. He accused me of being a homewrecker, of preying on Eva, and posted a series of poorly photoshopped, intimate pictures of us as “proof.” The company called us in for a meeting. Eva, to my shock, claimed I had been harassing her for weeks, piling on a mountain of false accusations. Citing a negative impact on the company culture, they fired me. My protégé, Leo, spoke up for me and was immediately ostracized and bullied until he quit with severe depression. I stormed back to the company to demand justice for Leo, but in the ensuing scuffle, I was pushed down a flight of stairs. My head hit the ground, and I died instantly. When I opened my eyes again, I was right back at the moment Eva’s boyfriend began his tirade in the company group chat. 1 [This is Eva Chen’s boyfriend, Connor Hayes.] [I am officially filing a complaint against Marcus Vance, a man fifteen years older than my girlfriend, for being a homewrecker!] [Eva has already confessed everything. Marcus Vance has been using his senior position to pressure and manipulate her, trying to force her into a relationship.] [Just a little while ago, he pretended to be drunk so he could sit in the passenger seat of her car. I’m sure everyone here knows what the passenger seat means. It’s reserved for a partner, a place no other man should be!] [Marcus Vance, this is a blatant provocation! I’ve had enough, and I’m not staying silent any longer! I hope the company takes this seriously and doesn’t let one rotten apple spoil the barrel!] My phone buzzed relentlessly as Connor, using Eva’s account, spammed the company-wide group chat. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. The searing pain of tumbling down the stairs, of my skull cracking against the floor, felt like a distant, horrifying nightmare. My department colleagues started a side chat. [@Marcus, what’s going on?] My protégé, Leo Grant, sent me a private message: [Mentor, is this guy insane? Don’t worry, I’ll go tear him a new one!] In my past life, Leo had done just that. He’d jumped into the main chat and challenged Connor for making baseless accusations. In response, Connor had posted a few fake, intimate photos of Eva and me. Leo was mocked for “asking for proof and getting it.” People said we were “birds of a feather,” that a young, handsome man like him must have slept his way into his position. He was shunned, harassed, and driven into a deep depression. The memory made my teeth ache with fury. I typed back to him: [Don’t. If a dog bites you, do you bite it back? You handle a rabid dog with the right medicine, not by getting in the mud with it.] I ignored the messages in the smaller group chat. They weren’t concerned; they were just vultures looking for front-row seats to the gossip. In my last life, I’d considered Eva. She was a new hire, not even confirmed yet. I figured if I made a big deal out of her boyfriend’s tantrum, this young graduate would lose her job in a tough market. So, I treated it as a bad joke and let it go. That was my mistake. My silence gave my enemies in the company the opening they needed. They worked through the night, and with Eva’s false testimony, I was left defenseless. This time, I would not be a silent lamb led to the slaughter. As the Director of Marketing, I had authority. I opened the main company group chat. [@Ian Croft, Director of Tech. These are obviously AI-generated fakes. Could you please verify and clear my name?] [@Eva Chen. You have the right to remain silent. But everything you say from this point on will be used as evidence in a defamation lawsuit against you. @William Owen, Director of Legal & Compliance, please bear witness.] [@Sean Price, Head of PR. Please monitor the situation closely to prevent any damage to the company’s public image resulting from employee Eva Chen’s personal vendetta.] After sending those messages, I switched to my department’s group chat. [@everyone. Meeting tomorrow morning, 8:30 AM, main conference room. Attendance is mandatory.] The next morning at 8:30, the large conference room was packed. I scanned the room but didn’t see the star of the show. “Where’s Eva?” Yara, the leader of Marketing Team One, spoke up. “Mr. Vance, Eva messaged me last night. She said she had a fight with her boyfriend and might be a little late today.” A low murmur of whispers filled the room. “Did she request leave?” I asked Yara. Yara seemed completely unbothered. “No, but she gave me a heads-up.” I set my pen down with a sharp clack. “No leave request means she’s AWOL.” Her eyes darted around, but she still tried to argue. “But Mr. Vance, we’ve always had flexible hours. She reported to me, so technically, it’s allowed.” 2 We were a marketing department. When things got busy, the line between work and personal time blurred completely. That’s why I’d fought management to get us a flexible work schedule, all while I was out wining and dining clients, pulling in deals to keep us afloat. But my goodwill had been twisted into a loophole for tardiness and early departures. I knew everyone had their struggles, so I’d chosen to turn a blind eye. And now, here we were. An intern, not even a permanent employee, was using a fight with her boyfriend as a legitimate reason to be late. Limitless tolerance only breeds shamelessness. I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming a light rhythm on the tabletop. “Effective today, the flexible work policy is canceled. All future exceptions will be handled on a case-by-case basis.” I used to believe people had hearts. That if you showed kindness to your colleagues, they’d return the favor. But the memory of how they all turned on me in my past life was a slap in the face, hot and stinging. Fine. If kindness didn’t work, let cold, hard rules govern them. Get paid, do the work, follow the rules. It was that simple. The lazy atmosphere in the room evaporated. Employees who had been slouched in their chairs sat up straight, defiance in their eyes. The most agitated of them all was Ian Croft, the Deputy Director of Marketing. I had personally promoted Ian. He came from a poor background but was smart and ambitious, so I gave him every opportunity, fast-tracking his career until he became the youngest deputy director in the company. I thought of myself as his mentor. But in my previous life, when Eva and her boyfriend slandered me, he was the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, exploiting my weaknesses to ensure I never recovered. Right now, his face was red, neck veins bulging as he slammed his hand on the table. “Mr. Vance, we’re a sales department! We’re judged on results, not on punching a clock like some back-office drone! This rigid system will kill our team’s motivation!” As expected, his outburst fueled the dissent. “He’s right! We’re not a 9-to-5 department.” “How are we supposed to close deals with rules this strict?” “And have you been closing deals?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. I pulled up the last quarter’s performance report on the main screen. After removing the massive deals I had personally brought in, the top-performing team was Marketing Team Two, led by Leo, with a 200% completion rate. As for the other five teams? Their completion rates were all under 50%. The room fell silent. In the face of hard data, all their eloquent complaints sounded like nothing more than empty excuses. “You’re a homewrecker who preys on interns! A man with no morals like you has no right to lead us!” Ian ripped off his glasses and threw them on the table, looking ready for a fight. I couldn’t understand the depth of his malice, his obsessive need to destroy me. “Sorry, I’m late.” The conference room door swung open, and Eva walked in, her makeup perfect, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. Just like in my last life, she put on a pitiful expression the moment she entered. “Yesterday, Mr. Vance insisted on taking my boyfriend’s special passenger seat, and he got caught,” she lamented to the entire room. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, pointing to a barely visible red mark on her collarbone. “He did this. Men get so scary when they’re jealous.” She then looked directly at me. “Mr. Vance, you have to take responsibility for this. How about you compensate me by fast-tracking my confirmation?” Compensation? Early confirmation? I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “First, all confirmations go through a formal review process. Exceptions are only made for truly outstanding performance. Eva, do you believe you’ve done something particularly outstanding?” Eva tossed her sunglasses on the table and put a hand on her hip. “Of course. I’m exceptionally beautiful!” The room erupted in laughter. My face hardened, a wave of sadness washing over me. At 25, you should be hustling, building a career. Yet Eva treated her job like a joke. So many graduates were unemployed, but here she was, holding a golden ticket and treating it like trash. “Is something funny?” My voice was ice. “Eva, you’re here to work, not to flirt. Furthermore, I am your superior, not a prop in some game you’re playing with your boyfriend. Taking your passenger seat was an accident. We have no personal relationship outside of work. Please handle your private disputes on your own time and do not let them affect this company.” She was clearly stunned. I had always been easygoing, but now I was publicly reprimanding her in front of the entire department. Eva’s face darkened. “Mr. Vance, it was just a joke. You don’t have to be so serious. You’re making things awkward for everyone.” Ian jumped to her defense. “Yeah, Marcus, we’re all colleagues here. No need to pull rank.” He then lowered his voice, but just enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Besides, if you hadn’t been hitting on her, why would she be talking to you like this in the first place?” With Ian leading the charge, a few female colleagues started chiming in with their own snide remarks. “Seriously, 40 and still single. Maybe he’s not even into women?” “More like women aren’t into him. At his age, he’s probably shooting blanks.” “A guy that handsome and not married? He’s probably being kept by some rich old cougar. What a player—getting paid by an old woman on one side while paying for a young beauty on the other. All I can say is, what a legend.” 3 I looked at their faces. They were all familiar. Even the newest among them had been with me for three years. For years, I pushed them internally, tracking their performance and rankings. But externally, I would take the big deals I personally landed and distribute the commission among the underperformers, ensuring everyone got a good bonus at the end of the year. But now I knew. In their eyes, those hard-won deals were the product of me selling my body. They felt no gratitude, only a deep-seated contempt. In my last life, when I was being slandered, these same women didn’t just stay silent; they joined in on the attack. I remembered a time when they would bring me small gifts, like coffee or pastries, to thank me for my support. The gratitude in their eyes back then—I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. Eventually the gifts stopped, but the cheers when the year-end bonuses were announced were real. They would always say, “Thanks, Mr. Vance!” What had changed them? Was it my own leniency? Had they become numb from taking my kindness for granted? Or was it something else? Whatever the reason, if my goodwill was being treated like dirt, then I was taking it back. “Starting this quarter, all performance reports, internal and external, will be unified. If you want to make money, if you want a bonus, you’ll earn it with your own performance.” With that, I turned and walked out of the conference room. Before the door had fully closed, I heard the sound of a table being slammed, followed by a string of curses. “Holy shit! The bastard is serious!” “Who does he think he is? He’s an old man about to get fired anyway, and he wants to screw us over on his way out!” On my way back to my office, I was intercepted by the CEO’s assistant. In the CEO’s office, I found Eva sitting primly, the HR director looking stern, and Ian, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. I rubbed my temples. Even in this new life, where I had immediately refuted the claims and our tech director had already confirmed the photos were fake, was I still destined to be fired? “Marcus.” A clear, pleasant voice broke my thoughts. Isabella Thorne, CEO of Thorne Industries. And also, my ex-girlfriend. Thorne Industries was the company we had built together from the ground up. I handled sales; she managed operations. We started with nothing and created an empire. But one day, she told me she was tired of it, that all she felt for me was friendship. So, we broke up amicably and remained colleagues. I could live without loving Isabella, but I had poured my blood and sweat into this company. I had no reason to walk away. People can betray you, but money and hard work never will. “I know about the situation with you and Eva,” Isabella said, frowning as if the whole affair was a massive inconvenience for her. “This has created a significant negative impact on the company. My decision is that you should take a temporary leave of absence.” “What impact?” I countered, my fists clenching. “The moment this happened, I clarified the situation, preserved the evidence, and notified PR to manage the narrative. Right now, this is purely an internal matter. And it’s painfully obvious that I am the victim here. Suspending me is punishing the victim!” In my last life, the story had leaked immediately. The media ran with sensational headlines like #ProtectOurGirls, and my colleagues eagerly gave interviews that fanned the flames. I was forced to resign to protect the company’s image. But this time, the media was silent. The company had no legitimate reason to fire me. “I have a complaint letter right here!” Ian held up a piece of paper. “This is a joint letter signed by more than half of the sales department, formally accusing Marketing Director Marcus Vance of using his position to harass female colleagues, severely damaging the workplace environment!” Ian’s eyes burned with intensity. “Marcus, maybe the photos with Eva were fake, but you can’t claim that all these people are lying, can you?” I glanced at the letter. The signatures belonged to the same women who had just been mocking me. They had enjoyed my generosity, and now they were biting the hand that fed them. “Isabella, what’s your take on this?” I asked, looking directly at her. It was a clumsy, obvious frame-up. Anyone with a brain could see through it. But you can’t wake someone who’s pretending to be asleep. “This is a very difficult situation for me,” Isabella said, avoiding my gaze. “Public opinion within the company is strong. I have to respect the will of the majority.” The HR director slid a document across the table toward me. The words “Notice of Suspension” were printed in bold letters. “The company has taken into consideration the difficulty of finding new employment at 40,” the HR director said smoothly. “This is the best solution we can offer. Once this blows over, you are welcome to return to the company in a different position.” Difficulty finding employment at 40. A reminder that I was old, that if I didn’t accept their terms, I’d be out on the street. And “a different position” was just a pretty way of saying a demotion, a move to the sidelines. Unbelievable. After everything I’d done, they were casting me aside like a used-up tool. But they didn’t know. I had died once already. Did they really think I would go down without a fight this time? Back in my office, I poured myself a coffee. I don’t know when the addiction started, but now I couldn’t get through a day without one. Ian pushed the door open without knocking, his arms crossed smugly. “This office is mine now. You have one hour to pack your things and get out.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394022”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my wedding day, my stepsister drugged me and handed me to kidnappers. My father and fiancé begged me to die to “save the family honor.” Only Caden, the billionaire who’d loved me silently for years, knelt on live TV, offering any ransom. But the kidnappers betrayed him. They livestreamed my torture and death. The famously composed Caden snapped. He sold his empire, slaughtered the kidnappers, then flayed my family and ex-fiancé alive. Clutching my ashes, he walked into the sea, whispering, “Next life, let Annette know peace.” I woke up—back before my engagement. I canceled it and ran to him. He’d loved me unto death. This time, I’d love him fiercely. So why did I find him in bed with my stepsister on our wedding night? 1 In our bridal suite, my stepsister, Jenna, was wearing the crimson silk robe I had bought for myself. Two shadows, hers and his, were entwined on the bed, a feverish, inseparable dance. “Caden, darling,” she purred, her voice a low thrum of pleasure. “If you keep this up, aren’t you worried your precious wife will get angry and leave you?” Caden’s reply was a muffled groan. “Focus. I only married her to see that famous ice-queen facade crack. And now that I have? It’s… bland. She can’t hold a candle to a little firecracker like you.” Jenna’s laughter pealed through the room, sharp and triumphant. A blade of ice twisted in my gut. I tried to back away, to flee the scene, but my trembling hands knocked over a vase by the door. The crash shattered the moment, alerting the two lovers inside. Caden’s head snapped up. His gaze, cold and sharp, pinned me to the spot. “Well, well. Does our goddess Annette have a new hobby? Eavesdropping? Or were you hoping to take some notes from Jenna? God knows you could use it. Lying there with you is like making love to a block of wood.” “Oh, Caden, you’re terrible!” Jenna giggled, stretching languidly. “All this activity… you’ve made me hungry.” Caden’s eyes narrowed on me. “Are you deaf? Jenna’s hungry. Get to the kitchen and make her something to eat.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just strode over and shoved me towards the kitchen. My mind reeled. In my past life, this man had loved me to the point of madness, had followed me into death. Why was he so different now? While Caden was in the bathroom, Jenna sauntered into the kitchen, her smile laced with venom. “Did you really think choosing Caden this time would solve all your problems, big sister?” she whispered, leaning in close. “You were the loser in our last life, and you’ll be the loser in this one. I’m going to take everything from you. Again.” It clicked. Of course. In our past life, she’d been obsessed with my fiancé, Julian. This time, simply because I had chosen Caden, she had set her sights on him instead. Before I could process the chilling revelation, Jenna let out a sudden, sharp cry and knocked a pot of boiling water from the stove. Scalding liquid cascaded over my arm, instantly raising a constellation of angry, white blisters. The pain was searing. “Jenna! Are you okay?” Caden rushed out of the bathroom, his eyes frantic. He scanned her from head to toe, and upon seeing she was unharmed, a wave of relief washed over his face. His gaze flicked to me for a fraction of a second, cold and dismissive. “Caden, I was just trying to help her,” Jenna sobbed, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t be here. I’ll just go.” Caden’s face hardened, his eyes turning to ice as he looked at me. “Jenna is your sister, Annette, not your enemy. How could you be so vicious?” He knew. He knew Jenna and her mother had driven my own mother to her death. He knew about the years of torment they had put me through. He used to be the one who stood behind me, swearing to protect me forever. Now, he was blind to my blistered, agonized arm, his entire world fixated on my stepsister’s crocodile tears. “I didn’t…” “Don’t, Caden,” Jenna interrupted, her performance flawless. “Annette is your wife. Please don’t fight because of me. I should be the one to leave.” Caden’s patience snapped. “The Astor family has no place for a woman with a heart as black as yours,” he snarled at me. He gestured to the security guards standing by the hall. “Take her. Teach her the rules of this house.” Without a word, the guards seized me and dragged me down to the basement, throwing me into the old boiler room. The oppressive, humid heat immediately began to bake my skin, aggravating the burns. “Caden, it wasn’t me! Please, check the security cameras!” I screamed, pounding on the heavy steel door. His voice came back, cold and final. “You’re still lying, Annette. Stay in there and think about what you’ve done. You can come out when you’ve learned your lesson.” The air in the room was scorching, but a profound, soul-deep chill was settling over my heart. 2 My consciousness began to fray at the edges. I don’t know how long I was in there, but I awoke to the shock of icy water splashing across my face. Jenna was kneeling over me, her nails digging into my unburned hand as she wept pitifully. “Sister, I know you’re angry that Caden is nice to me, but you can’t use such disgusting methods to ruin my life!” Ruin her life? It turned out someone had leaked scandalous photos of her online. As much as I despised Jenna, I would never stoop to such a vile tactic. “Annette, Jenna is your own sister!” Caden’s voice was a low growl of fury. “How is she supposed to show her face in public after this? I punished you in the boiler room for a few hours, and this is how you retaliate? With such a low, despicable trick?” He had locked me in a furnace, left me to pass out from burns and heatstroke, and now he was accusing me of orchestrating a complex revenge plot? Any rational person would know I couldn’t have done it. But he wasn’t rational. He believed Jenna, completely and without question. “It’s alright, Jenna, don’t cry,” he soothed, pulling her into a protective embrace. “I’ll handle this. I won’t let you suffer for nothing.” That evening, in a shocking turn, Caden came home. He even cooked dinner himself, a full spread of my favorite dishes. “Lara,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” For a fleeting moment, his gentle expression merged with the face of the man from my past life, the one who had followed me into death. A wave of grief and confusion washed over me. That night, he was a storm, pulling me into a chaotic tide of passion that left me breathless and adrift. We drowned in each other until dawn. When I woke, he was gone. The butler stood respectfully by the bed. “Ma’am, Mr. Astor has requested that you meet him at the auction house. He is waiting for you.” A flicker of warmth spread through my chest. Maybe he did still care. Maybe there was a reason for his cruelty, a burden I couldn’t see. Despite the ache in my body, a secret, hopeful joy carried me to the designated auction house. The grand hall was buzzing with the city’s elite, a sea of glittering jewels and hushed whispers. But my eyes found him instantly. He was in the center of it all, with Jenna nestled in his lap. As I watched, he leaned down and took a grape she offered him, straight from her fingers to his lips, their eyes locked in a smoldering, intimate gaze. My heart plummeted from the heavens, crashing into a cold, dark abyss. The man who had held me with such desperate tenderness last night was now lavishing his attention on another woman for the world to see. I followed the butler’s instructions and took the seat reserved for me just below his, forced to watch as he and Jenna flirted outrageously. His hand disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt, and she let out a delighted squeal, her eyes darting towards me, glittering with triumph. Caden, while whispering in her ear, was simultaneously dominating the auction. Anything Jenna so much as glanced at, he bought without hesitation, the auctioneer’s gavel falling again and again in his favor. “My god, Astor is bleeding money tonight. He’s dropped over a hundred million already, all for her.” “I thought he married Annette Croft. What’s he doing with her stepsister?” “Maybe the stepsister was the prize all along. A classic bait and switch.” Jenna, sensing my despair, shot me a condescending smile. “Oh, Annette, Caden bought me so much, I couldn’t possibly use it all. See anything you like? I’ll let you have it.” Before I could form a reply, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The next item was brought onto the stage. It was a swatch of silk, pristine white, marred by a single, dark red stain. My breath hitched. I stared at Caden in disbelief. It was the silk from our bed last night. The one he had carefully folded and taken away. I had thought… I had naively thought he was keeping it as a memento of our first night together. I never imagined it would end up here. “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer boomed, a lecherous grin spreading across his face, “a truly unique item. The virgin’s bloom of our very own ice queen, Annette Astor! Who will start the bidding?” Every head in the room swiveled towards me. Their eyes were a sickening blend of feverish excitement, contempt, and sheer disdain. My body shaking with rage and humiliation, I raised my paddle and made a bid. But a chorus of jeering bids from a group of sleazy-looking men immediately drove the price up. When I tried to raise my paddle again, I found my account had been frozen. I turned to Caden, my eyes burning with a silent, furious question. He just shrugged, his expression one of utter nonchalance. “I need the rest of that for a necklace for Jenna. It’s just a piece of fabric, Annette. Don’t make a scene.” I was forced to watch as the disgusting men fought over it, the winner holding it to his nose with a grotesque sniff, his eyes never leaving mine. Humiliating tears welled, blurring my vision. My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Suddenly, a new wave of murmurs and gasps swept the room. All eyes were on the large screens that now flanked the stage. They were displaying photos of me. From last night. Intimate, raw, vulnerable photos. “Who knew the ice queen was such a freak in the sheets!” “Damn, she’s got a better body than most of the girls you pay for. I’m almost jealous of Astor.” The world tilted on its axis. The tenderness last night… it was all a lie. A performance. It was him. Caden had done this to get back at me for Jenna’s leaked photos. It was all a deliberate, calculated act of revenge. But why? In our last life, he was the one who couldn’t have me, the one who chose death over a life without me. This time, I chose him. So why was he so determined to grind me into the dust? My accounts were frozen. Trapped under the weight of a thousand judgmental stares, I finally broke. “Caden,” I choked out, my voice trembling. “You loved me. You’re the one who loves me. Why are you doing this to me?” His brow furrowed, his eyes darkening to pools of ink. “It’s just a few pictures,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “It’s not like it’s going to kill you. Stop being so dramatic.” 3 A love that had transcended death in one life—how could it turn to ash in the next? As soon as the auction ended, the photos of me went viral. A torrential downpour began as we left, the sky weeping for my humiliation. Jenna, like a triumphant peacock, preened as she slid into the passenger seat of Caden’s car. “Caden, darling, I’m in the mood for high tea. Would you take me?” Lightning split the sky, illuminating my pale, shell-shocked face, but Caden acted as if I were invisible. “Wait here, Annette,” he said, his tone clipped and dismissive. “I’ll drop Jenna off and come back for you.” I had rushed out without my phone or wallet. I had no idea where I was. I had no choice but to wait. I stood there, soaked to the bone, as the hours crawled by. Night fell, and the streetlights cast long, lonely shadows. Caden never came back. Finally, numb with cold and despair, I started walking, with no destination in mind. Halfway down a deserted street, a homeless man’s eyes locked onto me, a predatory grin spreading across his face. I tried to run, but he was faster, dragging me into the thick bushes lining the sidewalk. His filthy hands pawed at my body, his sour stench turning my stomach. “You’re that bitch from the internet,” he rasped, his breath hot and foul. “Playing hard to get now? Don’t act so pure.” Just as despair threatened to consume me whole, a figure burst from the darkness, pulling the man off me and saving me. It wasn’t until my panic subsided that I recognized my rescuer. It was Julian Vance—my fiancé from my previous life. Too stunned to think, I let him drive me home. When we pulled up to the Astor mansion, Caden was standing on the porch, a thunderous expression on his face. He looked like he’d been waiting for a long time. “Annette! Where have you been?” Jenna cried, rushing out the door. “Caden was so worried about you, he’s been waiting for hours!” Her eyes fell on Julian, and her expression curdled with faux outrage. “You’re a married woman now! How could you be so shameless, sneaking around with other men?” Caden’s face was a mask of cold fury. Before he could speak, his mother, Mrs. Astor, stormed out and threw a phone directly at my face. “You tramp!” she shrieked. “Look what you’ve done!” The screen showed a tabloid article, complete with pictures of me getting out of Julian’s car. “ASTOR BRIDE’S SHAMELESS RENDEZVOUS.” “Not even two days married, and your slutty photos are all over the internet! And now you have the gall to come home with another man? Everyone is saying the Astors married a whore! You’re dragging our family name through the gutter!” She turned to the house staff. “Someone, teach this creature the rules of the Astor family!” Caden took a step forward, his mouth opening as if to protest. “Mother, you—” “You, shut up!” she snapped, whirling on him. “Look at her! Fresh from another man’s bed, and you still want to protect her? Say one more word, and I’ll throw you out of this house along with her!” Jenna quickly moved to his side, linking her arm through his. “Caden, she was always like this, even at home. Staying out all night… she needs to learn her lesson.” A storm of emotions played across Caden’s face before settling into a cold, detached calm. I was forced to my knees on the cold marble floor. To my horror, I saw that the Astors had even invited a media team. They were live-streaming. “For disgracing the Astor name,” Mrs. Astor declared, her voice ringing with self-righteous fury, “you will be punished publicly!” The first lash of a barbed whip tore across my back. I cried out, curling into a ball on the floor. An image flashed in my mind: my past life, locked in a dark room by my father, and Caden, my Caden, sneaking me food every day, saving me from starvation. The whip fell again. The taste of blood filled my mouth. Another memory: the kidnappers, the torture, my life hanging by a thread. And Caden, the proud, untouchable Caden Astor, willingly crippling himself, breaking his own legs just to see me one last time. Eighty-one lashes. When the final one fell, my body was a canvas of raw, bleeding wounds. I finally succumbed to the darkness. In the hazy fog of unconsciousness, I thought I heard Caden’s voice, calling my name, desperate and pleading. I don’t know how long I was out. I awoke to a symphony of pain. Caden was sitting by my bed, his eyes shot with blood. When he saw my eyes flutter open, he let out a barely audible sigh of relief. “Lara,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’ve been sick. You’ve been asleep for three whole days.” A memory from my past life surfaced. After being locked up by my father, I had collapsed. It was Caden who had begged him to let me out, Caden who had waited outside the hospital until I woke up. The past and present blurred, his concerned gaze seeming so genuine. If he didn’t love me, why did he look at me like that? His phone rang, and he immediately stood and walked out of the room. From the silent hallway, I heard the hushed whispers of two maids. “See? I told you the boss prefers Miss Jenna. She just scraped her knee, and he practically booked out the entire hospital for her.” “And look at the one in here. We were practically told to prepare for a funeral, and he didn’t even bother to take her to a doctor.” A bitter smile touched my lips. I swallowed the acrid medicine, the bitterness a perfect match for the taste in my soul. A short while later, a news alert popped up on my phone. A massive brawl had broken out at a local homeless encampment. Several people were dead. Then, my father called. He hadn’t called me voluntarily since my mother died. “It’s my sixtieth birthday the day after tomorrow,” he said, his voice void of warmth. “You and Caden will come.” But on the day of the party, Caden was nowhere to be found. I had to go alone. The moment I stepped into the banquet hall, my father’s hand cracked across my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. “Annette! Do you have any humanity left at all?” I looked up, dazed, and saw Caden across the room. He was holding a weeping Jenna, his eyes fixed on me, colder than a winter grave. “Annette,” he said, his voice slicing through the stunned silence. “I married you. I’m allowed to look after your sister. How could you be so jealous that you’d have her mother kidnapped?” “No… it wasn’t me…” I stammered, my head still ringing from the slap. “If it wasn’t you, who was it?” Caden shot back. “Are you suggesting Jenna kidnapped her own mother?” He tossed a phone at my feet. On the screen was a video. It was me, or someone who looked exactly like me, meeting with shady figures. “Caden, that video is fake! I’ve been at the house this whole time…” But he wouldn’t listen. He strode forward, grabbing my chin, his grip like iron. His voice was a low, menacing whisper. “You brought this on yourself, Annette.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394021”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband, Thomas Lewis, fell in love with someone else. He had another home, outside of ours. He would carry her bags, hold her when she was angry, and proudly introduce her to his friends and parents. And me, his former love, he hated with every fiber of his being. After I miscarried, he held me and told me I wasn’t worthy. I blinked back the tears, pretending not to care. “You deserve this, Sienna,” he’d said. 1 This was the fourth year of my marriage to Thomas. Everyone knew it existed in name only. They also knew he had another home, another woman. He would take her to the lavish parties of their circle. A circle I once belonged to, but was now shut out of. Thomas’s friends called her “Helen.” I heard she had charmed his parents, that on her first visit, they’d gifted her a family heirloom—a priceless jade bracelet. And me? I was Thomas’s legal wife. And only that. No love. No child. Just wasting away, day after day, year after year, in the role of Mrs. Lewis. 2 As the clock struck midnight, I blew out the candles on the long marble dining table and whispered, “Happy anniversary, Thomas.” Then, I jumped from the thirtieth-floor balcony of our penthouse in the Riverbend Estates. As I fell, I closed my eyes, a strange sense of liberation washing over me. The wind howled past my ears, and then, with a sickening thud, I hit the ground. I bounced, then fell again. Bright red blood pooled around me. My entire body screamed in agony, as if a train filled with sand had run over me again and again. I couldn’t move. Only my throat still made a hoarse, gurgling sound as I fought for air. Life was draining from me at an impossible speed, but a single thought consumed me: When Thomas sees me dead, will he feel a single pang of regret? Or will he and Helen continue their perfect life, completely untroubled? 3 Thomas arrived a little after five in the morning. His hair was a mess, as if he’d been driving with the windows down. The dampness of the cold night clung to his shoulders. He instinctively reached for a pack of cigarettes, his brow furrowed in irritation. My phone vibrated on the marble table, buzzing insistently before falling silent again. This happened several times, testing the limits of his already frayed patience. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Sienna, what the hell are you playing at now? Get down here in five minutes.” The phone screen lit up, then went dark, lying silently on the table. I wouldn’t be answering. “If you don’t answer, don’t ever bother coming back.” I would never be coming back. Thomas stood there, his eyes downcast, his fingers unconsciously curling into a fist. He was still waiting. But I was never coming down. The old woman who lived next door called out to him. “Thomas, you’re back.” Her voice was like a crackling old radio, slow and weary. “Go… go and see… Oh, my…” Her face was a mask of unspeakable pity. In that instant, Thomas’s hand, holding his phone, dropped to his side. 4 “Based on the security footage, Ms. Su appears to have taken her own life.” The young police officer sat across from him, his hands clasped on the table, his expression grave. “If there are no further questions, please sign here.” A thick report lay open in front of Thomas. Black ink on white paper, officially declaring my death. Thomas didn’t even glance at it. He just sat there, silent. The officer swallowed hard. “Mr. Lewis, if you have no objections, please sign. We will then proceed with transferring Ms. Su to the morgue.” Thomas remained silent, as if he had retreated to another world, detached from everything. Just as the young officer resigned himself to a long wait, Thomas spoke. “Was it painful for her?” “Well… uh…” The officer was taken aback, clearly not expecting that question after such a long silence. Before he could answer, Thomas let out a faint, cold snort, as if realizing the stupidity of his own question. His pale lips moved. “Sorry. Forget I asked.” He snatched the report and scrawled his name across the signature line. The force of his pen was so great the ink seemed to bleed through to the next page. The young officer opened the door. “Please, follow me.” Thomas stood, his long legs striding forward, once again the unflappable business elite. In the narrow corridor, the officer’s voice was hesitant. “Mr. Lewis, I need to warn you. Your wife’s… body is not intact.” His voice grew quieter. “Falling from such a height… there was a significant impact, and then a rebound.” He paused. “You should prepare yourself.” Thomas just grunted in acknowledgment and said nothing more. The officer glanced up at him and sighed. He’d done his duty. When they reached the morgue, the attendants followed procedure and wheeled “me” out. Thomas gave the gurney a cursory glance, then, with an unnervingly calm expression, he helped the police with the transfer to the cold room. The young officer kept stealing glances at him. He remembered his own reaction at the scene—he’d thrown up until he was dizzy. My body had been shattered by the fall. My limbs were broken, hanging limply. My head was crushed, my face a mask of thick, congealed blood that matted my hair. I was no longer recognizable as a person. The fear of death is etched into the human psyche. Few people could look upon such a sight with Thomas’s chilling composure. When it was all over, Thomas stood in the darkness, his hands in his pockets. “Can I go now?” The young officer, stunned, just nodded. Thomas turned and walked away without a backward glance. As if my entire existence had meant nothing to him. 5 Thomas didn’t go to Helen’s. He went back to our home. When Helen called, he soothed her in a low, gentle voice. “Helen, I’m fine. You don’t need to come over.” She must have been offering words of comfort, because he murmured “mm-hmm” occasionally to placate her. Then, his voice rose slightly, a hint of anger creeping in. “Helen, Sienna’s suicide was her choice. She deserved it. It has nothing to do with you.” His narrow eyes darkened. “If there’s any retribution to be had, let it come for me.” There was a moment of silence on the other end. Thomas, realizing his tone had been too harsh, softened his voice. “Helen, go to bed early. Don’t make me worry.” The room fell silent. He lay back on the American-style sofa, his eyes closed, as still as a statue. Just when I thought he had fallen asleep, I heard a barely audible, deeply sarcastic whisper. “Idiot…” An idiot? Yes, I was. How else could I have been with him for ten years before realizing he loved someone else? How else could I have, after exposing his lies, stubbornly insisted on marrying him anyway? 6 Thomas and I were college sweethearts. From the very beginning, his parents disapproved. The concept of “matching social status” was a mountain between us. Thomas came from wealth, a golden boy who’d never wanted for anything. All his life’s hardships, it seemed, were because of me. First, my initial indifference, which only made him fall for a quiet, complicated woman like me. Second, when he fell for someone else, I trapped him with a child, forcing him into a marriage he didn’t want. I remember the day I showed him the positive pregnancy test. The pain in his eyes was visceral. “Sienna, you’re manipulating me.” But I was consumed by a desire for mutual destruction. I laughed scornfully. “Thomas, are you going to take responsibility or not?” He eventually gave in, out of guilt or a sense of duty. It didn’t matter. I had won. When Helen heard the news, she slit her wrists. Thomas abandoned me to rush to her side at the hospital. While he was gone, I went to a clinic for an abortion. As the cold instruments entered my body, I thought of the rainy night Thomas’s parents had summoned me for a “talk.” When he heard, he waited for me outside my dorm, anxious and rain-soaked. The wind whipped his hair, his nose was red from the cold. He approached me cautiously. “Sia…” I gave a noncommittal hum. He tentatively tugged at the corner of my sleeve. “Do you still want me?” he whispered. When had the pampered young master ever looked so pathetic? As I stumbled out of the clinic, clutching the wall for support, I ran right into him. He was holding a takeout container. He saw me and took two steps back, as if facing an enemy. “Sienna, what more do you want? Helen can’t handle any more stress. Whatever you have to say, we can talk about it at home. Don’t make a scene.” He tried to push me out of the hospital. The rough handling made me cry out in pain, but he didn’t seem to hear, continuing to push. I froze. Does he love her that much? I had only smiled at him. I hadn’t even said a word. Yet he was convinced I was there to hurt her. A stubborn defiance rose in me. I shook off his hand and marched to the information desk, loudly asking for Helen’s room number. He lunged forward and clamped a hand over my mouth, his breath hot with a warning. “Sienna, that’s enough.” His eyes were filled with an intense irritation, his face screaming that I was being unreasonable. He really loves her, I thought. Loves her enough to ignore my obvious weakness, to stand against me without a second thought. I bit down on his hand, hard, but he wouldn’t let go. I stomped on his foot, but he didn’t flinch. I thrashed in his grip, but he held me tight. Finally, exhausted and overwhelmed by a surge of rage, I fainted. Only then did he realize something was wrong. 7 Blinding white light filled my vision. Thomas sat by my bed, chain-smoking. “You hate me that much,” he said, his eyes red as if he’d been crying. His gaze was fixed on my stomach. “So much that you’d kill our child.” At that moment, I was so consumed by hatred that I wanted to hurt him with the cruelest words I could find. A needle only hurts when it pierces your own skin, right? “Yes, Thomas. I killed him to get back at you.” His voice trembled. “Our problems were between us. Why did you have to bring a child into it?” Why bring a child into it? I wanted to ask him the same question. But what I said was, “If you had ended things with Helen, he wouldn’t be dead. You killed him. You and Helen, you killed him together.” “Sienna—” He cut me off, his voice sharp. “Don’t you dare bring Helen into this. She didn’t know anything.” God, I wanted to laugh. Even now, he was protecting her. “Thomas,” I said, looking straight at him. “I never realized you were so stupid. Did Helen not know she was hurting me, or did she not know she was being a mistress?” His brow furrowed. “Sienna, don’t be so aggressive. There’s nothing between Helen and me.” Aggressive? I stared at the man yelling at me. He was a stranger. A complete stranger. I looked at him and sneered. “Thomas, your hypocrisy disgusts me. You and Helen both deserve to die.” He flinched, then grabbed my shoulders, a sudden, sharp laugh escaping his lips. “Sienna, do you have any idea what the consequences of this will be?” Consequences? I just wanted to tear them both to shreds. I stared at him. “I, Sienna Su, can afford any consequence.” My defiance flushed his face with anger. He gasped for breath. We were like two cornered animals, ready to tear each other apart. Then, he pulled me into a tight embrace, as if we were lovers again. He whispered in my ear, so softly I could barely hear. “Sienna, you know… after Helen recovered, I was going to start over with you.” He paused, a cruel twist to his lips. “But you’re not worthy.” He enunciated each word, infusing them with all his hatred. “Don’t worry, I won’t divorce you. I want you to watch as Helen and I live a long, happy life together. I want you to suffer in the role of Mrs. Lewis.” Silence filled the room. For a fleeting moment, I saw the seventeen-year-old Thomas again, tugging at my sleeve, asking, “Sia, do you still want me…” “Fine.” Fine, Thomas. I still want you. So please, don’t ever make me sad again. Grief was a dull knife, slowly carving up my heart. The pain was unbearable. But I hugged him back. I heard myself reply, my voice light and quick, “Then I wish you two a love stronger than gold, inseparable even in death.” 8 Thomas was a man of his word. He moved out of our marital home that very night, setting up a new love nest for himself and Helen in a villa across town. I barely saw him, except at necessary functions. News of their life together came to me through Monica, the girlfriend of one of Thomas’s close friends. Monica never understood my feud with Thomas. She thought I should have just played dumb, married him, and dealt with Helen later. Men like Thomas, she said, usually tired of their flings. By confronting him, I was only creating a stronger bond between him and Helen. I was handing Helen the knife to stab me with. I just gave a noncommittal “hmm.” Monica was right. Thomas’s parents had said the same thing after my miscarriage. They called my actions foolish and self-destructive, a waste of my top-tier education. But I had seen the pure, fierce love of the seventeen-year-old Thomas. I couldn’t accept this betrayal. I chose to be foolish. I chose to crash and burn. I chose the most painful, most tragic way to show him my pain. Thomas had a soft heart. I wanted to drag him down into misery with me, to a place where neither of us could find release. Only when he hurt would I be happy. It was just as his parents had said to me years ago: “Sienna, your family background is… complicated. Children from homes like yours tend to be extreme. We don’t want our son to get hurt.” Their words had been a prophecy. I jumped off a building to get my revenge.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394020”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

During an interview, my ex-husband Jacob was asked, “A man like you—surely you have few regrets?” He gazed into the camera. “My only mistake,” he said smoothly, “was loving the wrong woman—a viper who bore me a heartless daughter.” Then, smiling, he added, “But fate gave me Vera and the child she carries.” That night, as Jacob dined with Vera, a news bulletin interrupted: “Police found two bodies in East Mountain—a woman, 25-30, and a child under five. Both were brutally murdered…” Vera’s fork froze. Jacob dismissed the TV. I stood before them, gripping my daughter’s hand, coldly smiling. She stared at the dark screen, then asked, “Mommy, why were we on TV?” 01 Vera’s lips trembled, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. Jacob’s handsome brows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong, Vera? Are you feeling unwell? Is the baby kicking up a fuss again?” Vera took a deep breath, put down her fork, and forced a smile. “No… no, I’m fine. That news report just… startled me.” Jacob let out a sigh of relief, gently placing his hand over hers. “It’s alright. I had Mrs. Gable turn it off. We won’t watch news like that anymore. It’s not good for you to get stressed while you’re pregnant.” He stroked her hand. “My Vera. Still so kind-hearted.” Kind-hearted? I stared at Vera’s ashen face and wanted to laugh. Jacob was my ex-husband. We met in college, a whirlwind romance that led to marriage right after graduation. And Vera… Vera was my best friend from the orphanage where we grew up. When Vera couldn’t find a job after college, I asked Jacob to give her a position at his company. I never imagined that one act of kindness would ultimately lead to my own death, and my daughter’s. Our daughter, Bella, was three when she was kidnapped. The kidnappers called our home, but Jacob was working late and wasn’t answering his phone. I had no choice but to take the ransom money and go to the location they gave me. When I arrived at the abandoned warehouse on East Mountain, I found Bella’s small body covered in bruises. The moment she saw me, she burst into tears, crying out for her mommy. My heart shattered. I scrambled forward and wrapped her in my arms, then bowed my head to the kidnappers, begging. “Please, I didn’t call the police. I brought the money. Please, just don’t hurt my daughter. I’m begging you.” But they didn’t want money that day. They wanted our lives. They tore my fingernails out, one by one. They doused me in acid, bottle after agonizing bottle. The last one, they forced down my throat. Bella screamed and pleaded beside me, her voice raw and heartbreaking, but the searing fire in my own throat kept me from making a sound. By the end, there wasn’t an unblemished piece of flesh left on my body. As I lay dying, Vera stepped out from the shadows. She stood over me, arms crossed, her eyes filled with a chilling disgust. “If you have to blame someone, blame your own good luck,” she sneered. “What makes you so much better than me? Why did you get to marry the great Jacob Brodie while I was stuck as a secretary at his company? So what if I slept with him? Do you know what he told me? He said he would never marry me. Hah! How pathetic.” “Eleanor, weren’t we best friends?” she continued, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ve had your good life. It’s time you made way for me.” She turned to the kidnappers. “Get rid of them. Take them up the mountain. And be careful. Don’t let anyone find them.” When Jacob discovered we were missing, he searched for us like a man possessed. But Vera was ready. She presented him with a collection of forged photographs and faked chat logs, even fabricated records of large withdrawals from the company accounts. She told him I had been in love with someone else for years, that I’d only married him for his money. She told him I hadn’t been kidnapped—I’d run off with my lover, taking the company’s money and our daughter with me. Vera was my only friend. I had told her everything. Jacob believed her without question. He called off the search. He fell into a deep depression, and Vera became his constant companion, the comforting presence who saw him through his darkest days. They fell in love. They got married. And now, Vera was pregnant. And my body, and my daughter’s, had finally been found. 02 Vera pushed her bowl away. “Jacob, I can’t eat anymore. I’m tired. I think I’ll head to bed early.” He suspected nothing. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. “Alright, let’s get some rest. I don’t have much on at the office tomorrow, so I can spend the day with you.” My daughter and I were pulled along with them, two invisible specters floating into their room. Ever since our deaths, we’d been bound to Jacob, unable to leave his side no matter how hard I tried. I had no choice but to watch, day after day, as he and Vera played out their sickeningly sweet love story. Vera was six months pregnant now, the curve of her belly prominent as she lay on the bed. Jacob carefully pressed his ear to her stomach. “Hey there, little one. It’s Daddy. Mommy’s not feeling well today, so you be a good baby, okay? No mischief.” The tender scene made my spectral eyes burn. I thought death was supposed to end the pain, but for three years, every time I witnessed a moment like this, my heart still ached with an agony that left me breathless. Bella tugged on my hand, her soft voice choked with tears. “Mommy, is Daddy going to have another baby?” Her lip quivered. “Daddy’s a liar. He promised he only wanted me. He lied.” I knelt and pulled her into a tight embrace. I wanted to comfort her, but the words wouldn’t come. How could I comfort my three-year-old daughter when I couldn’t even comfort myself? The next day, Vera slept until noon. Jacob stayed home with her, forgoing work. When she finally woke, his handsome eyes crinkled with a smile. “You’re awake. How about we go out for a bit? The nursery isn’t finished yet. We can pick out a few more things.” Bella and I were forced to follow them out the door. At the city’s largest department store, Vera was instantly captivated by the adorable baby items, her mood lifting as she browsed. Jacob stood beside her, his arm around her waist, commenting on each of her choices. To any onlooker, they were the perfect couple. A sales assistant smiled at them. “You two make such a lovely pair. A handsome man and a beautiful woman. Your baby will be absolutely gorgeous.” I looked away, unable to watch anymore. But as I lowered my gaze, I saw my daughter standing forlornly in the toy section, her eyes fixed on a Barbie doll. She reached for it again and again, her small, translucent hand passing straight through the plastic. Finally, her hand dropped to her side, and fat, silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Just then, Jacob’s voice rang out. “This one, that one, and all the others we looked at. Wrap them up and have them delivered to the Brodie residence.” Vera laughed playfully. “Why are you buying so many toys? The baby won’t be able to play with them for ages. You’re just wasting money.” Jacob’s gentle gaze fell to Vera’s stomach. “My child deserves the best of everything in the world. He doesn’t have to play with them, but I have to buy them.” I quickly turned to my daughter. She had seen it too. She stared at her father, then at the sales assistants busily packing up the toys. Her little head drooped. I couldn’t see her face, only her small shoulders, shaking with silent sobs. I rushed to her side and heard her whispering to herself. “Daddy doesn’t love Bella anymore… Daddy doesn’t love Bella anymore…” She repeated the phrase over and over, the brokenness in her voice squeezing my heart like a vise. The hatred I felt for Vera surged, becoming a tidal wave of pure rage. Thief! That’s what Vera was. A thief. She didn’t just steal my life and my husband. She stole my daughter’s life. She stole my daughter’s father. Suddenly, Jacob’s phone rang. As he listened, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper. “Hello, is this Mr. Jacob Brodie? This is the East District police precinct. We’ve discovered two bodies on East Mountain, and we have strong reason to believe they are your ex-wife, Eleanor Vance, and your daughter.” “Sir, are you available to come down to the station?” 03 Jacob didn’t speak for a long moment, his brow knitted in confusion, as if he couldn’t process what he’d just heard. Vera looked at him, concerned. “Jacob? What is it?” He seemed to snap back to reality, his voice turning cold as he spoke into the phone. “Scammers are getting creative these days. Don’t you know who you’re calling?” “You have the wrong number. I don’t know anyone named Eleanor Vance.” With that, he hung up. Perhaps connecting the call to last night’s news report, Vera’s face went pale. “Jacob, who was that? Why would they mention Eleanor?” He locked his phone, his tone breezy. “Nobody. Just a spam call. Ignore it.” He probably didn’t even notice the tightness in his own voice, or the slight tremor in the hand holding his phone. Vera tried again. “But—” He cut her off. “Enough. Let’s not talk about such unpleasant things.” He forced a smile. “Come on. I’ve booked dinner on a luxury cruise tonight. We won’t go home. I’ll take you out, clear your head.” Vera hid her unease and managed a weak nod. After dinner in the ship’s top-deck restaurant, Jacob led Vera out onto the deck. She leaned against the railing, tilting her head back to feel the cool night sea breeze. “Jacob, I feel so happy,” she murmured. “When I was a little girl in the orphanage, I was bullied all the time. I used to wish a prince would come and rescue me. I’d marry him, and we’d have a home of our own.” She looked at him, her eyes shining. “I feel like my dream has come true. I have you, and our baby. I finally have a family.” Jacob stood behind her and wrapped his arms gently around her waist. The sight burned my eyes. Through a blur of tears, I saw Jacob as he was when he first confessed his love for me. Back then, he was the sole heir to the Brodie Corporation, and I was a parentless orphan paying my tuition with student loans. Yet, for six months, he pursued me relentlessly. Faced with my repeated rejections, the eighteen-year-old boy had stood before me, his face flushed. “Ellie, I know you have walls up. But can you please, just once, trust me? I’ll cherish you. I’ll give you a home.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You’re not alone anymore. You have me.” The stars were so bright that night, just as bright as they were now. But the boy’s eyes, full of a nervous, anxious hope, burned even brighter. I don’t know if it was the starlight in his eyes or the sincerity in his voice that finally broke through. But on that day, I nodded. Vera’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Jacob, thank you for giving me a home.” The arms around her waist suddenly went rigid. When he didn’t respond, Vera turned in confusion to look at him. Jacob was staring at her face, his expression unreadable. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “Vera… did Ellie really run off with another man?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394019”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband, Marcin, convinced me to have four children with him through IVF. After they were born, I realized each one looked exactly like one of his four ex-girlfriends. When one of his friends asked him about it in private, Marcin couldn’t help but reveal his grand design. “I couldn’t bear to just let them go,” he’d said with a smug grin. “Think of the children as… parting gifts.” His friend was stunned. “What if your wife finds out?” Marcin just shrugged. “So what if she does? She took their spot, didn’t she? The least she can do is contribute something.” 1 When I married Marcin, he insisted we use IVF. He said he wanted the best for our future children, genetically speaking, and I agreed. Using a lab to screen the embryos meant our children would be healthier, smarter. The procedure was a success. We had quadruplets: two boys and two girls. Marcin was ecstatic. “One shot, four birds,” he crowed. “A truly grand gift.” “I get the ‘four birds’ part,” I said, my voice flat, “but what do you mean by ‘gift’?” “Oh,” he stammered, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “I just mean—they’re a gift from heaven, a gift to us…” Before he could finish his clumsy explanation, my best friend, Sarah, burst into the room, all excitement and congratulations. Marcin used the interruption to slip away. Sarah cooed over the four bassinets, but then her expression shifted to one of confusion. “This is strange,” she murmured, looking from the babies to me. “What’s strange?” “Well… none of them look a thing like either of you.” A cool, tight smile formed on my lips. “You have a good eye.” The look on my face must have startled her. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Claire… don’t tell me these four babies have nothing to do with you.” “You’re right,” I said, my voice as calm as a frozen lake. “None of them are mine.” “What!?” Sarah gasped. “When did you find out?” “Just before the delivery. I overheard Marcin bragging to one of his buddies.” “Then why did you go through with it? Why did you give birth to them?” “I was about to go into labor, Sarah. It was too late to do anything.” “So why haven’t you divorced him?” she demanded, her voice rising in outrage. “Divorce?” The corner of my mouth twitched upwards. “Oh, I’m not letting Marcin off the hook that easily. He made me a vessel for other women’s children, humiliated me in the most intimate way possible. He made me suffer. Why would I ever grant him a clean break?” As the children grew, their features became more defined, and the questions from friends and family grew more frequent. “Are you sure there wasn’t a mix-up at the clinic?” they’d ask, their eyes darting between me, Marcin, and the four children who bore no resemblance to us. Marcin would just flash a mysterious, knowing smile. I would pretend not to hear. One afternoon, Sarah called me for an urgent coffee. She slid a small stack of photos across the table. “I did some digging,” she said, her voice grim. “These are his four exes.” I picked them up. Four young women stared back at me from the glossy prints. Each one was a startlingly clear blueprint for one of my children. “There’s no doubt about it,” Sarah said, her hands clenched into fists. “He swapped your eggs for theirs during the IVF process. All four of them.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Marcin always seemed so gentle, so devoted to you. I can’t believe he’s such a scumbag. No, not a scumbag—he’s the absolute scum of the earth…” Her anger was a wildfire. “If I were you, I’d smother those four babies in their sleep and then stab that bastard Marcin with a kitchen knife. It would be a crime of passion! You’d get a few years, tops. Who cares? At least you’d have your revenge.” I placed the photos down, one by one. “No,” I said, my voice low and deliberate. “There are far crueler ways to destroy a man.” Time passed. The children turned one. They were walking now, chattering their first words. The resemblance to the women in the photographs was uncanny. Even Marcin’s friends started noticing. One finally cornered him and asked what was going on. Marcin, flushed with pride, couldn’t resist revealing his master plan. “I couldn’t bear to just let them go,” he’d said. “Think of the children as… parting gifts for each of them.” His friend was floored. “What if your wife finds out the truth?” Marcin laughed it off. “So what? She took their spot. It’s only right she contributes something.” Then, his mother arrived from her small town back in the Midwest. She stormed through the door without so much as a hello. “You have children and you don’t even bother to tell me?” she snapped at Marcin. “Have you forgotten you even have a mother?” But then the four toddlers swarmed her, shouting “Grandma! Grandma!” and her anger melted away. Her face broke into a wide, beaming smile. She turned to me. “Claire, my dear, you’re amazing! Four at once! The ancestors of the Miller family will be thanking you for generations.” “It wasn’t my talent,” I replied evenly. “It was your son’s.” The nuance was lost on her. She turned back to the children, scooping them up one by one, her heart overflowing with joy. “Come, let Grandma see who these little treasures look like.” She studied each child’s face, her smile slowly fading and hardening into a suspicious frown. She pulled Marcin into the next room. I heard their hushed, urgent whispers. “Marcin, why don’t any of these children look like you or Claire? Are you sure she hasn’t been… seeing someone else?” Marcin scoffed. “Her? She wouldn’t have the guts.” “Then what is it?” He leaned in and whispered the whole story in her ear. Her face lit up with a conspiratorial glee. “My boy! You’re a genius! What a brilliant plan!” Then, a shadow of caution crossed her face. She glanced nervously toward the door. “Does she know?” “I don’t think she has a clue.” “You’re too careless!” his mother chided. “You can’t hide something like this forever. She’s bound to find out. What if she goes crazy and tries to harm our four precious grandchildren?” Marcin let out another dismissive snort. “She wouldn’t dare.” “A woman scorned is capable of anything,” his mother insisted. “You need to test her. Find out where her head is at.” “You’re right, Mom. I’ll listen to you.” I watched the whole scene unfold through the crack in the door, a cold, silent laugh blooming in my chest. Like mother, like son. So that’s where Marcin got his charming personality. He wanted to test me? Fine. I was eager to see what he had in mind. The next day, for the first time in our marriage, Marcin didn’t sleep in. He was up at the crack of dawn, not to rush to the office, but to make breakfast. After plating the food, he did something even stranger: he opened a bottle of red wine. “My love,” he said, raising a glass. “You work so hard taking care of our four children. I must toast to you.” I smiled sweetly. “I’m caring for my own children, not someone else’s. It’s no hardship at all.” Marcin chuckled, a little too loudly. “Still, four is a handful, and I’m so busy with work. I wish I could help more.” I put down my fork and met his gaze. “You’re acting very strange today, Marcin. Did you happen to hear some… gossip?” He stammered, choosing his words carefully. “Y-you heard it too?” I slammed my bowl onto the table, my expression hardening. “It’s a serious matter. How could I not have heard?” “Alright, fine!” He took a deep breath, as if bracing for a fight. “People are saying the kids don’t look like us. They’re saying that during the IVF, I might have… swapped your eggs for—” “They came from my body,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “It doesn’t matter if they don’t look like me.” He froze, his glass halfway to his lips. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re not… afraid they might not be biologically yours?” A genuine, warm smile spread across my face for the first time in a year. I knew this moment was coming. He couldn’t hold it in forever. The trap was set. It was time to spring it. “Well,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Shouldn’t you be compensating me for all my trouble?” “Of course! Of course!” he exclaimed, relief flooding his face. He was overjoyed. “Oh, Claire! I had no idea you were so enlightened, so understanding! This is wonderful. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” Giddy with relief, he poured himself another glass of wine, and then another. Soon, the drunken truth came spilling out. “Do you know why I never filed our marriage license?” he slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at me. “I was testing you. This whole time. I wanted to see if you were worthy.” He grinned, a sloppy, triumphant expression. “And you are. You passed the test. I’m very, very satisfied with you.” Seeing him completely wasted, I let my own smile turn sharp. “So, how will you compensate me? With money… or with your life?” He roared with laughter. “Haha! It’s not often you make jokes like that, my love. But whether you want my money or my life, I’d give it to you willingly. Tomorrow! Tomorrow, we’re going to City Hall and making this official. I’m going to marry you, Claire.” “Take me to City Hall?” I purred. “Are you sure you don’t want to live a few more years?” Marcin just laughed harder. “You’re hilarious! I never knew you had such a dark sense of humor.” “You think I’m joking?” I said, my smile unwavering. “You should be very, very sure about that.” “Fine,” he declared grandly. “For my four children, I’d happily give up a few years of my life.” “Since you’ve made up your mind,” I said smoothly, “I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow.” He didn’t say another word, just let out a loud, wine-soaked burp and staggered off to bed. Deep in the night, his snores were punctuated by muffled, triumphant whispers. “…Finally… got her… locked down… yes… oh, yes…” I listened from the doorway, a chill spreading through my veins. You think this feels good, Marcin? I thought. You have no idea what true satisfaction feels like. But don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough. True to his word, the next morning, Marcin took me to the courthouse and we signed the papers. We were legally married. Back home, he tossed a thick folder onto the coffee table in front of me. “Go on, celebrate. Thirty percent of the company is officially yours.” I glanced at the stock certificates. His company was worth two hundred million dollars. “We’re a married couple now,” I said calmly. “Legally, I should be entitled to fifty percent. Where did the other twenty percent go?” “I’ve allocated ten percent to each of the four children. That’s forty percent off the top. We split the remaining sixty percent, fifty-fifty.” “You’re so generous to them,” I said, my voice dripping with an irony he completely missed. “Their mothers must be so grateful.” “These children are my gifts to them,” he said, puffing out his chest. “A guarantee for their future.” “You’re a truly wonderful man to your ex-girlfriends.” “What can I say?” he shrugged. “I’m a man who takes responsibility. I have to see things through with every single one of them.” I fought back the urge to gag. “Men with your sense of responsibility are a rare breed these days.” “Don’t start flattering me just yet, Claire,” he said, gathering the documents. “You still need to raise those four children. This thirty percent is only yours if you continue to perform well.” I feigned confusion. “But you said the shares were gifts for them. Shouldn’t you be giving them to their mothers?” “It’s not the right time,” he said dismissively. “When will it be the right time?” “Now is not the right time.” “Why not?” He was losing patience. “I have to think about them!” he snapped. “They’re still young, they’re dating, trying to find husbands. How is it going to look if they suddenly have a child to deal with?” “Oh, I see,” I said, my face a mask of dawning understanding. “You’re so thoughtful.” “You stole their place,” he said, his voice turning cold and hard. “You have to make some sacrifices. There will be… difficult moments ahead. You’ll have to be prepared for that. But I trust you’ll handle it with the same grace you’ve shown so far. Don’t disappoint me.” With that, he walked out the door. Soon enough, the “difficult moments” he’d warned me about began to arrive. One evening, Marcin came home with a woman in tow. I recognized her instantly from one of the photos. It was Chloe. She marched over to the playpen, picked up one of the boys, and immediately began comparing him to the other three. Her brow furrowed in anger. “Why is my son thinner than the others?” she demanded, whirling on me. She jabbed a finger in my face. “What kind of incompetent nanny are you? Don’t you understand the concept of fairness? My child should be the biggest and healthiest of the lot, not the scrawniest!” She dug into her designer handbag, pulled out a thick wad of cash, and threw it in my face. “This is about money, isn’t it? Fine! Take it! Go buy my son the most expensive supplements you can find.” Throughout this tirade, Marcin just stood there with a weak, placating smile. “Chloe’s just like that,” he said to me afterward. “You’re the bigger person here, Claire. You have to be patient with her.” A few days later, another woman showed up. Isla. She went through the same routine, comparing her daughter to the other children. When she was done, she turned and slapped me hard across the face. Then she rounded on Marcin. “This is the ‘graceful’ and ‘capable’ wife you found?” she spat. Marcin stammered, “Isla, it was an oversight. I’ll have a serious talk with her—” “Save it,” she cut him off. “My daughter will be better cared for than the other three. See to it.” In the weeks that followed, the other two mothers made their appearances as well. Each one was a storm of insults and threats, warning me of the dire consequences I’d face if I didn’t prioritize their child. Through it all, I remained silent. I endured. And Marcin was, once again, deeply satisfied with my performance. He praised me for being such a smart woman, his praise laced with a familiar, menacing undertone. “You hit the jackpot marrying a CEO like me,” he’d say. “Just keep me happy, Claire. That’s all you have to do. Anything else would be foolish. And you’re not a foolish woman, are you?” Word began to spread. The story of the corporate wife raising her husband’s love children with his four ex-girlfriends became the juiciest piece of gossip in our social circle. How pathetic can one woman be? I can’t imagine what’s going through her head. To endure that kind of humiliation just to be a rich man’s wife… it’s unbelievable. Sarah came over, practically vibrating with rage. “Where’s the fight you promised me?” she hissed. “All I see is you becoming a doormat!” I didn’t answer her directly. I walked to the window and listened to the melancholy chirp of the late-summer cicadas. “Patience, my friend,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394018”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mystery husband, from our arranged marriage I’d never even met, wanted a divorce. When I told him it was too much of a hassle, he laid his cards on the table, practically begging. [I’ve been in love with a girl for ten years. The only reason I agreed to this fake marriage was to placate our parents, so that one day, I could pursue her with a clean slate.] [I’m finally in a position to win her heart, and I’m asking for your help. After all, it’s impossible for me to ever fall for you, let alone have a real marriage with you.] [I’ll give you fifty million dollars as compensation for breaking the contract. And as for that A-list celebrity you like, I have my ways of making him marry you, willingly.] For the money and the celebrity, I agreed to fly back home for the “divorce.” But the very next second… My private, personal phone buzzed with a friend request. [Hi, this is Jonathan Craig. We went to high school together.] 1 Jonathan Craig’s mother was a formidable woman. After just one meeting with my father, she had him—a man who had treated me like the apple of his eye my whole life—agree to our arranged marriage. But on the day of our first “date,” Jonathan only sent his secretary. The gist was this: his mother had arranged the marriage behind his back, and he had no intention of marrying me. However, if I was willing to enter a fake marriage to deceive our parents and allow our two companies to cooperate, he would sign a contract with me. He would pay me ten million dollars a year, with the contract renewable annually. Since I didn’t know Jonathan and had zero interest in him, and since I was worried my father would just arrange another marriage if this one fell through, I agreed. For over eight months, Jonathan and I never had direct contact. Everything went through his secretary. But tonight, he sent a friend request to my work phone. [Hello, I’m Jonathan Craig.] I was surprised. I tapped on his profile. His username was his full name, simple and direct, befitting his image as a corporate titan. But his profile picture was jarringly out of place: a cute Ragdoll cat. The cat looked uncannily like a stray I had meticulously fed back in high school. I’d wanted to take it home after graduation, but it disappeared. I was upset about it for ages. I zoomed in on the picture, studying it for a long while. Finally, I concluded they just looked alike. It wasn’t the same cat. I put it out of my mind and hit [Accept]. Jonathan introduced himself again and stated his purpose: [Hello, Stella. This is Jonathan Craig.] [For personal reasons, I need to terminate our fake marriage contract ahead of schedule.] [I will compensate you for the breach of contract.] [When is the earliest you can return to the country to handle this with me?] I stared at my phone like a confused old man on the subway. It took me a while to digest it all before I replied: [We’re not legally married, so we don’t have to go through the courts. I don’t think I need to fly back for this, do I?] He replied instantly: [Actually, my mother is insisting that I bring you to tell her about the divorce in person. So it’s imperative that you make the trip.] [Furthermore, I’d like for the termination of our agreement to be a formal, written contract, signed by both parties, to avoid any future complications.] Complications? Was he afraid I’d cling to him later? Ha. The nerve. I couldn’t be bothered to type. I used voice-to-text. [Flying is exhausting. I don’t want to come back.] [If you’re worried about me causing trouble, you can just send the contract over. I’ll sign it and mail it back.] Jonathan: [But if you don’t come back, my mother won’t agree to us separating.] [And the contract isn’t because I’m worried about you. It’s because I don’t want the girl I love to ever misunderstand what we had.] I was a little shocked. [You’re in love with someone?] To convince me, Jonathan opened up completely, his tone almost pleading: [Yes. I’ve been in love with her for ten years. I wouldn’t be who I am today without her. She’s more important to me than my own life.] [The whole point of this fake marriage was to be able to pursue her one day with a clean slate.] [I’m finally in a position to do that, and I’m begging you to help me.] [Because I could never, ever fall for you. We could never be a real couple.] [I’ll give you fifty million dollars in financial and emotional compensation. Also, my secretary mentioned you’re a big fan of the singer Asher Vaughn. As part of the deal, if you want, I have the means to make him marry you, willingly.] According to our contract, he only owed me twenty million. But he was offering fifty. And he was going to make my favorite celebrity marry me. He was a living saint. I typed excitedly: [Are you sure? Fifty million, and you can get Asher Vaughn to marry me?] Jonathan: [Absolutely. If I’m lying, may I be damned.] Me: [You being damned doesn’t do me any good.] Jonathan: [If I’m lying, may I be punished to never win the heart of the woman I love.] Swearing on the girl he’d loved for a decade. Tsk, tsk. Now I was completely convinced. [Fine. I’ll fly back tomorrow.] Jonathan seemed to let out a huge sigh of relief. [Thank you. Do you need me to send someone to pick you up from the airport?] 2 I was in an excellent mood and decided to tease him a little. [Sending someone is so impersonal. I want you to come pick me up yourself.] He was typing for a long time. [Okay. Send me your flight number after you book it.] I hadn’t expected him to agree. But fine by me. The sooner we met, the sooner this would be over, and the less chance there was for anything to go wrong. After sending him my flight information, I blocked my parents and posted on my private social media account. [This girl is coming home tomorrow. Who’s asking me out?] I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, my post had blown up with notifications. At the same time, I had a new friend request on my private account. From Jonathan Craig. [Hi, I’m Jonathan Craig. We went to high school together.] Looking at the request, a dozen question marks popped up over my head. Jonathan Craig and I were high school classmates? How come I had absolutely no memory of him? And he already had my other account, so why was he adding this one? Did some busybody screenshot my post and send it to him? After all, that “asking me out” part could easily sound like I was planning to cheat on him. And our contract explicitly forbade any acts of infidelity. I mentally kicked myself for getting carried away. I immediately set the post to private. And, of course, I didn’t accept his friend request. My father is a nationally renowned entrepreneur. To prevent me from being kidnapped for ransom during my school years, I never used my legal name, Stella. Instead, I used my mother’s surname and went by Faye Lane. Only my immediate family knew. Likewise, I had separate phones and accounts for work and my private life. The private one was for friends and family; the work one was for colleagues and acquaintances. Given my relationship with Jonathan, he belonged firmly in the “work” category. Thankfully, Jonathan got the hint. When I didn’t accept, he didn’t send another request. The next day at noon, I arrived at the domestic airport on schedule. When I called Jonathan to have him meet me at the arrivals gate, he hung up on me. Then he sent me a message: [I’m so sorry. I just saw the girl I love at the airport.] [To avoid any misunderstandings, I can’t pick you up. Please just take a taxi. I’ll reimburse you for the fare.] [Transferred $10,000] Excuse me? Did he think this was about the money? This was a matter of pride! And for a CEO of his stature to go back on his word like that! I furiously typed back: [You love her that much? What if she rejects you and tells you to pursue me instead? To have a real marriage with me?] Jonathan seemed to ponder this seriously. A moment later, he replied: [It has to be her. If she told me to marry you, I would have no choice but to end my own life to prove my devotion.] I…! Was he just that deeply in love? Or was I just that repulsive? He would rather die than marry me. I, who had never once been rejected by a man, was so angry my chest physically hurt. I took a deep breath, put my phone away, and pushed my luggage cart towards the exit, scanning the crowd. I was trying to spot which idiot might be him. But instead, my eyes met a searing gaze. The owner of that gaze was dressed in a classic black and white suit. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His features were so strikingly handsome they looked like they’d been sculpted by a master artist, drawing frequent glances from passersby. Some of the younger women stealing looks at him couldn’t help but blush. I’ve seen plenty of handsome men, but never one as eye-catching as him. So I met his gaze boldly. Maybe it was because I was also, objectively, very attractive, but the handsome man seemed to shy away. After less than five seconds of eye contact, he looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. 3 He quickly glanced back, pretending to look at something else, only to lock eyes with me again. And again, he bashfully looked away. Tsk, tsk. I couldn’t help but smile. How could a man that handsome be so easily flustered? And with that devastatingly confident face, he was making expressions more suited to a shy puppy. The contrast was absolutely delightful. Suddenly, I wanted to test him. Was he into me? If I walked over to him, would he dare to ask for my number? But the thought of contact information immediately reminded me of my deadbeat fake husband. Who knew where that creep was hiding, watching me and his dream girl. Ugh. I sighed. Forget it. I wasn’t in the mood. But as I turned to leave, I saw in the reflection of the airport glass that the handsome man was still watching me intently. My curiosity got the better of me. I abruptly turned around and started walking towards him. But to my surprise, as he watched me approach, step by step, his eyes widened, and his fingers began to tremble slightly. He looked both thrilled and terrified. Then, on his long, powerful legs, he scrambled away in a panic. What the—!! Am I that scary? …That can’t be right. Then he must just not be interested. I gave a self-deprecating laugh and went to find a taxi. My phone buzzed. It was Jonathan. [I want to get this contract terminated as soon as possible. Can I take you to see my mother tonight?] Me: [Fine.] Jonathan sent an electronic document. [Please review the termination clauses. If you have any additions or changes, add them and send it back to me.] I opened it. Besides the fifty million and the promise to help me marry Asher Vaughn, Jonathan had specifically added a clause emphasizing that during our “marriage,” we’d had no physical contact and held no affection for each other. Furthermore, after termination, neither party could entangle the other in any way, or they would be liable for a fifty-million-dollar fine for emotional distress. I mean, seriously… He was the one afraid of me clinging to him, but he had to dress it up as a mutual agreement. Seeing how little he thought of me, how much he was guarding against me, I suddenly found him very dislikeable. It just made me want to be done with him even faster. [I’ve read the contract. It’s fine as is. Pick me up at my Greenwich townhouse in two hours.] Jonathan: [Okay. With my mother, we’ll stick to the story that our values don’t align and we don’t want to hold each other back.] Me: [Whatever. You can say what you want.] The townhouse was a coming-of-age gift from my father. I was staying there for two reasons. First, my dad really admired Jonathan, and I was afraid he’d be angry I’d decided on a “divorce” without consulting him. Second, my best friend, Lucy, lived next door, and she promised me a surprise tonight. The moment I got home, I showered, did my hair, put on a full face of gorgeous makeup, and slipped into a stunning, figure-hugging green slip dress. I was genuinely pissed off at Jonathan. I wanted to weaponize my beauty. I wanted him to see what a vibrant, breathtaking woman he was missing out on. Jonathan was even more impatient than I was. When I contacted him, he was already waiting outside my complex. But it was rush hour, and the entrance was clogged with cars and people. As I was about to ask which car was his, I saw the handsome man from the airport, sitting in a black Maybach by the side of the road. His large, elegant hand was resting on the open window frame. A Patek Philippe watch adorned his wrist, its silver face glinting in the evening sun, a beacon of his effortless grace. A cigarette was perched between his long fingers. He took a drag, then flicked the ash out the window. The prominent veins on the back of his hand rose and fell with the movement. The sight was impossibly, captivatingly beautiful. But I was just appreciating the view. Remembering how he’d fled from me, I had no interest in getting to know him. I texted Jonathan: [I’m at the entrance. Which car are you?] While I waited for his reply, I saw the handsome man pick up his phone, glance at it, and then lean out his window, looking around. Then, his gaze locked onto mine, as if frozen in place. 4 The sounds of cars and people around me suddenly faded away. He had stolen all my attention. I could only watch as his expression shifted from surprise to delight, and from delight to panic. Finally, it settled into a tense, swirling vortex of emotion… Before I could puzzle out why he always looked at me so strangely, Lucy pulled up in front of me, rolling down her window with a cheerful grin. “Came out specially to greet me?” “Huh? Oh, no, I was just heading out.” “For what?” The “marriage” was, at Jonathan’s request, a secret known only to our two families. Now that we were “divorcing,” there was even less reason to broadcast it. I smiled. “Just some personal business.” “Well, cancel it if you can. The surprise I mentioned? My friend is hosting a get-together tonight, and Asher Vaughn is going to be there. I’m taking you.” My eyes lit up. “For real?” “For real.” An A-lister like Asher Vaughn was a rare sight, even if you threw money at it. And terminating the contract with Jonathan could wait one more night. I hopped into Lucy’s car and sent Jonathan an explanation: [Something urgent came up. I’ll go see your mom with you tomorrow.] Jonathan’s reply was surprisingly accommodating, as if my canceling on him was exactly what he wanted: [Okay.] [But you won’t have something else tomorrow, will you?] [I’m really anxious to get this over with. Otherwise, I don’t even dare to say hello to her when I see her.] I was confused. I quoted a common saying back at him: [The two aren’t mutually exclusive. If you want to say hi, just say hi.] Jonathan: [Our divorce might get leaked. I don’t want to have any contact with her while I’m still technically married. I don’t want her to be mistaken for a homewrecker.] So, this is what it was like to love someone. To be so careful, to cherish them to such a degree. Moved, I told him the truth: [I can’t promise I won’t have something else tomorrow. But I’m back in the country now. I will definitely terminate the contract with you.] Jonathan: [?] [What do you mean by that?] [You don’t want to terminate it anymore?] His anxiety and agitation were practically leaping off the screen. I sighed helplessly. Remembering Lucy still needed to go home and change, I made a new offer. [With your mom—if you can guarantee you’ll be done in an hour and I can leave, I’ll go to your place right now. If not, I will be there tomorrow! I swear!] Jonathan must have believed me. His mood seemed to improve, and he even made some small talk: [An hour probably won’t be enough. Let’s just do it tomorrow. I have other plans tonight anyway.] I replied with an [OK] and ended the chat. Two hours later, Lucy brought me to the most luxurious private club in the city. The moment the door to the private room swung open, my heart pounded with excitement. I instinctively looked towards the center seat of power. But it wasn’t Asher Vaughn sitting there. It was the handsome man in the Maybach. Under the glittering lights, he was lounging on the sofa, his long legs crossed, exuding an air of aristocratic dominance. It was clear he was the one everyone deferred to. I froze for a second. Seriously. Three times in one day. What kind of fate was this? At the same time, the handsome man looked up, his gaze sweeping lazily towards the door. The instant he saw my face, his eyes lit up. He immediately uncrossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees, sitting up perfectly straight. In a flash, he transformed from the king of the room into a schoolboy, sitting primly, desperate to make a good impression on his teacher.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394016”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Donald Lawson drove to pick me up. He was a man known for his cold, almost ascetic demeanor. And yet, his new secretary was sitting in the passenger seat. In that moment, I knew. This marriage wasn’t going to last. 1 The day Donald came to pick me up, I pulled open the passenger side door and froze. A young, beautiful girl was sitting there, a sweet smile on her face. “Hello, Mrs. Lawson!” Her greeting was polite. But she made no move to get out and offer me the seat. My eyes narrowed slightly as I looked past her to Donald. He was on the phone, his gaze lowered, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension crackling in the car. We were supposed to be going to an auction together tonight. It was a date I’d been looking forward to, one I had dressed for with meticulous care. I never imagined his passenger seat would be occupied by someone else. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Lawson. My name is Lily Monroe. I’m Mr. Lawson’s new assistant.” The girl’s smile was warm, revealing two shallow dimples that made her look exceptionally sweet. “I heard you were going to a private auction tonight, and I begged Mr. Lawson to let me tag along and see what it’s like. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t be a bother.” My heart sank. I knew this cool, perfect man better than anyone. He maintained a careful distance from everyone. He didn’t let people into his space easily. Our marriage had been an arrangement, a strategic alliance. We had weighed our options and chosen each other. Outsiders joked that I was signing up for a life of celibacy, a marriage in name only. But after we made it official, Donald would hold me with a surprising tenderness. In moments of passion, the corners of his eyes would flush red. “You are my wife,” he’d once told me. “We are one. You are different from everyone else.” Today, it seemed, something had changed. 2 But I’m not some wilting flower who swallows her pride. I’m Vera Harrison, a woman who has never needed to check someone’s expression before getting angry. “Get out.” My voice was ice, my face a mask. I offered no pleasantries. The girl stared at me, stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt, to humiliate her so openly upon our first meeting. My tone was so harsh that Lily seemed completely at a loss. “I… I’m sorry, Mrs. Lawson.” Her voice trembled, on the verge of tears, as she scrambled into the back seat. Donald had just finished his call and looked over at us, finally sensing the atmosphere. He realized I was angry. A look of weary indulgence spread across his face. He leaned over, clicking my seatbelt into place for me. I noticed the seat had been adjusted—moved forward. Annoyance flared through me, sharp and hot, and I impatiently readjusted everything back to my settings. By the time I was done, I was seething. “This is ridiculous! Who dares to change the settings on my seat?” The air in the car turned frigid. The girl in the back was so frightened she didn’t dare make a sound. Donald’s brow furrowed slightly. “If you’re not in the mood tonight, we can just go home,” he suggested, his voice calm. In the rearview mirror, I could see the woman silently crying. I was utterly fed up. “Lily, was it? I’m not in the mood anymore. You can call yourself a cab. Mr. Lawson and I are going home.” The girl’s face went pale. She looked helplessly at Donald. He offered her no rescue. Looking completely crushed, she got out of the car. 3 Donald would never undermine me in front of others. He was a master of emotional control. That’s why he suggested we go home. Whatever the issue, we would deal with it there. It was an unspoken rule we’d had for years. “She’s just a college grad, new to the professional world,” he said, pulling me into his arms once we were inside. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” “It’s the first time.” Donald looked confused. “What is?” “In all these years, this is the first time you’ve ever let another woman sit in your passenger seat.” He hadn’t expected that to be the reason. Everyone in our circle knew how exceptional Donald Lawson was. The number of women who desired him was countless. But he had always been impeccably self-disciplined, navigating a world of temptations without ever being swayed. A faint smile touched his lips, and he gently ruffled my hair. “I can’t believe I finally managed to make you jealous.” He leaned in to kiss me, his nose brushing against my cheek. “She’s my subordinate, Vera. Nothing more. There will never be anything else between us.” He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze locking with mine as he gave me his solemn promise. 4 A woman’s intuition is rarely wrong. Even though I had only met Lily once, my gut told me she had other ideas about her relationship with Donald. I thought my initial show of force would be enough to put her in her place. I was wrong. The necklace from the auction, the one that was supposed to be for me, appeared around her neck the very next day. Hannah, Donald’s chief assistant, sent me a photo and a screenshot of a social media post. In the photo, the crescent-moon diamond necklace rested against Lily’s pale skin, making her look even more delicate and lovely. Her eyes were swollen, but a small smile played on her lips. It seemed she’d had a good cry last night and received a rather generous gift as compensation. The screenshot was of Lily’s Instagram story: [The CEO says a girl has to stay strong even when she’s been wronged! Wiping my tears and getting back to it, sir! 🫡] The post was accompanied by a few determined-looking emojis and a picture of the necklace nestled in its box. For a moment, my blood ran cold. It’s embarrassing to admit, but her little performance provoked me so much that I almost lost my composure. It was an awful feeling, like finding a smear of dried blood on your favorite silk scarf. The feeling was new to me. My first instinct was to jump in my yellow Ferrari, push it to 110 mph, and slap that woman across the face. But then I looked at my own hands and realized that even considering such a cheap, scheming girl was beneath me. I made a call to Wendy at Hermès. Wendy’s voice was practically buzzing with excitement. “Mrs. Lawson, don’t you worry,” she promised. “Even if I have to clear out every boutique in New York, I will get the inventory together and have everything delivered to you today!” And so, that afternoon, before the workday was over, every single executive assistant and general office staffer at Lawson Corporation headquarters—all forty-six of them, everyone except Lily—received a generous gift from the CEO’s wife: a twelve-thousand-dollar Hermès necklace. While the individual price couldn’t compare to the two-hundred-thousand-dollar auction piece, the sheer volume of the gesture made a statement. It was a leveling of the playing field. Hannah handled the delivery with perfect finesse. Each recipient was instructed to post a picture on their social media with a specific caption: [The President’s wife says every girl deserves better! #girlboss] The women were, of course, delighted to comply. As assistants, they were the nerve center of the company’s gossip mill. Who wouldn’t happily post a picture of a gift from the CEO’s wife? Some of the savvier ones even added their own flair: [Mrs. Lawson knows how to play the game!] Within half an hour, the entire company knew that the President’s wife had gifted them all Hermès necklaces. As for the reason why, the rumor mills were already churning at full capacity. Lily’s face was ashen. She looked deeply humiliated, and with red-rimmed eyes, she fled to the bathroom to take off the diamond necklace. Two colleagues who came in to touch up their makeup saw her and let out a knowing, derisive snort. Mortified, Lily lowered her head and hurried out, the sound of their unrestrained laughter following her. Her cheeks burned as she placed the necklace back in its box. She returned it to Donald, untouched. 5 Donald had just finished a video call with a partner. He looked up to see the girl, who had clearly been crying again, clutching the necklace box and staring miserably at her feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked, puzzled. Before Lily could speak, fresh tears began to fall. She sobbed softly, the picture of pitiable grief. “Mr. Lawson, please, take this back. I can’t accept it.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Donald’s stern face. His instincts told him something had happened, but he didn’t press her. He just watched her, waiting. Lily bit her lip, hesitating, before finally telling him everything that had happened in the office that day. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lawson. I’m always causing you trouble,” she whispered between sobs. “I just posted on my socials to try and cheer myself up. I don’t know how Mrs. Lawson found out about it.” She looked up at him, as helpless as a cornered rabbit. “I didn’t think she would be so angry… Mr. Lawson, I want to apologize to her. I can explain everything to her face-to-face.” Donald never looked at social media. His life was consumed by work. But as the CEO of a massive corporation, he was all too familiar with the vicious rumor mill. His already stern expression grew even colder. “I see,” he said, his voice low and heavy. 6 That evening, Donald brought Lily home. The girl stood timidly behind him. “I asked Lily to come so she could clear this up with you in person,” Donald said with a sigh. “Vera, Lily is just my secretary. As an apology for what happened yesterday, I gave her a gift. That’s all.” I stirred my spoon in the bird’s nest soup the housekeeper had prepared for me and finished the last sip. “Mrs. Lawson, I’m so sorry.” Lily’s apology was sincere as she bowed deeply. She looked frail and frightened. “It was the first time I’d ever received such an expensive gift. I got carried away. If I did something to upset you, please tell me. I’ll change, I promise!” I raised an eyebrow. “Lily Monroe, is it?” She glanced at Donald, as if seeking courage from him, before slowly nodding. The sight of her, like a naive calf trying to lock horns with me, was almost laughable. “I’m not your teacher, and I’m not your boss. I don’t have time to teach you how to behave,” I said, my voice cool. “But I am Donald Lawson’s wife. And if anyone dares to blur the lines with my husband, I won’t be giving them a second chance.” The girl had probably never encountered someone so direct in her life. Her face, already flushed with embarrassment, now just looked pitiful. “Vera, Lily came here to apologize,” Donald interjected. He knew my temperament and my methods. Even if he didn’t approve of my actions today, he understood why I did it. So instead of arguing, he had agreed to let Lily come and apologize. It was his concession, his attempt to clear the air. We were both intelligent people. A single look was enough to convey our meaning. “I understand,” I said, deciding to give Donald this one chance. After all, he hadn’t actually cheated. “But there won’t be a next time. Not with anyone.” 7 “You didn’t have to resort to those kinds of tactics to deal with a young girl,” Donald brought up later, before we went to sleep. “You should have told me first.” I sat at my vanity, brushing my hair, and met his eyes in the mirror. “You knew I liked that necklace, yet you gave it to another woman. Don’t I have a right to be angry?” I couldn’t imagine it. This perfect man… if he became tainted, could I still love him the way I did? Donald remained calm. He went to the bar and poured himself a glass of ice water. “She cried all night because of your misunderstanding,” he explained. “When I saw how swollen her eyes were this morning, I gave her the necklace as an apology. It was an impulsive gesture.” His story was flawless. I studied him for a long time, my expression cold. Two hundred thousand dollars was a trivial amount to us. Giving it away on a whim was plausible. It all depended on whether the recipient was worth it. His fingers tapped against the marble countertop. He was waiting for me to process his words. This was the first time a third party had caused a rift in our relationship. Our upbringing and refined sensibilities made us both weary of such drama. We were people who valued decorum. “Donald, I love you.” His fingers stilled. He clearly hadn’t expected me to say that. “I love the untarnished version of you. That’s what sets you apart,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You used to keep all women at a distance because you have a need for emotional purity, because you wanted a clean marriage. I wasn’t always like that, but your values influenced me. Now, our goals are the same.” I held his gaze in the mirror. “I hope our marriage never has to face a crossroads.” “It won’t,” Donald said, a note of frustration in his voice. “I haven’t done anything.” 8 Donald was an exceptionally perceptive man. He knew I was bothered, and he wouldn’t give Lily any more room for delusion. Without the CEO’s favor, Lily, as an intern, was relegated to the most basic tasks. Before, she might have had a chance at the front desk rotation. Now, Hannah didn’t even put her on the schedule. I never told anyone to ostracize her. Since Donald understood my boundaries, I trusted him completely. But in a place like this, I didn’t need to give any orders. There were always people eager to curry favor with the powerful and trample on the weak. Within two weeks, the new secretary couldn’t handle the demotion and the psychological toll. She lost a noticeable amount of weight. The turning point came after an important executive meeting. That day, Lily was assigned to clean the small conference room by herself. Dressed in a skirt suit, she was kneeling on the floor, painstakingly scraping a piece of gum off the carpet with a small blade. Donald, who had returned to retrieve a file, walked in on this scene. Sensing someone behind her, the girl scrambled to her feet, mortified. Donald’s gaze was deep and cold. His silent stare stripped away the last of Lily’s pride. “Mr. Lawson.” Tears dripped from her eyes. They weren’t an act. Donald had always been the sun she admired but could never touch. Just as she was beginning to accept her fate at the company’s periphery, he saw her like this, at her lowest. Lily wanted nothing more than to push past him and run. In just two weeks, the once bright and cheerful girl had become this fragile. It was the first time I had ever seen Donald truly lose his temper. When he came home that night, he slapped the glass of water I offered him out of my hand, shattering it on the floor. Water splashed everywhere. “Why won’t you just leave her alone?” he roared. “Vera, I respect you, I love you, and I have tolerated your insults and cruelty towards her again and again. What kind of sick pleasure do you get from bullying someone weaker than you?” I remembered then. When Donald was studying abroad, his younger sister, who was in middle school, had committed suicide after being relentlessly bullied. It was a scar on his soul that had never healed, and he despised bullying with a passion. “Vera, don’t let me see you use these tactics to hurt someone ever again,” he warned, his voice shaking with rage. “Or I will not stand by and do nothing.” I stared at the man who had completely lost control. For the first time in our marriage, Donald was yelling at me, had lost his reason, over another woman—and for something I hadn’t even done. The feeling was sickening. Like shattering glass. Like spilled water that could never be gathered again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394015”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

No one knew the secret I kept for seven years: that I shared a bed with my stepsister, Zoey. She was fast asleep when her phone lit up the nightstand. Curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up, my thumb swiping across the screen, and saw the chat she’d left open with her best friend. “Still keeping up the act? You actually planning on marrying your stepbrother?” “Wasn’t the plan always to get revenge on the son of that homewrecker?” The last message was from Zoey, sent just an hour ago. “If I don’t drag it out, how can I make him suffer more?” I reached for the bottle of wine on the nightstand and poured myself three glasses, one after the other. My gaze fell on Zoey’s sleeping form, a silent toast echoing in my mind. The first glass was for my own foolish heart, for falling for you when I knew it was impossible. The second, for the beautiful lie you lived. For the way you stayed with me, comforted me, and cooked for me whenever our parents were away. And the third glass was for this moment. For the day I choose to stop loving you. 1 “Mom, I’ll do it. I’ll agree to the marriage alliance.” I paused, then added, “Can we… can we not tell Zoey about it just yet?” “Of course,” she said, her voice soft as she handed me a glass of milk. “Take this up to your sister.” I took the glass and walked straight to her bedroom. When Zoey took the milk from me, her fingers brushed against mine, a light touch that sent a jolt through me, nearly making me drop the glass. A slow smile spread across her face as she pushed me back onto the bed, her body following mine down. Her lips were about to meet mine. I turned my head away. “Zoey, Mom and Dad are home. They’ll see.” She leaned in, her lips finding the curve of my neck, and gave my Adam’s apple a sharp, possessive bite. “Then you’d better be good to me,” she whispered, her voice a playful purr. “Come with me to the office.” The city blurred past the car window. I watched the familiar streets give way to an unfamiliar route and finally spoke up. “This isn’t the way to Dawson Corp.” “Nope,” she said, a smirk in her voice. “Picking someone up.” The car slowed to a stop in front of a luxury apartment building—Landon Vance’s place. “Wait here. I’ll go get him.” “Okay.” The silence in the car was heavy. Zoey shot me a strange look. “Not jealous?” Why would I be? The old me would have bristled at the thought of her even talking to another guy. I would have sulked, given her the cold shoulder, made my jealousy obvious. But that was the old me. Now, having decided to let her go, what was the point? “Go on, Zoey. I get it. It’s for the company.” My encouragement seemed to throw her off. A flicker of confusion crossed her eyes before she got out of the car. An hour crawled by. The sun beat down on the car, turning the inside into an oven. I felt dizzy, dehydrated, on the verge of passing out. I tried calling her, but my calls went straight to voicemail. Just as the world started to swim before my eyes, the doors to the building opened. Landon emerged, holding Zoey’s hand. He casually walked over and opened the passenger side door. “Sorry for the wait, Ash,” he said with a lazy grin, wiggling the fingers of his left hand to show off a new ring. “Your sister insisted we try on engagement rings.” He gestured to the back seat. “Hey, mind taking the back?” I was too weak to move, my head spinning. Zoey must have mistaken my stillness for a jealous pout. She didn’t even look at me. “Landon, just pull him out.” His grip was strong. He hauled me out of the seat, and I stumbled, catching myself just before I fell. “Landon just wanted to ride shotgun, and you couldn’t even give him that?” Zoey’s voice was cold. “Find your own way to the office.” With that, she sped off, her eyes fixed on me in the rearview mirror. I didn’t go to the office. I went straight home. The moment I walked through the door, my strength gave out, and I collapsed onto the sofa. I drifted in a feverish haze until I felt a familiar weight settle against me. Zoey snuggled into my arms, her lips forming a pout. “Ash,” she murmured, her voice thick with fake grievance. “Your mom said you broke up with your girlfriend.” Her hand toyed with a button on my shirt. “You should probably tell your mom when exactly we broke up. Because I certainly don’t remember it. Or… do you have another girlfriend I don’t know about?” She wrapped her arms around my neck, her face drawing close for a kiss. I turned away again. “Zoey, I don’t feel well.” Her hand flew to my forehead. “You’re burning up.” Gently, she helped me to my feet and guided me to my bed, tucking me in with a familiar tenderness. She retrieved a cooling patch from the bathroom, her movements practiced and sure as she tore it open and placed it gently on my forehead. Then, she brought a glass of warm water and some pills, carefully helping me take them. “I’ll stay with you, Ash.” She slipped under the covers beside me. Later, after her breathing had evened out into the rhythm of sleep, I reached out, my fingers tracing the outline of her face in the dim light. No one knew. My girlfriend was my stepsister, Zoey. 2 I tossed and turned, sleep refusing to come. My eyes fell on the glow of Zoey’s phone screen. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached for it. My birthday. That was her password. The screen unlocked. A few new messages from her friend popped up: “Zoey, the second Ashton gets a little sick, you ditch Landon and run right back to him.” “I don’t know, Z… sounds to me like you’re actually falling for him.” “Are you sure you’re still acting? You haven’t accidentally written yourself into the script?” Then I saw Zoey’s reply, and the words burned into my eyes. “Me? Love him? As if.” “It’s just an act. He’s the son of a homewrecker. He doesn’t deserve my love.” A tear I couldn’t control slid down my cheek and landed on the back of her hand, startling her awake. I shoved the phone back onto the nightstand, pretending to be asleep, my heart hammering against my ribs. Zoey’s eyes fluttered open. She saw the tear track on my face, and a flash of panic crossed her features. “Ash? What’s wrong? Are you crying? Does it hurt that bad?” I stared at her, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, but another tear escaped. She pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” “Don’t be mad, okay?” Her voice softened, a practiced, soothing melody she’d used on me a hundred times before. “You know Dad is pushing for this engagement with Landon. It’s just business.” She tilted her head. “And come on, all Landon wanted was the front seat. You’re not really that angry about it, are you?” “I’m not angry,” I whispered. It was the truth. I wasn’t angry. My heart was just… dead. She clearly didn’t believe me. “Yes, you are. You’re furious.” Her voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “You know I’ve only ever loved you these past seven years.” She played her trump card. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll go tell Mom and Dad right now. I’ll beg them to let us be together.” I shot up, grabbing her arm. “Don’t.” For seven years, this was how she won every argument. And every time, I’d caved, terrified of our parents finding out, terrified of the fallout. In everyone else’s eyes, we were brother and sister. But this time was different. My only goal was to keep this charade going until the day of my own marriage alliance. The day I could finally cut her out of my life for good. Seeing me back down, Zoey leaned in to kiss me. I recoiled instinctively. “I’m still sick. You’ll catch it.” She relented, settling for wrapping her arms around me again. Her embrace was warm, familiar, a place I had once called home. She murmured words of comfort, just as she always had. But this time, all I felt was a bitter cold spreading from the very core of my being. Zoey, I don’t want to love you anymore. 3 The next morning, voices from downstairs pulled me from a light, fitful sleep. I opened my eyes. The space beside me was empty. Zoey was already gone. I headed downstairs and found her sitting on the sofa, shoulder-to-shoulder with Landon. “Ashton, darling,” my mom said, her eyes finding mine. “Zoey’s engagement party is tomorrow. It’s perfect timing. You can attend before you leave.” Zoey’s head snapped up. “Leave? Where are you going?” “Oh, just a trip I planned with some friends,” I said quickly, shooting a look at my mom. “Mom, I’m gonna grab something to eat.” I was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of milk, when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Zoey’s chest pressed against my back. “Ash, don’t be mad.” “I’m not mad, Zoey,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “I know you have your obligations.” Her hold on me faltered, her body stiffening in surprise at my placid response. “Ash, you—” “Ashton,” my mom’s voice called from the living room, “why don’t you go with Zoey and Landon to pick out their formal wear for the party?” I gently pushed Zoey away. “Mom, I think I’ll sit this one out. They don’t need a third wheel.” “Please come, Ash,” Zoey pleaded, her voice soft. “You can help me choose.” Landon chimed in, “Yeah, come on, man. We could use your opinion.” At the boutique, I found a secluded armchair in the corner and watched them from a distance. When Zoey emerged from the fitting room in a stunning champagne-colored gown, she and Landon looked like a picture-perfect couple. It was a scene I had imagined a thousand times, only in my dreams, I was the one standing beside her. While Zoey was changing into another outfit, Landon wandered over to me. “You haven’t picked out a suit for tomorrow, have you, Ash? Why don’t you try one on?” “That’s okay, I—” He cut me off, pressing a white tuxedo into my hands. “Just try it.” I changed and stepped out of the fitting room just as Zoey came out of the one next to me. Our eyes met, and her gaze lingered on me for a second too long. Suddenly, Landon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and accusatory. “Ash! What are you doing? That’s the suit I’m wearing tomorrow!” His voice rose, dripping with insinuation. “Are you trying to tell Zoey something? That you wish you were me?” The staff and other customers turned to stare. Gossip rippled through the onlookers. “Oh my god, is that her brother? That’s disgusting.” “He’s in love with his own sister? And he’s stealing her fiancé’s suit? How pathetic.” — Zoey’s face was a cold, emotionless mask. “Take it off,” she commanded. “And don’t ever do it again.” I didn’t say a word. I just turned, walked back into the fitting room, and changed back into my clothes. As I left, I saw Zoey nestled in Landon’s arms, murmuring, “Don’t be angry, Landon. It’s okay.” I ignored her for the rest of the day. That night, as I was walking past her room, she reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Ash, stop being angry.” She held up a garment bag. “I picked out another suit for you. A better one. Wear this tomorrow.” I pried her fingers off my wrist, one by one. “Zoey, you don’t have to.” “I have plans tomorrow,” I said, my voice flat. “I won’t be at your engagement party.” She must have thought I was just trying to avoid the pain of watching her with Landon, because her voice softened. “Okay. Just… give me some time.” Her hand reached for mine again. “It’s just an engagement, Ash. I’ll only ever marry you.” Hearing those words, I felt nothing. Not a flicker of hope, not a twinge of pain. Nothing. Zoey, I’m never going to marry you. 4 The next day, Zoey was long gone, already on her way to the Vance estate for her party. My mother sat on the edge of my bed, her eyes misty. “Turn around,” she said, her voice catching. “Let me have one last look at my son.” It finally hit me. This was real. I was leaving this house, this life. Not to marry Zoey, the girl I had loved for seven years, but a complete stranger. It was terrifying, but more than that, it was a profound relief. A clean break. The choice had been made. There was no going back. “Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked gently. “Why agree to go through with the alliance so soon? Did that girlfriend of seven years finally break your heart for good?” I looked down, hiding the tears that threatened to spill. “You know, I never liked her,” Mom continued. “Seven years, and she never once wanted to meet us. It never felt right. I’m glad you two are done.” She patted my shoulder. “Your uncle vetted this girl himself. She comes from a good family, has a good heart. Just… give her a chance. Try to build something real with her.” I forced a smile. “I will, Mom.” “Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye to your sister?” she asked, her hand rubbing my back. “I’m sure,” I said, the words feeling final. My phone buzzed. A text from Zoey. [Ash, I won’t let Landon touch me. I promise.] [Ash, I wish it was you standing next to me today! It’s just not the right time yet.] I deleted the messages without a second thought and blocked her number. Goodbye, Zoey. A procession of black cars pulled up outside. My mother walked me to the door. A woman in a striking red dress stepped out of the lead Maybach. She walked toward me with an easy confidence and extended her hand. “Julia Reid. Your wife.” I hesitated for only a second before taking her hand in mine. Miles away, Zoey tried to call me. When she discovered she was blocked, a cold knot of panic formed in her stomach. “What’s wrong?” Landon asked. “Nothing,” she said, forcing the anxiety down. “Let’s go. To the hotel.” On the way, Zoey suddenly pointed at a decorated car in the opposite lane, part of a wedding procession. “Landon, look! A bridal convoy! I’ve heard of this new trend where couples exchange bouquets for good luck!” Before he could respond, she had rolled down her window, shouting across the median at us. “Hey! Let’s trade bouquets!” I looked up. Through the open window, I saw her face. Her excited smile froze, then crumbled. Zoey’s eyes widened in disbelief, her voice a choked whisper that barely carried across the asphalt. “Ash? What… what are you doing in that car?” “Ash, come back!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394014”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It took Leo Vance two years of relentless pursuit to finally wear me down. Two years to pry me from the life I knew and make me his. Once we were together, his possessiveness was a beautiful, suffocating storm. Then came the crash. He lost his memory, and I lost him. I fled, seeking refuge in a new city, a new life. Five years later, fate, in its cruel way, threw us back together. The more our paths crossed, the darker and more inscrutable his gaze became whenever he looked at me. Finally, he cornered me, the question burning in his eyes. “Are you married?” “I am,” I lied. He took a few seconds to absorb the blow, his jaw tight. “And your husband?” he pressed. “Forgive me for being blunt, but a man who doesn’t cherish his wife and child isn’t a man at all. Is getting a divorce an option? Because I’d like to marry you.” 1. I stood just outside the hospital room, the space inside already crowded with Leo’s friends. Their voices muffled through the door. “Leo, buddy, I know this is going to sound insane, but every word is the God’s honest truth,” one of them said, his voice earnest. “You have a girlfriend. You’ve been together for almost six months. And man, you fought for her. Poached her from another guy after a two-year campaign.” Leo’s disbelief was palpable even from the hallway. I could picture him, head cocked, scanning the faces of his friends for the punchline. But every single one of them nodded in solemn confirmation. Just when they thought he might be convinced, his voice cut through the room, laced with incredulous laughter. “Wait, you’re telling me I became that guy? A homewrecker? For some woman?” He scoffed. “Get real. I’m not the marrying kind. I’m not even the ‘girlfriend’ kind.” A collective groan went through the room. His friends, undeterred, launched into a chaotic, overlapping narrative, painting a vivid picture of his obsessive quest to win me over—the extravagant gestures, the sleepless nights, the sheer, unrelenting effort it took. But no matter how detailed their stories, Leo remained unconvinced. “Alright, guys, very funny,” he said, waving them off. “I lost my memory, I didn’t lose my mind. Besides,” he added, a note of self-satisfaction in his voice, “I have more integrity than that. I’d never go after one of my own buddy’s girlfriends.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. He really had no idea who he was, did he? 2. Just as I was about to push the door open, a woman with a perfectly coiffed helmet of hair and a Chanel suit appeared, flanked by two imposing men in black. “Julia?” she asked, her voice as crisp as a winter morning. “Yes.” She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “I’m Leo’s mother.” Her eyes swept over me, a quick, dismissive appraisal. “Leo is awake. Fortunately, he’s fine. He’s just forgotten a few… insignificant people and things.” She pressed down on the word “insignificant,” her disdain for me a tangible thing. “So, let’s talk numbers. How much will it take for you to leave my son for good?” She pulled a platinum card from her designer handbag and tossed it onto a nearby table. “A million dollars. Is that enough?” “Take it,” she commanded, “and disappear. Don’t ever let him see you again.” My voice trembled. “Why? Just yesterday, he was…” “Yesterday?” she scoffed, cutting me off. “Yesterday doesn’t matter. What matters is that now, he has no idea who you are. You are a complete stranger. Leo needs a partner from a suitable family, someone who can advance our name. Not a piece of trouble who almost got him killed.” Her gaze was like ice, making me feel like something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. “Now, take the money and vanish quietly,” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Or I’ll be forced to use other means to teach you your place.” The bodyguards took a step forward, their presence a silent, looming threat. I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs. Seeing my terrified silence, a cruel smirk touched her lips. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance to see for yourself.” She produced a photograph from her purse. Before I could process what was happening, she had dragged me back to the doorway and pushed the door open. She held the photo out to Leo. “Darling, have you ever seen this woman? They say she’s your girlfriend.” I watched, my breath caught in my throat, as Leo shook his head, a playful grin on his face. “Mom, you too? What’s with all the jokes today?” he said lightly. “I can guarantee you, I’ve never laid eyes on her in my life.” His mother’s lips curved into a triumphant smile. She shot me a look over her shoulder, a final, victorious dismissal. My fingers closed around the cold plastic of the card she’d shoved into my hand. The dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. Inside the room, the conversation continued as if I didn’t exist. “The Sheffield girl, Isabelle, is quite taken with you,” his mother said. “We should start planning the engagement party.” Leo didn’t hesitate. “I have no objections. You handle it.” I don’t remember how I left the hospital. I stumbled back to my apartment and collapsed against the door, sliding down to the floor. My shoulders shook with violent, silent sobs, the tears blurring the world into a watercolor mess. It had all happened too fast, too brutally. Just yesterday, I was dreaming of the moment I’d tell him I was pregnant, picturing him lifting me up and spinning me around in pure joy. And today, he was gone. He remembered everyone, except me. I once asked him, teasingly, if he’d remember me if he ever got amnesia. He’d kissed me then, deep and sure. “Even if I forgot your name,” he’d promised, “my heart would recognize you the second I saw you. I would fall for you all over again.” He was a liar. 3. It was my fifth year of raising our son alone in Port Blossom. I saw the news online: Leo Vance, heir to the Vance Corporation, was officially engaged to Isabelle Sheffield. A handsome couple, the picture of perfection. I didn’t have time for heartbreak. My son, Finn, had a fever. I was standing in the pouring rain, desperately trying to hail a cab to the hospital. And just like that, in a twist of cosmic cruelty, he was there. St. Jude was over a thousand miles from Port Blossom. I had no idea why he would be here, at this hospital, at this exact moment. Seeing him, the fragile thread of composure I held onto snapped. I wanted to march up to him, to scream, to demand answers. But then another woman appeared at his side—beautiful, elegant, laughing at something he’d said. A small, genuine smile touched Leo’s lips. They were in their own world, a bubble no one could penetrate. My stare must have been too intense. He turned his head, and our eyes met across the rain-streaked entrance. Panic seized me. I spun away, clutching Finn tighter, and hurried past them. As I rushed by, I heard her voice, light and curious, drift after me. “Why were you staring at her like that?” And then his, low and thoughtful. “I don’t know. She just… looks incredibly familiar.” I walked faster, my only thought to disappear. 4. Two days later, Finn was begging to go to the park. I relented, hoping the fresh air would do us both good. I shouldn’t have been surprised when I saw him again. “Mommy! Mommy!” Finn tugged on my sleeve, pulling me from my daze. “What is it, sweetie?” I tore my gaze away from Leo, who was walking a magnificent Golden Retriever. Finn’s eyes were wide with delight, instantly captivated. “Mommy, a big doggy!” he squealed. “Can Finn pet him? Please?” Finn. I’d named him that hoping his life would be simple and straightforward, unlike mine. It was the greatest wish I had for him. I knelt down to his level. “Not without asking the owner first, honey,” I said softly, stroking his hair. “But look, there’s a man selling candy apples over there. How about we get one of those instead?” The candy apple strategy worked. He grabbed my hand and started pulling me in the other direction. We’d only taken a few steps when the Golden Retriever suddenly broke away, bounding towards me, its tail wagging furiously, whining with excitement. I flinched back, startled. Leo’s brow furrowed as he yanked firmly on the leash. “Sorry about that,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I have no idea why Gia is acting like this. She’s usually so calm.” I scooped Finn into my arms, my eyes fixed on a point just past Leo’s shoulder. “It’s fine,” I mumbled, turning to leave. But his voice stopped me. “Excuse me. Have we met before?” I froze. My heart felt like it had been seized by an icy fist. “No,” I managed to say, the word catching in my throat. “Never.” The scene in the hospital five years ago flashed in my mind—his mother, the photograph, his easy denial. He didn’t know me then. He shouldn’t know me now. I hurried away, clutching my son like a shield. This time, he didn’t try to stop me. 5. On Monday, a work emergency made me late to pick Finn up from preschool. When I finally arrived, I saw a little girl playing with him on the slide. Standing nearby, watching them, was a man in a tailored suit. As I got closer, my stomach dropped. It was Leo. “Uncle Leo,” the little girl’s innocent voice piped up, “do you think Finn’s mommy abandoned him? She’s so late.” She looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “If she doesn’t want him, can I take him home with me?” Leo’s reply was curt. “No.” “Mommy!” Finn spotted me and came running, his little legs pumping. I swept him into a hug, burying my face in his hair. Steeling myself, I turned to Leo. “Thank you for watching him.” “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice polite, formal. But his eyes were a different story. From the moment I’d appeared, his gaze had been locked on me—dark, intense, and searching. It never wavered. “Well, we should get going,” I said, taking Finn’s hand. “Let me give you a ride.” Before I could refuse, the little girl had already dragged Finn towards Leo’s sleek black car. “Come on, Mommy! Hurry up! There are so many toys in here!” I looked at my son, his face alight with excitement, and sighed in defeat. I took the passenger seat, leaving the back for the two children. They chattered and played until they eventually tired themselves out and fell asleep. The car pulled up in front of my apartment building. I reached for my seatbelt, eager to escape the charged silence. “Are you married?” Leo’s voice, quiet in the confined space, made me jump. My own voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.” The ensuing silence was heavy, suffocating. I could feel his gaze on me, probing, dissecting, trying to unravel the mystery I presented. Then, he spoke again, his tone edged with something I couldn’t quite decipher. “So, where is your husband? Why isn’t he the one picking up his son? Why does he leave it all to you?” He paused. “Forgive me for being blunt, but any man who doesn’t cherish his wife and child isn’t worth keeping.” 6. The way he spoke… it was an echo from a lifetime ago. Back when I was with Nathan, Leo would say things just like that. Whenever Nathan didn’t come home, a video would magically appear on Leo’s social media feed—Nathan, arm draped around some other girl at a club. If I ever accidentally ‘liked’ the post, a private message would follow instantly: 【Hey, I’m sure Nathan still loves you.】 【He’s just being a guy, you know? It doesn’t mean anything.】 【Not like me. I’ve never even held a girl’s hand.】 【Don’t worry, though. I’m keeping an eye on him for you.】 He pretended to be a peacemaker, but every word was a perfectly aimed drop of gasoline on a smoldering fire. Eventually, he dropped the pretense. “He doesn’t deserve you, Julia. Give me a chance.” I wasn’t surprised. His intentions had been clear from the start. Under the relentless pressure of his campaign, my relationship with Nathan crumbled. The day we broke up, Leo swept in, a conquering hero claiming his prize. The night I officially became his girlfriend, he had me pinned against the front door, his kisses fierce and possessive. That’s when Nathan, trying to win me back, let himself in. I’d forgotten to delete his fingerprint from the lock. “What the hell are you two doing?!” he’d roared. “Leo! She’s my girlfriend! You’re my best friend!” Leo had just laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “Who ever wanted to be your friend? Besides,” he’d added, his voice dropping, “don’t yell at me. If she didn’t want this, do you think I’d even have a chance?” … He was still the same ruthless, infuriating man. He said the most outrageous things as if they were simple facts. “Is getting a divorce an option? I’d like to marry you, too.” Boom. It felt like something exploded in my head. I snapped my gaze to his, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What did you just say?” The seconds stretched into an eternity as I waited for his answer. “I’m kidding,” he said with a light chuckle. A wave of disappointment, sharp and unwelcome, washed over me. “That’s not funny, Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice flat. I unbuckled my seatbelt again, but the doors remained locked. “Can I have your number?” he asked, his tone shifting. Then he added, with a faux-apologetic air that was anything but, “I assume your husband wouldn’t mind?” My brow tightened. I honestly couldn’t tell if this was a game, or if he truly remembered nothing. “Mr. Vance, I don’t think we have any reason to be in contact.” He was engaged, after all, and I had no desire to be the other woman. I opened the back door, carefully lifted my sleeping son, and walked away without looking back. 7. Life settled into a fragile peace. For a while, I didn’t see Leo. I tried to convince myself I was over him, that the feelings were long buried. But a few chance encounters had been enough to stir up a storm inside me. I threw myself into my work, taking on two major projects, hoping to bury my thoughts under deadlines and spreadsheets. But then, during a particularly difficult meeting with my boss, the memory of him rose, unbidden. “Julia, I’m so sorry, but Mr. Henderson specifically requested you for this project,” my boss said, his expression pained. He knew as well as I did what a “business meeting” at a private club with a man like Henderson entailed. But the account was too important for our small firm. And I had been the one to pitch for it. I had no choice. That evening, in a dimly lit private lounge thick with the smell of cheap cologne, Mr. Henderson’s hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. “The contract is an easy thing, Ms. Evans,” he slurred, his breath hot and sour. “It all depends on how… accommodating you’re willing to be.” A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. “Let go of me.” His face hardened into an ugly sneer. He raised his other hand. “Don’t play hard to get with me, little girl.” I braced for the slap, but it never came. A hand, lean and powerful with long, elegant fingers, shot out and caught Henderson’s wrist in a grip of steel. Time seemed to freeze. I looked up and met a pair of eyes as deep and dark as a starless night. Leo. His face was a blank mask, but the muscle ticking in his clenched jaw promised a storm. “Henderson,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Getting bold, are we? Causing trouble in my establishment.” The next thing I knew, Henderson was on his knees, sputtering apologies. “A misunderstanding, Mr. Vance! Just a joke, a terrible joke!” Leo didn’t even glance at him. His entire focus was on the red, angry marks blooming on my wrist. In an instant, the room was empty, save for the two of us. It had been weeks since I’d last seen him. I never imagined our next meeting would be like this. The walls I had so carefully constructed around my heart crumbled into dust, leaving me exposed and humiliated. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Julia,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Is this how you do your job?” I couldn’t tell if it was concern or accusation, but all I felt was shame. I couldn’t meet his eyes, terrified of the disgust I might find there. “It’s none of your concern, Mr. Vance.” I scrubbed at the tears welling in my eyes. “Julia, look at me.” I refused, keeping my head bowed. He knelt in front of me, his warm hand gently cupping the back of my neck, forcing my head up. I looked at him then, my vision swimming with tears of frustration and helplessness. If he hadn’t lost his memory, if he remembered everything, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I wouldn’t be suffering like this. “Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice softer now. My resolve shattered. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his shoulder. Just this once. I would allow myself this one moment of weakness. He stiffened for a second, then his arms came around me, holding me securely. After a long moment, I pulled away, composing myself. “Thank you again,” I said, my voice steady. Leo looked completely baffled by my sudden shift. He stared at me, then a half-smile played on his lips. “What was that, Julia? Use me and toss me aside?” I managed a small, tight smile. “I’m sorry. I mistook you for him.” “Is that so?” he said, his voice laced with a bitter, sarcastic edge. “Then it seems your taste in men is as poor as ever.” I had no comeback for that. He was right about Nathan, and he was right about himself. “You’re right,” I conceded. My agreement seemed to infuriate him more than any argument could have. He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. A few minutes later, I left too. I stood on the cold street, my phone’s rideshare app endlessly searching for a driver. The wind cut through my thin blouse, and I wrapped my arms around myself. A car screeched to a halt in front of me. The passenger window glided down. “Get in,” Leo ordered, his voice clipped. I had decided after that hug that our paths would never cross again. I ignored him, pretending I hadn’t heard. “I never figured you for a bad mother, Julia,” he said conversationally into the night air. “But I guess you’re just as neglectful as a wife. Poor kid, all alone at home.” “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just that it seems I care more about your son’s well-being than his own mother does.” A nerve twitched in my jaw. The audacity of him, acting like he had any right to care. “He’s my son.” The subtext was clear: Stay out of it. Leo was unfazed. “I could be his father, you know.” Under the dim glow of the streetlight, his face was a collage of shadows and light, as uncertain as our future. “You’re joking, Mr. Vance,” I said, shaking my head. He turned to face me fully, his expression deadly serious. “I’m not joking, Julia.” We stared at each other for a long moment, the city’s noise fading into the background. He was the first to look away. “Just get in the car. Your son is probably worried sick.” I wanted to tell him Finn was safe at a friend’s house. But I didn’t. I got in the car.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394013”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my eighteenth birthday, a man claiming to be my fiancé, Aiden, from ten years in the future, publicly called off our engagement. Then he pointed to Clara Jenkins, the scholarship student our family sponsors. “The person you truly love is her,” he told his younger self. “A decade from now, you’ll divorce Bekah for her. Instead of letting it all end in a bitter wreckage then, it’s better to cut it off at the source.” “Clara has this cool, untouchable pride. She’s beautiful, fiercely independent… in a way Bekah could never be. The man you’ll become is completely captivated by her.” The eighteen-year-old Aiden I knew grabbed the man’s collar and snarled, “You’re insane.” But later, when we were supposed to be planning our applications to study abroad, he hesitated. He lost his application form nine times. The tenth time it happened, I didn’t call him on his lie. Instead, I called Aiden’s older brother, Herman. “The alliance between our families has to continue,” I said. “Are you up for it?” 1 The application deadline was looming. Aiden came to find me again. He stood at my gate, guilt written all over his face. “Bekah… I lost the application form again.” The tenth time. Just as I expected. I looked at the boy in front of me, the boy I had known my whole life. This time, I didn’t tell him to go back to his advisor and ask for another form. I just waited for him to make a choice. My silence seemed to unnerve him. Thinking I was angry, he slumped to the ground in frustration. “Something goes wrong every single time. It’s not my fault. Fate must be messing with me. I guess I’m just not meant to study abroad.” He looked up at me, his voice softening. “Bekah, what if… what if we just stay here in Westwood? We don’t have to go.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He was nervous. A cold, bitter laugh rose in my chest. The reason Aiden didn’t want to leave was simple: Clara couldn’t. After she started college, she had insisted on ending our family’s financial support. I remembered her words to my parents, her voice ringing with earnest pride. “I will never forget your kindness. I will work hard and repay every penny you’ve given me.” Her only path was to finish her degree and get a job. Aiden, upon learning this, had met with her secretly. He’d offered her a credit card, telling her she could come abroad with us, that he would take on the debt she felt she owed my family. But Clara, with that famous pride of hers, had refused him flatly. “I may be poor, but I don’t take just any money,” she’d said. “If I took this from you, what would that make me? Some little bird you keep in a gilded cage?” Then she had turned and walked away. Aiden’s initial goal was just to prove his future self wrong, to show that anyone would bow to the power of money. But Clara’s rejection had shaken him. He started to believe what the other Aiden had told him. That night, for the first time in ten years, Aiden lied to me. 【Babe, I lost my application.】 【Deadline’s still a ways off. I’ll turn it in later.】 I didn’t reply. The future Aiden had found me and told me everything about their meeting, sparing no detail. He stared at the text on my phone screen, a triumphant smirk on his face. “You see? It doesn’t matter if it’s the me of today or the me of the future. The moment we meet Clara, we’re drawn to her.” “She’s brilliant. She’s not like you.” “You’re a pampered princess, waiting for your inheritance. But Clara is destined for greatness, destined to build her own empire from nothing.” He spoke of her as if she were a rare jewel, the only one he’d ever found. But he seemed to forget. If my father hadn’t been scouting a project in the mountains and found Clara being forced into an arranged marriage, if he hadn’t called the police and brought her back to Westwood, sponsored her education… who the hell would Clara be? She wouldn’t have even finished high school, let alone college. She’d probably be a mother of three by now. So what gave Aiden the right to compare us? “Bekah, want to make a bet?” that future Aiden had asked me that day. “I bet you he won’t go abroad with you.” “Ten times,” I’d replied. I don’t remember why I agreed. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was a flicker of hope. Ten years of our lives together. Ten chances seemed fair. I just never imagined he would burn through all ten of them in a single month. 2 The second time he told me he’d lost the form, my best friend, Mia, was dragging me to the pool club. We saw Aiden sitting by the water’s edge, staring blankly at the thin application sheet in his hands. Mia started to wave, but I stopped her. A second later, the future Aiden appeared, snatched the paper from his younger self’s hand, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the pool. “Aiden, when you start hesitating, you’ve already chosen her, haven’t you?” he demanded. Aiden’s brow furrowed. Without a word, he dove into the water to retrieve the now-ruined form. “No,” he sputtered, surfacing. “I haven’t chosen her. I love Bekah. I’ve always loved Bekah.” Mia nudged me, whispering, “See? Your boy really loves you.” I smiled but said nothing. This time, I agreed with the older Aiden. Hesitation was an answer in itself. The third time, it was in the university cafeteria. Aiden had the form out on the table between us, pretending to fill it out, but his eyes kept darting to Clara, who was sitting a few tables away. As Clara stood to leave, she stumbled with a small cry. In a flash, Aiden was on his feet. His hand shot out, steadying her by the waist. In the process, he knocked a bowl of soup all over our table, soaking the application. Clara blushed and thanked him. Aiden complained about the ruined form, but there was no real anger in his voice. The fourth time, we ran into Clara on the way home. A couple of shady guys were harassing her. Before I could stop him, Aiden charged in, throwing the textbook he was carrying at them to chase them off. The application, tucked inside the book, fluttered to the wet pavement. He stepped on it without a second thought, grinding it into the mud. Just like our relationship. … And the tenth time was today. We were at the movies. Halfway through, he got a text from Clara. “Just going to the restroom,” he whispered. He never came back. I sat through the rest of the two-hour film by myself. And I finally made my decision. I didn’t want a love that wavered. So, when Aiden showed up at my gate, of course, the form was “lost” again. “Bekah, talk to me.” Aiden’s voice pulled me back to the present. I paused, then gave him a calm nod. “Do whatever you want.” He visibly relaxed, a smile breaking across his face. He pointed to a faint bruise on his cheek, his voice turning into a playful whine. “Babe, it hurts. Kiss it better?” I frowned, about to say something, when his phone rang. The ringtone was a woman’s voice, singing softly. It sounded eerily like Clara. My heart stuttered. “Cute, right? Clara recorded it for me herself,” he said, noticing my expression. “A thank you for saving her the other day.” A custom ringtone. Recorded just for him. For a moment, I wondered if Clara was really as innocent as she seemed. He answered the call. Her cool voice came through the speaker. “Aiden? I think someone’s following me home. I don’t know if it’s those guys from before. I’ve already called the police, but… can you come meet me at the station?” Aiden’s eyes flickered towards me. He hesitated for only a second. “Okay. I’m on my way. Wait for me there.” He hung up and started to stammer out an explanation, but I cut him off with a smile. “Shouldn’t you get going?” “Right. Uh… babe, I’ll pick you up for class tomorrow?” “Sure.” Reassured, he clutched his phone and hurried away. I watched him go, a silent, hollow laugh forming on my lips. Then I took out my own phone. I called Aiden’s older brother, Herman. There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Herman’s deep, slightly raspy voice came through. “Don’t you love Aiden?” I smiled, my voice light. “I did. But I won’t let myself be a consolation prize.” “Herman, the alliance between our families has to continue. Are you up for it?” Another silence stretched between us. Just as I was about to hang up, I heard his voice, low and intense, as if he was holding something back. “Once you choose me, Bekah, there’s no turning back. Are you sure?” 3 My study abroad application was already submitted. Herman scheduled our engagement party for two weeks from now. Coincidentally, that’s also when he’s heading to New York to expand his company’s market share. He expects to be there for three years. Our timelines overlap perfectly. After I hung up the phone, the future Aiden materialized in front of me again, as if from thin air. “Who were you talking to?” I ignored him and turned to go inside, but he blocked the door. “Bekah—” “Don’t worry,” I cut him off, my patience gone. “It wasn’t Aiden. He’s probably with Clara right now.” He seemed surprised, raising an eyebrow. “Well, look at you. The eighteen-year-old version is a lot quicker on the uptake.” The two Aidens didn’t look that different, but this one carried himself with a colder, more polished air. He was more mature, more jaded. “What about the twenty-eight-year-old me?” I asked, unable to stop myself. He frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “A shrew, basically. If it weren’t for our families, for our history… I have a hundred ways to make a divorce go my way.” “Plenty of men in our circle have mistresses. But no, Bekah had to make my life hell. For what? If she had just been willing to look the other way, I wouldn’t have—” He reached into his pocket, a familiar gesture. My father did the same thing when he was stressed, searching for a cigarette. He found nothing and sighed. “I regret it, you know. Getting married when I was too young to understand love, and then meeting the right person when I was no longer free.” “Bekah, we grew up together, yes. But that doesn’t mean we had to get married. Was it worth turning yourself into a crazy person?” Crazy. The word was a punch to the gut. A sharp, painful spasm seized my heart. I didn’t know if I was hurting for my future self or for the me standing here now. The Aiden I knew would get into a fistfight if someone said a single bad word about me. But the man he would become used the word “crazy” to describe me. Ten years. Time really does show you who a person is. Finally, I took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. This time, I’ll let you and Clara have your happy ending.” He looked at me with suspicion. “You’d better not be lying to me.” I didn’t see the future Aiden for the next three days. The current Aiden, however, was practically glued to Clara’s side. Maybe it was the novelty, or maybe he’d fully bought into his future self’s prophecy. The breaking point came at Mia’s birthday picnic. When I got out of the car, I was surprised to see Clara there. She was wearing a simple white dress and a backpack, clutching an economics textbook that seemed oddly out of place. It felt like every time I saw her, she was holding that book. Mia followed my gaze and immediately started looking for someone to blame. “Who the hell invited her?” A girl sheepishly raised her hand. “I… I ran into her on the way here. I was just being polite, I didn’t think she’d actually come… My bad.” Mia looked at me. Everyone knew about Aiden and Clara lately. “Bekah? What do you want to do?” I gave her a weary smile and patted her shoulder. “Today is your day. Your happiness is all that matters, okay?” “That’s my girl. Always classy.” But we hadn’t counted on Clara being so determined to be difficult. While the rest of us were playing games and sharing food, Clara sat on a folding stool twenty feet away, by herself. Mia, trying to be nice, brought her a plate of food and invited her to join us. Clara’s response was loud and self-righteous. “I didn’t buy you a gift or chip in for the food, so I can’t take advantage of your generosity.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394012”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel