1 At our joint bachelor party, my fiancé, Edward, was playing a game of truth or dare with his childhood friend, Jenna. The dare was savage: whoever drew the card had to hook up for a one-night stand with the person next to them, right then and there. The suggestion alone made my stomach turn. “Hey, maybe let’s just do a truth instead?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. But Jenna wasn’t having it. She shot me a look of pure contempt. “Oh, Bella, don’t be such a prude. If I don’t have a problem with it, why should you?” Then, she turned her gaze to Edward. “Edward… are you up for it?” The room erupted in a chorus of jeers and whistles. “See? Bella’s no fun. If Edward doesn’t want to, I’m in! Pick me, Jenna!” I grabbed Edward’s arm, ready to drag him out of there, but he violently shook me off. “If I leave, what’s Jenna supposed to do?” he snapped, his voice tight with annoyance. “Bella, we’re getting married tomorrow. Can’t I have one last night of freedom?” Before I could answer, he pushed Jenna down onto the private room’s worn velvet couch, pinning her beneath him as our friends cheered them on. Watching their entangled silhouettes, a cold certainty settled in my heart. There was no future for us. … The other guests, hungry for drama, pulled out their phones, filming through the frosted glass of the adjoining room. The club’s soundproofing was a joke. Through the thin door, Jenna’s soft moans were sickeningly clear. Jenna’s best friend sauntered over, her phone aimed directly at my face. “Just a game, Bella,” she said with a smirk. “You’re not actually mad, are you? Our Jenna always follows through.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Besides, Edward isn’t exactly losing out. It’s Jenna’s first time, you know.” Someone from the crowd chimed in, “Damn, Jenna really knows how to play! Unlike some people.” “Some people,” of course, meant me. A short while later, Edward emerged, shirtless. His chest was a roadmap of angry red scratches and smeared lipstick. The intensity of their “game” was written all over him. I stepped forward, intending to just get him and leave. But before I could speak, he ripped the jacket off my shoulders. The force of it snapped one of my acrylics, the one I’d just had done for the wedding. Pain shot up my finger, and my eyes welled with tears, but Edward didn’t even glance at it. “I tore Jenna’s dress,” he said flatly. “She can wear your jacket.” He looked at me, his expression hardening. “It’s just a jacket, Bella. What are you crying for?” Jenna’s languid voice drifted from the other room. “Edward, honey… I can’t go back on my word. A whole night means a whole night.” The crowd went wild. “Dude, don’t back out now! A girl’s making the first move!” Edward let out a helpless laugh, but his eyes were filled with a fondness that made me sick. “What am I going to do with her?” he said, shaking his head. “Looks like she’s planning on keeping me up all night. Bella, go buy a box of condoms.” I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. He rubbed his forehead, his patience wearing thin. “Bella, don’t start. We’re getting married tomorrow. Don’t be so petty. You know I’m yours forever.” I just stared at him—this man, my future husband—and felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. Jenna’s friend was shaking with silent laughter, pointing at my stunned, frozen form. “You hear that, Bella? Edward wants you to go buy them condoms!” I slapped her phone out of my face and turned to Edward, a cold smile on my lips. “Why bother with condoms? If she gets pregnant, you can be a happy little family. Isn’t that what she’s wanted all along, to crawl into your bed? Fine. You have my blessing.” Jenna appeared behind Edward, completely naked, her eyes brimming with perfectly-formed tears. “Bella, I know you don’t like me,” she sobbed, “but it was just a game! I didn’t know you couldn’t take a joke! If you don’t like it, I won’t pick Edward, okay? I’ll pick someone else!” Edward immediately wrapped my jacket around her bare shoulders, shielding her. “Don’t be ridiculous! You think I’d let any other man touch you?” He spun around to face me, his calm expression now a mask of fury. “Apologize, Bella. Now.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter, hollow sound. I met his gaze and didn’t say a word. His face fell, filled with disappointment. “Bella, she’s like a sister to me. Can you stop making such a big deal out of everything?” “A sister?” I shot back. “What kind of sister climbs into her brother’s bed? I’ve never met a sister that shameless.” The words had barely left my mouth when his hand flew, slapping me hard across the face. My head slammed against the wall. The room spun, and a burning sting spread across my cheek. I fought back the tears, my eyes fixed on Edward, who was now staring at his own hand with a mix of anger and regret. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered, as if that excused it. Jenna watched me with triumphant eyes, but her words were dripping with false sympathy. “It’s all my fault, Edward. Don’t be mad at Bella. I shouldn’t have followed the rules. I definitely shouldn’t have picked you!” Edward used the same hand he’d just hit me with to pull Jenna into a comforting embrace. That’s when the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I turned and ran. Outside, the sky had opened up, a torrential downpour soaking me to the bone in seconds. In my haste, I’d left my phone behind. But there was no way I was going back in there to face them again. I walked for three hours in the rain before I finally made it home. 2 The moment I stepped inside, I started for the bedroom to change. Edward emerged from the room, walking on tiptoe. When he saw me, drenched and shivering, a flicker of concern crossed his face. He grabbed a towel and started rubbing my hair, his touch rough. “You’re a grown woman. Why do you have to punish your own body every time you get upset?” The memory of what he’d just done with Jenna was still raw. I recoiled from his touch. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. “You make me sick.” I met his eyes, my silence a challenge. Then I smelled it—the cloying scent of rose perfume, Jenna’s favorite, clinging to him. A wave of physical and emotional nausea washed over me. I shoved him away and ran to the bathroom, where I retched until my stomach was empty. When I came out, Edward was leaning against the doorframe, a cold smirk on his face. “So, I make you sick, do I, Bella?” I wiped my mouth, my gaze like ice. “Yes. You’re disgusting.” His hand shot out, clamping around my neck. His eyes were hard and cruel. “Have I been too good to you, Bella? Have I given you the illusion that you can control me?” I turned my head away, a silent refusal of his presence. It only enraged him further. He tore my soaked dress from my body. I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, a futile attempt to shield myself. Edward saw right through my fragile composure. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” he sneered. “Stop pretending you’re some kind of saint.” He slammed me against the door and, without any care or preparation, forced himself inside me. The pain was so intense I trembled, but he didn’t stop. It wasn’t lovemaking; it was punishment. By the time he was finished, I could barely stand. He picked me up, my body limp and weak, and dropped me onto the sofa. Just then, the bedroom door creaked open. Jenna walked out, wearing my silk pajamas. She saw me lying there, naked and exposed, and a flash of irritation crossed her face. “Really, Edward? After we were done this afternoon, you at least had the decency to clean me up. Aren’t you going to do the same for Bella?” Edward lit a cigarette, his eyes raking over my bruised body. “Jenna, why don’t you help Bella take a bath?” I shoved her outstretched hand away and, forcing myself through the pain, stumbled to the bathroom. He had been merciless. My skin was a canvas of dark bruises, purples and blues blooming across my body like grotesque flowers. Staring at my own hollowed-out reflection in the mirror, a wave of profound sorrow washed over me. When I finally emerged, the dining table was set with a full meal Jenna had prepared. She was wearing a low-cut tank top, her chest on full display. Every time Edward looked at her, he got an eyeful. Seeing me, Jenna put on a show of cheerful hospitality. “Oh, Bella, you’re out! Come and eat! I asked Edward all your favorites and made you shrimp scampi!” I ignored her and started toward the guest room. Edward grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I winced. “Is this how your parents raised you? Jenna made this food especially for you. I don’t care if you’re not hungry. You’re going to sit down and eat every last bite.” He forced me into a chair. I ate mechanically, exhausted, each bite a struggle. Jenna played the perfect hostess, flitting around, placing food on my plate and Edward’s. She acted more like the lady of the house than I ever had. Edward, who was normally a notorious germaphobe, didn’t protest once. I finished as quickly as I could and stood to leave. This time, no one stopped me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393988”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was in the middle of a case review, deep in discussion with my team in the conference room, when my phone buzzed on the table. A notification from my college alumni group chat. I glanced at it. “Huge congrats to Nick Blackwood and Aria Thorne on their wedding!” I dismissed it, assuming it was just the usual alumni banter. But less than a minute later, my phone started vibrating nonstop. The chat had blown up, notifications rocketing past 99+. With a frown, I unlocked my phone. The screen was a flood of congratulations for a man named Brandon and an elite lawyer named Aria Thorne, celebrating their marriage. My heart seized in my chest, and the air soured in my lungs. Aria Thorne. My wife of five years. And Brandon… he was the new intern at our firm. My hand trembled as I prepared to call her. But before I could, a link popped up in a direct message. It was a digital wedding invitation. For her and the intern. The caption read: We cordially invite you to celebrate our union on August 10th. I stared at the invitation, at the image of Aria, radiant in a white gown, her smile a perfect, joyful bloom. My mind went blank. I knew that dress. I knew it intimately. Just last month, after coming home late from the office, I’d found her staring, mesmerized, at a design sketch on her phone. I had wrapped my arms around her waist, teasing her with a soft laugh. “Thinking of walking down the aisle a second time, Mrs. Blackwood?” She turned in my arms, playfully swatting my chest. Her wedding ring pressed hard against my skin. “You know it.” I had thought she was joking. I never, in my wildest nightmares, imagined she was planning to marry someone else. Before clicking that link, a desperate sliver of hope remained. Maybe it was a mistake. A cruel prank, a case of mistaken identity… But the familiar face in the wedding photos, smiling up at another man, was undeniable. And the $500,000 transfer record on my banking app was the final, brutal confirmation. Two slaps to the face, one after the other, forcing a single, horrific truth upon me: This was real. The venue was the most exclusive five-star hotel in Havencrest. The irony was a bitter pill. Just yesterday, Aria had been curled up in my arms, helping me pick this very hotel. When I’d asked why she was suddenly so interested in venues, she’d blushed and said she was helping her cousin plan her wedding. As she spoke, the faint red marks my fingers had left on her waist were still fresh. Even this morning, before I left for my business trip, she had clung to me, her eyes filled with what I thought was devotion. She made me swear I’d love her forever. The moment I left, she began sending me a stream of updates, her location, her schedule—a performance of meticulous care. She loved me so much, she said. How could she be marrying someone else? My breath came in ragged gasps as I forced myself to scroll through the alumni chat. “Wow, eight years and finally tying the knot! So happy for you both! #couplegoals” “From college sweethearts to husband and wife—the ultimate romance. Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!” Aria was responding to every message with effusive warmth. “Thank you all so much! You have to come and celebrate with us on the 10th!” I mechanically scrolled through the photos she’d shared from the ceremony. The shots were backlit, their faces obscured, but I could see the silhouette of a couple kissing on a stage. Even as a shadow, I recognized her instantly. At the small of her back, where her gown was cut low, a tattoo was starkly visible: the letter ‘B’. She’d gotten it right after we were legally married. She had kissed my lips, her voice a husky promise. “This way, I’ll have Blackwood’s ‘B’ etched on me forever.” It was my favorite place to trace with my fingers after we made love. But now, seeing her beside Brandon, a primal fear I had never known gripped me. Without hesitation, I started a video call. Her hair was swept up, her eyes smiling. “Honey,” she cooed, “it’s only been half a day and you miss me already?” She was wearing that same strapless wedding gown. The background was a cacophony of celebratory noise. I stared at her bare shoulders, forcing my voice to remain steady. “All dressed up. Where are you? Sounds like a party.” Her expression didn’t flicker. Her smile was as sweet as ever. “Just landed. It’s my cousin’s wedding rehearsal. I’m giving a speech for our side of the family.” She winked. “Everyone is raving about the hotel you picked, by the way!” She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “I know you miss me. I miss you like crazy, too. As soon as this is over, I’ll rush right back to you, okay?” Suddenly, a voice shouted in the background, sharp and clear. “Bride and groom, we need you over here for a lighting check!” Aria’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but her voice became even sweeter. “Gotta go help out. I’ll talk to you later, honey!” Before I could reply, the screen went black. I stared at our photo on my lock screen, a raw, tearing sensation ripping through my chest. That dress she was wearing—a custom-designed, half-a-million-dollar gown. The order confirmation was still in my email. When we first got married, I was fighting with my family, too proud to ask them for money. To save us the expense, she had chosen the cheapest dress in the shop. It broke my heart. I wanted to buy her the one she truly loved, but she had just snuggled into my arms and whispered, “Nick, I don’t want you to bend over backward for me. A simple life with you is all I need.” The more she sacrificed, the more I felt I owed her. All these years, I’d carried the weight of that debt, planning to one day give her the perfect, lavish wedding she deserved. And now, it seemed she finally had it. Her dream wedding. The only problem was, the groom wasn’t me. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a grand wedding. She just didn’t want it with me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as my screen lit up again. A message from Aria. It was a picture of two exquisite brooches. “Look what I found at the duty-free shop! They’re limited edition, matching pins.” “We can wear them to the firm’s gala at the end of the year, what do you think?” The pins were a chic, bamboo-link design—my favorite style, understated yet luxurious. Reading her excited words felt like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. For five years, she had been this person. The soul of thoughtfulness and care. A thermos of hot coffee was always waiting when I worked late nights. A bowl of warm soup was always on the stove when I came home from the rain. She remembered I hated onions and garlic. She remembered my favorite color was black. She knew about my migraines and always carried my medication in her purse. She would even remember a dress I had casually complimented and wear it on every date night that followed. Five years of memories flooded in, a tidal wave of tenderness now poisoned by betrayal, threatening to drown me. I collapsed onto the sofa, my eyes squeezed shut. But my fingers, moving with a will of their own, were already booking a flight to the next city. I had to ask her. To her face. Were these five years of love and devotion all just an elaborate, perfectly executed lie? … The next morning, I sat in the airport lounge, silent, the boarding pass crumpled in my white-knuckled fist. I craved the truth, yet I was terrified of what I would find. Just as they called my flight, my phone rang. “Honey, the wedding’s over!” Aria’s voice was bright and bubbly. “I bought a ticket for this afternoon. I’m bringing you back so many wedding favors!” “Can you come pick me up at the airport? I want you to be the first person I see!” Her voice was laced with that familiar, sweet coaxing. For the first time, it sounded cloying, almost sickening. I stared at my boarding pass and replied in a monotone, “Alright. I’ll be in the parking garage.” Sitting in my car, I stared at the small photo charm hanging from the rearview mirror. In the picture, she was wearing that cheap wedding dress, her smile so genuine it hurt to look at. Maybe… maybe it really is all a misunderstanding, I told myself, a desperate, pathetic lie. And then, a notification popped up on my phone, a push alert that shattered my last illusion. The social media account “OurInfinity” had a new post. It was a video. In it, Brandon was kissing Aria’s hand with profound reverence. “Aria,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “thank you for choosing me. I swear I will spend the rest of my life loving only you.” Aria, wearing the very gown I had chosen for her, was weeping with joy. “I do!” she sobbed. The guests erupted. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The camera held steady as they embraced and kissed, a long, passionate kiss that seemed to last an eternity. The caption read: 【Eight years in the making. Our forever starts now.】 It was Brandon’s account. And pinned right below the video was a single, devastating comment. “My forever.” The video was going viral, a torrent of strangers weeping over their “beautiful love story.” My finger, shaking, tapped on the familiar profile picture of the commenter. In the next second, I was on Aria’s social media page.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393987”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Every time my husband, Damian, brought his secretary into our bedroom, he made me kneel by the bed and wait. If she didn’t know what to do, he’d make me teach her, guiding her hands with mine. And after they were finished, I would dutifully approach with a tray, offering them drinks to soothe their throats. Damian would grip my neck, his voice a low rasp. “Don’t you feel a single shred of jealousy?” I would just shake my head, even offering to get them protection for next time. His rage would boil over. He’d throw me onto the bed and take me again and again, but the next day, I would be right back on my knees beside their bed. He’d snarl through clenched teeth, “Elara, you’re pathetic.” I would only smile at him. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that these were the last days I had left to spend with him. … I walked into the house to the familiar scene playing out on the living room sofa. Sienna, the secretary, had her back to me. Hearing the door, she turned, a triumphant smirk playing on her red lips as she deliberately let out a moan. Ignoring them, I tied on my apron and went into the kitchen. I chopped vegetables, the rhythmic thud of the knife on the board a countdown until they were finished, until it was my turn to go out and clean up after them. Sienna’s throat was always raw afterward. She required honey water to soothe it. I knelt silently, offering the glass to her with both hands, like a servant from a bygone era. Damian lit a cigarette, his gaze flicking over me, his sharp brows furrowing in irritation. CRASH! Sienna’s hand went limp as she took the glass. Scalding honey water shattered on the floor, splashing all over me. “Oh, dear! Elara, are you alright?” she cried, rushing to help me up. But as she grabbed my arm, her nails dug viciously into my flesh. I sucked in a sharp breath against the pain. She leaned in close, her face a mask of false concern that Damian couldn’t see, a venomous threat glittering in her eyes. “You have to be more careful, Elara. If you don’t want to serve me, you could just say so. No need to throw a tantrum.” I gritted my teeth, forcing a smile. “How could I possibly trouble you with such things?” With that, I gestured for her to return to the sofa while I knelt to clean up the mess. Shards of glass dug into my hands and knees, the sticky honey water making the tiny cuts sting and tremble. Yet I clenched my jaw, acting as if I felt nothing, even lifting Sienna’s foot to wipe a stray drop of honey water from her shoe. “Get out,” Damian’s voice was cold as he tossed Sienna her clothes. “Mr. Ashford?” “You’re done here.” Sienna pouted, shooting me a resentful glare before slipping into her dress, grabbing the designer handbag Damian had bought her, and leaving. I remained on the floor, silent. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get up. My knees were bleeding, and every movement was agony. “Still have nothing to say to me?” Damian’s voice was like ice. I shook my head. He gritted his teeth. “It’s just us here. I can personally guarantee this house isn’t bugged!” “I really have nothing.” Damian slammed his cigarette down. He lunged, one hand closing around my throat, the other shoving a photograph of a man in my face. “We both know he’s the killer. Why won’t you testify? What the hell are you to him?” I looked at the man in the photo and gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know him.” “Then why are you protecting him?” I met Damian’s furious gaze. “I’m not.” He threw me to the floor and began to pace, a caged animal. “Was my sister not good enough to you?” At the thought of Lily, my eyes stung. I shook my head. “She was the best friend I ever had.” He seized my chin, forcing me to look at him. “And this is how you repay her? By letting the monster who killed her walk free?” I couldn’t speak. He threw a crime scene photo in my face. The horrific image of my dearest friend, her body covered in wounds, hanging from a tree, tore a scream from my throat. I clamped my hands over my eyes, the nightmare seared into my mind. “You can’t bear to look, can you?” he hissed, forcing my face up. “Then tell me what that bastard did! I swear, Elara, if you testify, I’ll get rid of Sienna for good. I’ll send her away, and you’ll never see her again.” My eyes were red, but a sad smile touched my lips. “There’s no need.” His hand on my shoulder went rigid. “You’d rather watch me with her, day after day, right in front of your face?” “It doesn’t matter.” SLAP! The sting of his hand across my cheek was white-hot. His fist trembled uncontrollably. “You’re truly pathetic, Elara! Pathetic!” His words hit me like another slap. The Damian I once knew would never have said such a thing. Back in school, when boys made fun of my looks, he’d used his fists to make a dozen of them apologize. After we were married, he never let me cook, fussing over the smallest cut on my finger like it was a mortal wound. I truly believed we would go on like that forever. That he would always protect me. “Damian…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. He spun around, a flicker of hope in his eyes. I tried to stand, but a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest and I collapsed. The image of Lily dying in front of me flashed through my mind. I clutched the fabric over my heart, gasping. When I looked up, I saw the front door creak open. Sienna had never left. She peered at me through the crack, a smug, predatory look in her eyes. She pressed a single finger to her lips in a universal sign for silence. Shhh. “What were you going to say?” Damian pressed, waiting. I shook my head. He stepped closer. “You were about to say something. I know it.” “Mr. Ashford,” Sienna called from the doorway. Damian froze but didn’t turn away from me. He was still waiting. I glanced at Sienna’s tense expression, then reached into my pocket and pulled out a box of condoms, holding it out to him. “Don’t forget this.” A dark, humorless laugh escaped Damian’s lips. He snatched the box and threw it in my face before storming out. Sienna closed the door for him, a satisfied smirk on her face as she watched my unspoken words die on my lips. The door slammed shut, leaving me in the echoing silence. I slumped against the wall, my hand clutching my chest. Not yet… Just a little longer. I have to wait a little longer. … I searched through room after room in the enormous estate before I found a small first-aid kit to patch myself up. A month passed. Damian never came home. Then one day, the front door was kicked open with a thunderous crash. Damian charged in, carrying a blood-soaked Sienna in his arms. Behind him was a team of private medical professionals. The team had originally been for me, for my poor health. But after Lily died, he’d sent them away. Damian paced anxiously outside the room where they worked on Sienna, his ears tuned to her pained cries. He spotted me and dragged me forward. “Why did you push her?” I stared at him, confused. “Did you know she was over a month pregnant? Did you do this to her on purpose?” My eyes widened as I looked toward the room. Sienna’s brows were only slightly furrowed; she didn’t look to be in much pain at all, but her screams were blood-curdling. Her eyes met mine, filled with a silent threat. A slow smile spread across my face. “Yes. What of it?” Damian froze, searching my expression. “Do you have any idea what you’re admitting to?” “I do.” “You’re not even going to try and defend yourself?” “There’s nothing to defend.” “Once you confess, I’m pressing charges. Assault.” I stiffened, my gaze locking with his. He stared back, his eyes boring into me. “Or… you tell me the truth about what happened to my sister, and I’ll let this go.” I glanced toward Sienna’s room. I took a deep breath. “You’ll find out.” Hope flickered in his eyes. “But not now.” His grip on my shoulders tightened, his eyes turning red. “What is your relationship with that murderer? You’d rather go to prison than betray him?” “I’ve told you, Damian. I have nothing to do with him.” He was so furious he was speechless. He just nodded, his jaw tight. “You think I won’t do it? You think I won’t send you to prison?” I just looked at him. He shoved me away. Three days later, I received a court summons. The moment I pleaded guilty in court, I saw Sienna raise an eyebrow, a flicker of an ‘I-knew-it’ expression on her face. Only Damian’s face was a mask of stone-cold fury. He’d hired the best lawyers, a team of sharks who picked through legal statutes and twisted my actions until they’d stretched my sentence to the maximum: eight years. He came to see me. “Testify for Lily. I can get you out of here.” I just smiled at him. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Ashford.” I probably won’t make it out of here alive. His breath hitched, and a look of pure agony crossed his face. “You know! That night, it was just him and the two of you! You saw everything, didn’t you?” I said nothing, which was its own confession. “In high school, when you could only afford one meal a day, it was Lily who shared her lunch money with you every single day. Have you forgotten all that?” Tears streamed down my face. I shook my head. “No.” “Then why won’t you just say it?” My eyes were red as I met his. “Not now.” “Do I have to die before you’re willing to talk?” I shook my head again. Not your death. Mine. When I died, the killer would be brought to justice without me ever having to say a word. But I couldn’t tell him that. I was afraid it would break him. I thought the truth would come out while I was in prison. But less than a month later, my sentence was overturned. I was declared innocent and released, completely bewildered. Damian was waiting for me outside, leaning against his Rolls-Royce. The drive home was silent. As we stepped through the door, I finally spoke. “Thank you.” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “You’re pathetic, Elara,” he said, before heading upstairs. I laughed, but tears fell. Sienna’s baby had been saved. Damian never brought her back to the house to flaunt in front of me again. We lived under the same roof, but we were strangers. If we passed in the hall, he’d look right through me. He refused to touch a single bite of the food I made. I didn’t react. I just went on with my quiet routines. Finally, after a month, he broke. He knocked on my door, the smell of alcohol clinging to him. “We need to talk.” His eyes were rimmed with red. I let him in. We sat down together, a rare moment of peace between us. “I’m begging you. Please, testify for Lily. Please?” His voice was low, stripped of all its usual authority. “If you agree, I’ll make Sienna get rid of the baby. I’ll even give you my assets, everything.” I shook my head. “There’s no need.” “Who the hell is Rick to you?” Rick. The monster who had killed Lily. “I’ve told you so many times. I have nothing to do with him.” “How am I supposed to believe that?” His eyes were bloodshot. “You’d protect the man who murdered Lily, a man you claim is a stranger?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Damian, the day that baby is born, I promise you, you will know the truth.” “I can’t wait another day!” he exploded, jumping to his feet. “Elara, if you don’t tell me everything right now, we’re through!” My heart clenched. The look on his face told me he wasn’t bluffing. I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Fine.” The time I’d had with him… it had been long enough. More than I deserved. His breath caught. The hand gripping my shoulder began to tremble. “Say that again.” “Let’s separate. It’s for the best.” He laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “You think I’m joking?” I said nothing. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. That night, divorce papers were thrown in front of me. I would leave with nothing. I picked up the pen, ready to sign. He grabbed my wrist. “Think carefully before you sign this.” “I have,” I said, nodding. Then, I slowly began to write my name, the pressure of my hand dragging his along with it. The moment I finished, he snatched the papers away, a childish, spiteful gesture. He loomed over me. “I was wrong about you.” I closed my eyes. That day, I was thrown out of the estate. With no money to my name, I found a tiny, 300-square-foot rental. And I waited. I waited for the day of judgment. I could almost see it: the day I died, the day Rick was finally brought to justice. My breath hitched, my hands trembling. On that day, I could finally face Lily with a clear conscience. But that moment didn’t come. What came instead were Damian’s bodyguards. They dragged me back to the mansion. The first thing I saw was Sienna, lying on the bed, covered in blood. The swell of her stomach was gone. Damian’s eyes were sunken and bruised, as if he hadn’t slept in days. The moment he saw me, he slapped me, hard. “You said you didn’t care if she had the baby! You said you could accept anything! So why did you hire men to assault her until she miscarried?” I was stunned. Sienna’s body shook with sobs. “Elara… if you didn’t want me to have the child, I would have gotten rid of it. Why… why did you have to torture my baby out of me in such a cruel way?” I looked at her torn clothes, the blood soaking the sheets, and I understood what she was claiming had happened. Damian kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to the ground. He pinned me there. “I will find the thugs you hired. I’ll make sure those animals who did this to Sienna, who took my child from me, suffer a fate worse than death! “But you… I can give you one more chance.” He yanked my chin up, his fingers digging into my jaw until it felt like the bone would crack. “Testify. Go to court and testify, and I’ll have my legal team defend you. Get you a reduced sentence.” Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I struggled to speak. “I’m afraid… I can’t.” “What did you say?” “Because I’m going to die.” He let out a derisive, angry laugh. “You’re still protecting Rick, even now? I’m telling you, this is your last chance. You will be a witness, whether you want to or not!” He grabbed my hand and, with a sickening crack, bent my ring finger back until it broke. The wedding band was still on it. A gut-wrenching scream tore from my lungs. “Are you going to talk?” he snarled, squeezing my jaw. “What did Rick do to my sister that night?” My body was slick with sweat. “When I’m dead… you’ll know.” His eyes were a terrifying shade of red. He seemed to think I was taunting him. “You really think I can’t bring myself to kill you?” My index finger. Another snap. “Talk!” “Just kill me,” I sobbed, tears streaming down my face. “Kill me, and you’ll know everything.” His eyes were wild. He nodded. “Fine. I’ll grant your wish.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393986”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I left the Northwood estate, Paul was leaning against the doorframe. He watched me pack, a smirk playing on his lips. “What’s this?” he drawled. “Finally realized that even having my child wasn’t enough to make me marry you? Decided he’s useless now, so you’re not even going to take him with you?” Before I could answer, Leo, who had been eavesdropping just outside the door, crept into the room. He carefully tipped his piggy bank upside down, pouring a handful of coins and crumpled bills into my palm. “Mommy, you have to take care of yourself, okay?” he said, his small voice earnest. “And… and can you please promise you’ll never, ever come back?” He looked up at me, his dark, round eyes brimming with an almost unbearable hope. “Auntie Claire said she’ll only be my new mommy if you leave for good.” 1 After he said it, he just blinked at me, the anticipation practically vibrating off him. Paul’s voice dropped, a low warning. “Leo.” “Is that what they teach you at school? How to speak to your mother?” Leo’s head drooped, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “But last time, when Auntie Claire asked if you liked Mommy, you said no, Daddy. So… so I don’t really like her that much either… If she wants to go, just let her go…” His words no longer had the power to wound me. Not anymore. A week ago, on his sixth birthday, he’d thrown a tantrum, insisting he wanted to celebrate with Paul and Claire. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The desperate, grasping fear I’d lived with for so long simply vanished. I had no desire to stop him. Later that evening, I walked past the restaurant. Through the window, I heard him proudly telling the violinist that Claire was his mother. My heart remained perfectly still, a calm, flat sea. 2 I was kneeling on the floor, packing, so my eyes were level with his. I closed my hand around the money he’d given me and gave a small, firm nod. “Alright,” I said, my voice quiet. I didn’t call myself ‘Mommy.’ “I promise you.” “I will never come back to this house. And I’m not your mother anymore. You’re free, Leo.” He seemed stunned that I’d agreed so easily. He stared at me for a beat, his expression blank. Then, his face split into a wide grin. “Yay! Auntie Claire is going to be my mommy!” He bolted from the room, shouting that he was going to call Claire and tell her the good news. I packed the last of my clothes, zipped the suitcase shut, and stood up. Paul had been silent this whole time, but as I moved to pass him, his hand shot out, clamping around my arm. His eyes were half-lidded, his expression unreadable. “Jennie, not liking you doesn’t mean I hate you.” His voice was low, threaded with a faint, rising irritation. “I’ve gotten used to you over the years. What’s all this drama about? Do you really have to leave?” I wanted to say something, but it all felt pointless and melodramatic. Instead, I just pulled my arm free. “Take care of Leo,” I said. I dragged my suitcase out of the house. It was a long walk from the mansion to the main gate of the private community. The weather mirrored my mood—a bitter wind whipped fallen leaves from the pavement, slapping them against my legs. It would have been easy to look pathetic, to feel small and defeated. But I never once looked back. 3 I had already rented a small apartment and found a job. Drawing on my old degree, I’d been hired as an instructor for a children’s art program. On my first day, I walked into the staff office to find a few of my new colleagues huddled around a little girl. “Rosie, darling, does your uncle like sweets?” “Oh, and what’s his type? What kind of girls does he like?” “Rosie, sweetie, is he picking you up tonight?” The little girl’s face was a mask of stoicism. “You said you wanted to talk to me about my artistic style.” The teachers exchanged awkward glances. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going back to the classroom,” she announced. She turned, saw me, and gave a polite, “Hello, Miss,” before walking out, her gaze fixed straight ahead. 4 My new colleagues were friendly enough. After showing me the ropes, they started gossiping about the girl. “You probably don’t know, but her uncle is Dennis Harris.” “He and Paul Northwood are basically tied for the title of Northwood’s most eligible bachelor. Well, they were. I heard Paul’s back with his first love, Claire Somerset, now that she’s returned from overseas.” “So, I guess that just leaves Dennis.” Hearing Paul’s name again, I felt nothing, as if they were talking about a stranger. But Dennis Harris… I sighed silently. He was Paul’s biggest rival. And he’d never made a secret of his contempt for me. Every time we’d crossed paths, he’d hit me with some kind of insult. “Pathetic. A picture of Paul and Claire kissing is trending online, and you don’t even make a peep.” “What do you even get from being with him? A ring? A title?” “For God’s sake, Jennie, have you ever considered looking at someone else?” I decided it was best to keep my distance from the girl named Rosie. If Dennis found out I was working here, he’d probably pull strings to have me fired. 5 Paul called while I was on the subway home, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with the evening rush. “Hello?” The noise on my end was deafening. He paused before speaking. “Where are you?” “On the subway.” A dry, almost inaudible chuckle came through the line. “The subway? Jennie, you’re really reaping what you sow.” I gripped the handrail. “Did you need something?” I could hear his footsteps, the sound slow and deliberate even through the static, just like the man himself. I could picture him perfectly: rising from his massive desk, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. “Leo has a fever,” he said. “Give me your address. I’ll come get you.” “No, thank you,” I said, my eyes dropping to the floor. “The staff at the house will take care of him. He doesn’t need me.” Paul’s voice hardened. “Are you serious about abandoning him? Jennie,” he said, his tone laced with disbelief, “is this all because he said he likes Claire more?” Paul never understood my feelings for Leo. Even after I told him, countless times, that I had taken emergency contraception after that night, he refused to believe me. Because I had been in love with him for years, he was convinced I had gotten pregnant on purpose to trap him in a marriage. In his eyes, my love for Leo was never real. He was just a tool. A pawn. He had no idea about the countless nights I’d spent spiraling, consumed by the fear that Leo was slipping away from me, that his affection for Claire was growing stronger every day. The train pulled into a major hub, and the car emptied out. “It’s not that, Paul,” I said, finally finding a seat, the ache in my legs easing. My voice was soft. “It’s because he really does like her more. And I’m done trying to force it. I’m done twisting myself into knots trying to win his affection.” He was about to say something else, but then a small voice from his end confirmed everything I’d just said. “Daddy! My fever’s gone!” Leo chirped. “Does that mean I can go play with Auntie Claire tomorrow?!” I heard Paul swallow hard. “Jennie, listen to me—” I ended the call. I got off at the next stop, determined to scrub the entire conversation from my mind. 6 Hearing his mother’s name, Leo paused. He stopped pestering his father about Claire and tugged on Paul’s trousers instead. “Daddy, was that Mommy on the phone?” Paul gave a slight nod. “Oh. Did you tell her I was sick? Is she coming home to see me?” Paul looked into his son’s bright, round eyes and, after a moment’s hesitation, murmured, “Yes.” Leo had known it all along. He knew Jennie would worry and come rushing back. “I’ll go put on a mask so I don’t get Mommy sick,” he said, already turning. “I can play with Auntie Claire some other time.” A week had passed. The idea of seeing his mother didn’t feel so bad anymore. Paul’s lips thinned. “Mommy’s working late,” he said. “I told her not to come back.” Leo, a fever patch still stuck to his forehead, just blinked. “Oh. Well, I guess we can go see Auntie Claire then…” He didn’t seem particularly disappointed. Mommy would definitely come back to see him. She always got the most anxious whenever he was sick. Still, it was a little strange. In the past, even if she was in another country, she would have been on the first flight home the moment she heard he was sick. 7 After a week, I’d settled into the new job. Dennis Harris had yet to make an appearance, but just in case, I always made a point of hiding in the office grading artwork whenever parents came to pick up their children. I only slipped up once, the day Rosie was out sick and I had to help a colleague escort the students out. I always tried to treat every child the same. But somehow, she had noticed. 8 That day, Rosie was in a visibly low mood. During the break, I saw her in the hallway, her chin propped in her hands as she stared out the window. A few boys, chasing each other, accidentally knocked her over. They didn’t even stop to apologize. I rushed over and knelt in front of her. “Rosie, are you okay? Did you get hurt? Let me see.” She clutched her knee, turning her head away. “Don’t bother. I’ll ask another teacher for a band-aid.” I paused, then said gently, “Miss Jennie has some too.” “I don’t want yours.” The back of her head was perfectly round, radiating a stubborn defiance. “I know you don’t like me. You don’t have to pretend.” I was taken aback. “I don’t dislike you at all, Rosie. You’re polite, well-behaved, and you’re a very talented artist. Why would I dislike you?” Rosie shot a quick glance at me before turning away again, huffing under her breath. “The other day, Miss Lewis asked you to walk me out, but when you heard it was me, you said no. And a few days ago, at lunch, I didn’t want to eat with the other teachers, so I brought my bowl over to your table, but you just scarfed down your food and ran away.” As she recounted the scene, she seemed to get angry all over again, her cheeks puffing out. She turned back to glare at me. “No one has ever disliked me this much! If you don’t like me, then I don’t like you either!” I felt a flush of embarrassment. I thought I’d been so subtle in the cafeteria that day. Rosie had sat down across from me with her bowl, muttering, “They’re too loud. All they do is ask about my uncle.” I had shifted my tray to make room for her, but less than a minute later, her smartwatch phone rang. It was Dennis. I’d panicked, shoveled the rest of my food into my mouth, and fled. There was no way to explain it. I could only look at her earnestly and say, enunciating each word, “Then I was wrong. From now on, I’ll wait for you at lunch, and… and I’ll walk you out after class. But I promise, I really don’t dislike you, Rosie.” She turned her face halfway towards me. Her profile was chubby and cute, a bit like a cartoon character. “Really?” she asked, her tone fit for a princess. “Really,” I promised. She held out her arms to me, her expression still stern. “Then you have to carry me. My leg hurts.” The scrape on her knee was now visible. I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the office to clean and bandage the wound. After that, we went back to the classroom, where I made the boys who had knocked her down apologize. As she looked up at me, a tiny smile played on her lips. It was a signal: we had a truce. 9 During my lunch break, I reviewed Rosie’s file again. My eyes froze on her date of birth. Today… was her birthday. That probably explained her mood. I remembered the little bunny pattern on her pencil case and the rabbit keychain on her backpack. Before class ended, I furiously knitted a miniature lop-eared rabbit doll, complete with a tiny dress that matched the one Rosie was wearing. She finished her in-class assignment ten minutes before everyone else. I called her out into the hallway and presented her with the gift. “Happy birthday, Rosie.” She stared at it for a second. “Is this bunny supposed to be me?” I smiled and nodded. “Just as cute as you are.” “Thank you, Miss Jennie. I love it.” She accepted it with a practiced poise, her face not betraying much emotion. “You’re welcome. You can go back inside now.” She took two steps, then turned back. “Kneel down,” she instructed, beckoning me with a little finger. I did as she asked. “What is it? Is there something else you wanted to tell me?” The next second, her soft lips pressed against my cheek. “This is the first birthday present I got today,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “And it’s my favorite.” She snuggled against me. “Miss Jennie, do you think my uncle is handsome? I can give you his number. As a thank you for the bunny!” The warmth blooming in my chest instantly turned to ice. “…No, thank you.” 10 When I learned that Dennis wouldn’t be the one picking her up tonight, I agreed to walk Rosie out. But as we reached the entrance, my heart stopped. Leaning against a black Maybach was Dennis Harris himself. “Uncle! Why are you here to get me today?” Rosie chirped. His gaze slid slowly from my face to his niece. “To take you out for your birthday, you little rascal.” “Yay!” she cheered, bouncing on her toes. I forced myself to speak. “Mr. Harris, hello, I—” “Well, this is a surprise,” he cut me off, a lazy smile on his face. “I didn’t think Paul Northwood would let his woman work a job like this.” To prevent any future misunderstandings should he run into Paul, I clarified immediately. “I’ve left the Northwood estate. This job has nothing to do with Mr. Northwood.” Dennis’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because of Claire Somerset? Did they do something to you?” I didn’t want to get into it with him. I pretended not to hear. “If you don’t have any questions about Rosie, I’ll be heading back to the office.” Rosie gave me an innocent little wave. “Bye, Miss Jennie.” I waved back. “Bye, Rosie.” As I turned to leave, I could feel his stare burning into my back. 11 Twenty minutes later, my shift was over. As I left the building, I saw the Maybach was still parked out front. The window was down. Dennis was leaning against the steering wheel, his head turned towards me. “The little one is throwing a fit. Insists she wants you to celebrate her birthday with her.” I glanced into the back seat at Rosie. She let out a small, confused “Huh?” and tilted her head. “But Uncle, didn’t you say—” Dennis cut her off with a sharp tsk. “Can’t park here. Get in, we’ll talk in the car.” Fearing my hesitation would get him a ticket, I quickly got in. It was only after I saw the smirk on his face in the rearview mirror that I realized my mistake. The car had been parked there for a long time. If he was going to get a ticket, it would’ve happened by now. 12 I was trying to find the right moment to ask him to just drop me off at the next corner, but then Rosie wrapped her arm around mine and snuggled close. “It’s not just me and Uncle for my birthday this year,” she sighed happily. The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t say it. Throughout the entire dinner, Rosie was all smiles, a complete turnaround from her morning mood. All the excitement must have worn her out, because on the way home, she fell asleep leaning against me. The man’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Her parents are always working at their company overseas,” he said, his voice low. “They don’t have much of a relationship with her. They’re not willing to waste the time to come back and see her. They didn’t even remember it was her birthday.” For a rare moment, Dennis’s usual cocky demeanor was gone. “Jennie, thank you. For the gift, and for spending her birthday with her.” The little girl was fast asleep, letting out tiny, soft snores. I reached out and gently brushed her cheek. “I adore Rosie,” I said softly. “I had a wonderful time with her.” The car moved smoothly through the city streets. The rest of the ride was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the tires on the asphalt. I stared out the window, watching the neon lights blur past. Life felt so bizarrely theatrical. I had poured all my love into Leo for six years, and he wouldn’t even let me be there for one of his birthdays. Yet this little girl, whom I’d known for only a month, clutched the gift I’d made her and called it her favorite. The car slowed, pulling me from my thoughts. Dennis had stopped in front of my apartment building. I gently shifted Rosie off my shoulder and said my goodbyes as I got out. But Dennis got out too, calling my name from behind me. “Jennie.” I turned. “Is there something else?” His dark eyes were deep, reflecting nothing. “Stop loving Paul Northwood,” he said, his voice flat. “He’s not good to you.” I just stood there, stunned. I never expected him to say something like that. By the time I snapped out of it, his car was already pulling away, its taillights shrinking in the distance. And it dawned on me, a beat too late… Dennis Harris didn’t hate me anymore. 13 After that, Dennis started picking Rosie up almost every day. When the other teachers noticed, they practically fought over the chance to be the one to escort the students out. So, I stayed in the office, grading artwork. One evening after work, the familiar Maybach was parked out front again. I glanced inside. Rosie wasn’t there. He must have dropped her off and come back. He got out, slamming the car door, and stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you hate me that much? You can’t even stand the sight of me?” I wasn’t sure, but it almost looked like the nearly six-foot-two man standing in front of me was… pouting? I let out a slow, confused, “Huh?” “You’ve been avoiding coming out these past few days because I’m the one picking up Rosie, haven’t you?” I shook my head and explained. “It just hasn’t been my turn to escort the students out.” Dennis scoffed, as if to say, Yeah, right. But then his expression shifted to a cool mask. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, I haven’t eaten. I’m starving.” I stared at him, bewildered. “Why were you waiting for me?” “None of your business,” he snapped, suddenly defensive. “I felt like it.” His sheer, unapologetic confidence somehow made me feel like I was the one at fault. I hesitated, then asked, “Well… do you want me to buy you dinner?” In one fluid motion, Dennis turned and opened the passenger door for me. “Get in. Our reservation is in half an hour. We’ll be right on time.” Me: “?” 14 The car pulled up in front of the restaurant. I was just about to open my door when I saw Leo. On either side of him were Paul and Claire. Leo was talking to another little girl his age. “Leo, is that your mommy?” the girl asked. “Wow, she’s pretty, like a movie star!” Leo’s lips trembled, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. The girl tilted her head, confused. “But… I remember another time, a kind of plain-looking lady came to pick you up from school. Which one is your real mom?” So that was why Leo never wanted me to pick him up. At the estate, I rarely went out and paid little attention to my clothes. I usually wore simple, comfortable things. The one time our driver had been off and I’d picked him up myself, he had sulked for days. Hearing the girl’s question, Leo suddenly reached out and grabbed Claire’s hand. “Of course… of course this is my mommy. The other one was… our nanny.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393985”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I spent six years locked in a bitter war with Caspian Shaw. He was the reason my mother fell from a balcony and was left paralyzed. I was the reason his company went bankrupt, a secret I leaked with cold satisfaction. Everyone who knew us assumed we were destined to tear each other apart for the rest of our lives. When we met again, he had already rebuilt his empire. He was facing a scrum of reporters, answering their questions with effortless charm. “Back in college, we all had that pact, right?” a reporter, an old classmate, asked playfully. “Find someone to love by eighteen, marry by twenty-five, have a kid by twenty-eight. So, Caspian, how far along are you?” He smiled, a practiced, easy smile. “Getting engaged soon.” “Wow! Looks like you’re the first one of us to hit the mark!” I idly spun the ring on my own ring finger. The truth was, I’d already checked off all three. 1 The woman who walked through the door was Caspian Shaw’s fiancée. She was young, beautiful, and impeccably polite. She offered a small, graceful nod to each of us at the table before taking a seat beside Caspian. He didn’t look at her. Instead, his gaze found mine across the crowded room. I could feel the speculative glances of everyone around us, sharp as needles. The story of my war with Caspian was legendary in these circles. I picked up my purse and stood to leave. The two people sitting next to me, thinking I was about to make a scene and claw the girl’s face off, instinctively grabbed my arms to hold me back. I raised an eyebrow at them. “Uh, haha, where are you going, Amy?” “The restroom.” “Oh, right. Haha, of course.” They laughed awkwardly and let go. As I walked away, I overheard their hushed whispers. “Wow, two years and Amy’s really mellowed out.” “I know, right? My heart almost stopped. The old Amy would have already scratched the fiancée’s eyes out.” “It’s been two years, and she still can’t let it go. She saw the girl and had to run and hide.” “Well, since it looks like we’re safe, tell security they can stand down.” It was only when I stepped outside that I saw them: two neat rows of broad-shouldered bodyguards lining the hallway. They tensed when they saw me. The one in charge touched his earpiece, and then, as one, they retreated. I sat on the lawn outside, calling my daughter. Her sweet little voice chattered on the other end, telling me about a new story she learned at preschool today. Caspian’s interview had moved outdoors as well. Our eyes met across the throng of people. It was always like that with us; we could find each other in any crowd. “Mr. Shaw,” a reporter asked, “when your company was driven to bankruptcy all those years ago, is there anything you’d like to say to the person responsible?” He let out a soft, chilling laugh, his eyes fixed on the camera, but I knew his words were for me. “I saw her today. Her eyes are still just as beautiful. If I ever get the chance, I’ll carve them out myself. They’d make a stunning necklace for my fiancée.” A collective gasp went through the crowd. But it was just an empty threat. In the six years we spent hating each other, we’d said far worse. “And did you ever retaliate back then?” another reporter pressed. “I crippled her mother. Does that count?” I swirled the wine in my glass, listening to the nursery rhyme on my phone, my voice calm as I soothed my daughter. My cool indifference was driving Caspian insane. Then again, we never needed a reason to wish for the other’s painful demise. He came and sat beside me, pressing a finger on my phone screen to pause the story. He glanced at it and let out a snort of laughter. “A funeral dirge would suit you better.” He gestured to the woman who had followed him. “Wren, this is Amy Thorne. She was the class president back in college.” Wren offered a sweet, saccharine smile and extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amy. I’m Wren, Caspian’s fiancée.” They were all waiting for the explosion, for the screaming and the drama. I simply met her gaze and said, coolly, “Hello.” 2 Caspian’s eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through the placid mask I wore. He let out a cold, dismissive laugh, convinced I was putting on an act. As Caspian was pulled back into the interview, Wren took my hand. “You’re so beautiful, Amy,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “I heard that Caspian’s ex-girlfriend of six years was here today. Do you know who she is?” I didn’t bother trying to decipher her little game. I pulled my hand away and, with a deliberate show of fastidiousness, wiped it on a silk handkerchief from my purse. “Sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I have a thing about germs.” Wren’s face flushed with humiliation. She lowered her head. “Amy, who do you think you’re fooling?” a new voice sneered. It was Julian, Caspian’s younger, perpetually arrogant brother. He plopped down in the chair opposite me. “You were trash in college, and two years hasn’t changed a thing. You’re still just as fake.” “Julian, don’t say that,” Wren chided gently. “Miss Thorne isn’t that kind of person.” “You’ve only met her once, Wren, don’t let her fool you,” Julian shot back. “I’ve known her for six years. If it wasn’t for her, would my brother have gone bankrupt?” “What are you talking about?” “Isn’t it obvious? She’s my brother’s trashy first love.” Julian then puckered his lips and spat the gum he was chewing in my direction. I lifted my designer bag, blocking the sticky projectile. Then, without a word, I stood up and swung the bag, smacking him squarely in the face with it. “Amy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shrieked. “You think I’m like you? I’m a Shaw! Who the hell are you to touch me? Do you want my brother to chop off your fingers?” “The Shaws?” I scoffed. “You don’t impress me. I made him go bankrupt once. I can do it again.” The sudden explosion of violence brought the interview to a grinding halt. Caspian rushed back over. I looked down at the sticky residue of the gum on my pristine white purse. My germaphobia was real. I held up the purse. “Ten thousand dollars,” I said, looking at Caspian. “You have the nerve to ask my brother for that pittance?” Julian sneered. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Looks like the last two years haven’t been kind to you. Your skills at seducing men, though, seem to have improved.” I raised the bag to hit him again, but Caspian’s hand shot out, his fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice. “What was the last thing you said?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Ten thousand dollars.” “Before that.” I thought for a moment. I wasn’t sure which line he meant, but if he wanted to hear it, I was happy to oblige. “I can make you go bankrupt once, and I can do it again.” Caspian smiled. It was the first genuine, heartfelt smile I’d seen on his face all night. “I have to admit, I prefer you when you’re not pretending.” I yanked my hand free, my arm still raised to strike. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, offering his cheek. “Go ahead,” he whispered, his voice a venomous caress. “But if that hand lands, I’ll make sure the upper half of your mother’s body is paralyzed too.” I hadn’t actually wanted to hit him. The thought of touching him was nauseating. But after he said that, my hand flew, and the slap echoed with a satisfying crack. Julian lunged at me first. “You actually hit him! Are you insane?” He grabbed my throat. I grabbed his hair. A glass chair shattered against his back, and blood began to trickle from a gash on his head. I snatched a shard of glass and sliced it across Caspian’s arm. With a surge of absolute power, Caspian shoved me backward, into the swimming pool. We were a tangled, thrashing mess of limbs and hatred. “I hear you’ve been taking care of your mother these last two years,” he hissed, his face close to mine. “Must be exhausting. How about I arrange a little… accident for her? Then you won’t have to be tired anymore.” “Those eyes of yours are so beautiful. I’ll propose to Wren with them. It’ll be a beautiful moment.” I was done with his pointless threats. My eyes locked on his chest, and I drove the glass shard deep into him. I wanted to see him, just once, drop the tough-guy act. I wanted to see him tremble and beg me to push harder. But the scene I imagined never happened. Wren threw herself in front of him. Blood blossomed across her white dress like a grotesque flower. “If you have a problem, take it out on me!” Caspian roared, his voice cracking with a panic I’d never heard before. “Why would you hurt her? Don’t you know she has a bleeding disorder?” I twisted the glass shard in my hand, digging it deeper. “I know now.” “Amy! You don’t bring family into this!” “Oh? So my mother deserved to be paralyzed?” 3 Without a shred of pity, I shoved Wren’s limp body into the pool. I wiped the blood from the glass onto Caspian’s pristine shirt. The sudden, brutal turn of events left everyone frozen. No one dared to intervene. Caspian was calling me a lunatic, but his eyes… his eyes held a flicker of something else. A dark, thrilling excitement. “A lunatic?” I laughed. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” From the moment I had walked into this party, he had been pushing me, goading me, trying to break the calm facade I had so carefully constructed. Caspian and I had fought for so long, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like when we were in love. On the day he proposed to me, I sold his company’s confidential files. On the day I agreed to marry him, he had someone disconnect my mother’s oxygen tank. The day of the car accident, when I was flown out of the country for emergency surgery, he was there, tubes sprouting from his body like grotesque vines. When he saw me, he tore off his own oxygen mask, his lips finding mine in a brutal, biting kiss. “Amy,” he’d gasped, his voice raspy. “If I die… in the next life… marry me. Let’s not torture each other anymore, okay?” As hypoxia began to claim him, he fell back, his eyes full of desperate hope. I shook my head. “There is no next life for us.” Later, at the hospital, when Wren needed a massive transfusion, Caspian had rolled up his sleeve. “We have the same blood type. Take mine. If it’s not enough, drain me dry.” When he stumbled out of the blood donation room, he was swaying on his feet. He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes burning with a desperate need for validation. “Amy, do you see? I know how to love someone now.” “Bro, you gave too much blood, you’re not thinking straight. Let me help you.” Julian tried to support him. Caspian shoved him away. “Get off me! I’m perfectly lucid.” He turned back to me, his gaze intense. “Did you see? I’ve learned how to love. I could pick anyone, and I could love them with everything I have! Don’t you get it yet?” The flashing red and blue lights of a police car painted our faces. I pushed him towards Julian. I’m a germaphobe; I dusted off the spot on my shoulder where he had touched me. “The police are here. It’s time to give your statement. I’ll cover her medical bills.” “Amy,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I’m begging you. Let’s let each other go.” I didn’t answer him. The truth was, I had already let him go two years ago. … At the police station, we were put in separate interrogation rooms. After giving my statement, I just sat there. The voices from the next room grew louder. “Bro, you can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me,” Julian was saying. “This is just another one of your twisted games, isn’t it? You know she’d never marry you willingly, so you’re going to force her, just to make her miserable.” “What about Wren, then?” “She’s so obedient, she’d probably agree to be your mistress if you asked.” “I’m serious about this,” Caspian’s voice was low. “But I won’t break things off with Wren until Amy agrees. Wren’s young. If I just dump her, she won’t be able to handle it.” “Bro, what if Amy can hear you?” A long pause, then Caspian’s voice, confident and cold. “If she could hear, she would have already stormed in here and slapped both of us. The fact that she hasn’t means she can’t.” A small, humorless smile touched my lips. I pulled out my phone and made a call. “Hey. Come pick me up.” Less than ten minutes later, an officer came to my door. “Amy Thorne? Your family is here to pick you up.” “Okay, thank you.” “Just sign here, and you’re free to go.” I walked out, passing their room on the way. Julian’s voice followed me. “Family? The only family she has is her mother. Did her mom learn to walk again?” “A friend, probably.” Then, Julian’s curiosity got the better of him. The door creaked open. “Officer,” he wheedled, “who was it that came to pick up Amy Thorne?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393984”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At St. Jude’s Home for Children, a wealthy couple came to adopt. They wanted my brother and me. My ten-year-old brother, Leo, held my five-year-old hand tightly. He pointed to a boy standing by the door, a scruffy kid clutching a dirty rag doll, looking a little lost in his own world. “Hey, Lily,” Leo said, his voice soft. “Why don’t you play with him for a minute? I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.” I watched his back as he walked away, a knot of fear tightening in my stomach. I instinctively ran after him. But I stopped short at the door to the director’s office. Through the glass, I saw him holding another girl’s hand. Maya. He was pleading with Mrs. Gable, the director. “Maya’s really good, and she listens,” he was saying, his voice earnest. “Please, let her take Lily’s place. Let her be adopted with me.” I froze, my hand hovering over the doorknob, my world tilting on its axis. The dirty little boy from the doorway shuffled over to me, his eyes wide and serious. He gently took my hand. “We need a little sister at my house,” he said, his voice clear and simple. “You can come with me.” 1 Watching my brother walk away, a deep sense of unease settled over me. Ever since our parents died and we’d ended up here, Leo and I had been inseparable. He’d promised we’d be adopted together. He said it was the only way he could be sure no one would bully me. I looked at the scruffy boy who only seemed to talk to his doll, and a shiver of fear ran down my spine. After a moment’s hesitation, I turned and bolted in the direction Leo had gone. I found him in the director’s office. He was holding Maya’s hand, his back to me, speaking to Mrs. Gable. “Maya’s really good, and she listens. Please, just let her take Lily’s place and come with me.” Mrs. Gable looked troubled, her brow furrowed. “Leo, honey, Lily is your sister. She’s your family. Are you sure you want to give her up? I’m afraid you’ll regret this one day.” My brother shook his head, his voice firm and unwavering. “Lily’s so smart and pretty, she’ll find another good family. But Maya… she only has me. I have to look out for her.” My nose stung. Tears welled up in my eyes and started to fall, hot and fat, down my cheeks. But he was all I had. Mrs. Gable glanced at Maya’s face, at the faint, silvery web of scars that traced across her cheek, and spoke honestly. “I’m not sure the Walters will agree to this.” Leo pulled Maya closer, into a protective hug. “They’ll agree,” he insisted. “They only ever really wanted to adopt me anyway. Taking Lily was just a bonus. Swapping her for someone else won’t make a difference to them.” Finally, Mrs. Gable sighed and nodded. “Alright. I’ll ask them.” I clung to the window frame, watching my brother and Maya hug each other, their faces alight with joy. I couldn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong. The scruffy boy had been watching me from the doorway. He finally seemed to make up his mind and trotted over. He took my hand, swinging it gently. “We need a little sister at my house,” he repeated, tilting his head happily. “You can come with me.” My lip trembled. I snatched my hand away. “Don’t touch me! My brother would never leave me. I’m not going with you.” The boy frowned, his expression serious as he shook his head. “Nope. Your brother doesn’t want you anymore. I heard the whole thing.” A sob tore from my throat. “You’re lying!” I cried, shoving him away. “I’m going to go ask him myself, right now.” 2 Inside the office, Leo was smiling gently at Maya. “From now on, we’re family,” he said softly. Maya’s lips curved into a happy smile, and she nodded vigorously. “Yeah. You’re the best brother, Leo.” He patted her head affectionately. I burst through the door and ran at them, shoving Maya away from him with all my might. “Get away from him! He’s my brother!” Maya stumbled back a few steps before catching her balance, her face a mask of hurt. “Lily!” Leo gasped, rushing to Maya’s side. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Maya just shook her head silently, but a huge, glistening tear welled in her eye, threatening to fall. Leo spun around to face me, his expression clouded with disapproval. “Lily Sterling! Who taught you to push people like that? Is that what I’ve taught you?” A wave of injustice washed over me, but I choked back the sobs. “Why are you replacing me?” I demanded. My brother had the grace to look guilty, his eyes darting away from mine. That only fueled my anger. I pointed a trembling finger at Maya. “Trading your own sister for her? Is that something a real brother does? What would Mom and Dad say if they could see you now?” Leo’s mouth opened and closed. Finally, a flash of anger crossed his face. “Why are you so selfish?” he shot back, his voice rising. “There are so many kids here waiting for a home. Does our family have to take up two spots?” I didn’t know how to answer that. I just stood there, my eyes wide, tears streaming down my face. Just yesterday, Mr. and Mrs. Walters, a rich couple, had visited the orphanage. They saw Leo and me, thought we were beautiful children, and were touched that we were brother and sister. They wanted to adopt us both. Leo had been ecstatic. He’d told me we’d never be separated. He’d even excitedly started packing my favorite toys and blankets. And Maya… she was the daughter of my mom’s best friend. They had been on the same flight. Her mom didn’t make it either. So she came to St. Jude’s with us. She had always orbited Leo, complaining about how lonely it was to be an only child. Leo had been nice to her, sure, but he’d always said that I was his number one, that no one could ever come before me. Just yesterday, I’d seen him comforting her. “Don’t worry, Maya,” he’d said. “Someone will come adopt you soon, you’ll see.” But he’d been quiet and moody after that. That night, just before we went to sleep, he’d asked me, “Lily, do you think… when we leave and Maya is all alone… do you think someone might bully her?” A spike of alarm went through me. I wrapped my arms around his arm. “No way. Mrs. Gable won’t let them.” He was silent for a few seconds, then spoke again. “But what if the people who adopt her aren’t nice?” Panic flared in my chest, and my voice rose without my meaning it to. “Mrs. Gable will check on her! Leo, that’s not our problem.” 3 Leo nodded distractedly and rolled over to sleep. But I knew. I knew he was worried about Maya. My mom’s best friend had been a single mother. Our families were close, so we saw them all the time. And while Maya had always been clingy with Leo, he hadn’t been especially close to her before. He always used to say that a brother’s special love was reserved for his sister, and that was me. But a person’s feelings aren’t just dictated by blood. When Leo was eight, a man tried to grab him. It was Maya who saw it happen. It was Maya who fought back. She’d latched onto the kidnapper’s car door and refused to let go, getting dragged for what felt like a mile before people on the street finally realized what was happening and called the police. She saved him, but she was badly hurt. The road rash and deeper cuts left scars all over her body, even her face, that never truly faded. My own memory of it is fuzzy, just flashes of her screaming in a hospital room. After that, kids at school started calling her “monster face.” And after that, Leo started taking care of her, worrying about her. My mom would always say, “Maya is our family’s hero, Lily. We have to be grateful.” At first, I’d nod along, not fully understanding. “Maya is our hero. We have to be nice to her.” But gradually, Leo’s attention shifted more and more to her. If he got me a gift, he had to get one for her, too. Once, he managed to get his hands on a limited-edition action figure I really wanted, but he gave it to her instead. Panic set in. He was my brother. My own brother. And so, I started to hate Maya. I hated her for always stealing my brother from me. One day, when no one was around, I confronted her. “Stay away from my brother,” I warned. “He doesn’t even like you.” Maya leaned in close, her voice a low whisper right next to my ear. It felt cool and slick, like a snake I’d seen on TV, and it made me shiver. “Too bad,” she hissed. “Your mom said I’m like a daughter to her now. That makes Leo my brother, too. And I’m going to hang out with him. Every. Single. Day.” I snapped. I shoved her to the ground and raised my fist. “If you come near him again, I’ll hit you.” Her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. Just then, Leo walked out of his room. It was the first time he ever got truly angry with me. “Lily, why are you being so selfish?” “We’ve spoiled you rotten!” 4 After that, I hated her even more. She never said a word, but somehow, she had stolen everyone’s attention. I didn’t know what to do, except that I just wanted her gone. My parents grew more and more disappointed in me, and Leo grew closer and closer to Maya. But we were still family. They just thought I needed more discipline. No one ever imagined a plane crash would take my parents away. When we got to the orphanage, I became even clingier with Leo. He was the only family I had left. No one could take him from me. He promised me again and again that he would never leave me, and begged me to stop picking on Maya. But he didn’t know. After Maya got hurt, she changed. She became… strange. She’d always have her head down, looking at me with this creepy, hateful glare from under her hair. And I knew for a fact that he was secretly saving his candy and milk rations for her. I couldn’t make myself like her. But I never, ever imagined he would give my spot, my chance at a family, to her. Maybe it was because I was crying so hard. Leo’s expression softened, and he stepped forward to wipe my tears. “Don’t cry, Lily. We’re brother and sister. That will never change, for our whole lives. But Maya is different. She has no one. And she’s so fragile… it’ll be hard for her to find a good family. If I abandon her too, what will she do? Don’t worry, I’ll ask Mrs. Gable to find another great family for you.” I was trembling all over. I reached for his hand instinctively. “Brother, please don’t leave me.” He turned his head away, unable to look at me, and gently pushed me out of the room. I didn’t understand all of his words, but I understood one thing. He was really leaving me. 5 Outside the door, the scruffy little boy was still there, clutching his dirty doll. When he saw me come out, his eyes lit up. “Did you check? Your brother doesn’t want you, right?” His words just twisted the knife in my already broken heart. I covered my face with my hands and started to wail. The boy tugged on the hem of my shirt, pulling me gently towards the exit. “It’s okay. I’ll take you home.” I was crying so hard I couldn’t see straight, just letting myself be pulled along by his gentle force. A few moments later, we were out on the street. Suddenly, I heard a shout that cut through my sobs. I looked up. “Where have you been? Your father and I have been worried sick!” “If something happened to you too, I don’t think I could survive it!” A beautiful woman in a purple dress was hugging the little boy, her eyes red. The boy used one hand to wipe her tears and the other to hold onto me. “Mommy, I found a sister,” he announced happily. “Don’t be sad anymore.” I took two steps back, scared. Leo had told me never to leave the orphanage alone, that bad people took little kids. The woman looked at me, completely baffled. “Honey, where did you find this child?” The little boy turned and pointed proudly back at St. Jude’s. “In there! There were lots of sisters, but I picked the prettiest one!” A man standing behind them, his face grim, snapped, “That’s enough of this nonsense.” The two of them brought me back. Mrs. Gable was pacing anxiously in the foyer. “Lily! Why did you run off by yourself?” I burst into fresh tears and threw myself into her arms. “Mrs. Gable, my brother doesn’t want me anymore!” She stroked my head lovingly before turning to thank the couple. The little boy, however, started kicking his legs and shouting. “She’s the sister I found! No one can take her away!” He was carried, struggling, back to their car. I could see his face pressed against the window, leaving a smear of dirt and fingerprints on the clean glass.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393983”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 By the time I got to Jackson’s place, he opened the door bleary-eyed, still wrestling with sleep. I just stood there on his doorstep. “We’re done.” Jackson blinked, the fog of sleep vanishing from his face. “Babe, what did I do wrong this time?” “You didn’t answer my call,” I said, my voice flat. A relieved laugh escaped him. He reached for my hand like he always did. “I was up late gaming with the guys, that’s all. I slept in and didn’t hear it. I’m sorry. To make it up to you, let me get dressed and I’ll take you to that new Thai place you’ve been wanting to try. How about it?” Seven years together, and he still thought this was just another one of my moods. I pulled my hand away, his touch feeling alien. “No, thanks. I’m leaving.” He never took me seriously. If that was the case, then I didn’t want him anymore. “Just because I missed one call this morning?” Jackson grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening. “Lucy, come on, don’t be like this.” “I swear it wasn’t on purpose. I told you I got that new game, we just lost track of time.” I wrenched my arm free. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let go.” He persisted, his voice pleading. “You don’t want Thai? Okay, what about that new upscale steakhouse at the Galleria? We could go there. I just bought that new Fujifilm camera you wanted…” I looked straight at him. “I don’t want it anymore.” Jackson froze. Just then, Chloe emerged from the guest room, drowning in one of his oversized pajama shirts. “Jax, what’s all the noise? You woke me up.” I stared at the freshly-woken Chloe, and a bitter smile touched my lips. So this was Jackson’s “best friend.” The female one. The same one who’d sent me a deliberately ambiguous photo, designed to make me think she and Jackson had slept together. Chloe padded over to me, a sickly-sweet smile on her face. “Lucy, hey. What’s going on?” Jackson rubbed his temples, a weary sigh escaping him. “She’s mad I missed her call.” Chloe’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of fake surprise. She quickly looped her arm through mine, her touch cloying. “Oh, Lucy, don’t be mad at him! Jax and I were gaming all night, I swear. The servers for the new expansion just opened, and I was so hyped I basically forced him to pull an all-nighter with me. He really didn’t mean to miss your call…” “We’re not that close,” I said, pulling my arm from her grasp. I turned my gaze back to Jackson. “Did you change the keypad code?” He frowned, clearly confused. I repeated myself, my voice sharp. “The code for your front door, Jackson. You changed it. I couldn’t get in.” “No, I didn’t,” he denied instantly. “It’s always been our anniversary…” My eyes flicked to Chloe. Right on cue, she chimed in. “Oh, that was me, Jax. Remember when you had the guys over for that party last week? Most of them don’t know Lucy, so I just changed it to something simple for the night. It’s not a big deal, we can just change it back. Lucy, you’re being a little sensitive, don’t you think?” Jackson sighed and looked at Chloe, a hint of frustration in his voice. “Chloe, Lucy’s not as laid-back as you are. She’s more sensitive, and these things matter to her. You should apologize.” I let out a sharp, mocking laugh and took a step back. “Oh, no, please don’t. God forbid I’m not as ‘chill’ as your best friend. A friend who your other friends don’t even know, yet they all know how close you two are. She shows up with her console, and you not only let her in, you let her spend the night. She can even change the damn code to your apartment. You know what, Jackson? Why don’t you two just move in together? Get married. I’ll even come to the wedding and toast to your happiness. How does that sound?” “Lucy, that’s crossing a line,” Jackson’s brows furrowed. He took a step forward, instinctively shielding Chloe behind him. “Chloe and I have been friends for years. If something was going to happen, it would have happened a long time ago. Why are you making a scene now? We were up late, I couldn’t just kick her out in the middle of the night. Besides, she slept in the guest room. You’re being aggressive. And she’s right, it’s just a passcode. We can change it back.” If something was going to happen, it would have happened by now. What a classic line. I swallowed the lump of acid rising in my throat and stared him down. “So you do remember she’s a girl.” Jackson flinched. Without another word, I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Chloe’s voice, dripping with faux concern. “Jax, she’s so upset. Aren’t you going to go after her?” “It’s fine,” Jackson’s voice, though not loud, cut through the air like glass. “We’re about to get engaged. She’s just blowing off steam. She’ll cool down in a bit. It’s not a big deal.” He had no idea I was already preparing my applications to study abroad. I wasn’t coming back. 2 Back at the small apartment I shared with a roommate, I started packing. “Lucy? Are you finally moving in with Jackson?” My roommate, hearing the commotion, poked her head out of her room. “Aww, so you’re really not renewing the lease? I’m so happy for you guys! You deserve all the happiness!” For a second, I felt a wave of dizziness. She was right. Everyone knew how in love we were. I’d told my roommate that as soon as our lease was up, I was moving in with him. Everyone expected us to walk down the aisle. My hands stilled on a pile of clothes. “No,” I said, my voice hollow. “We broke up.” My roommate stared at me, her jaw slack. “What? Why? You and Jackson were campus couple goals! What happened?” “I don’t love him anymore,” I replied, the words feeling both simple and impossibly heavy. “That makes no sense,” she argued, confused. “Jackson’s handsome, and he was so good to you. He memorized all your favorite things, he went to concerts and art exhibits with you… he would do anything for you. I remember that one time you got your period and I was out of town, and he drove through a torrential downpour at midnight just to take care of you. He was just texting me the other day, asking if there was anything special you wanted lately. How could you just… stop loving him?” How could I? Maybe it was because she was talking about the Jackson of the past. The boy who held me in the palm of his hand, who shielded me from the world. Not the man who now stood in front of me, accusing me of being aggressive to protect his “best friend.” It was just that simple. A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Maybe… maybe it’s just because he didn’t answer my call this morning.” Seeing that I didn’t want to elaborate, my roommate sighed and dropped the subject. A moment later, she held up her phone, her expression cautious. “Was it… because of Chloe?” She showed me her screen. It was Chloe’s latest social media post—a photo dump from her gaming session with Jackson. The centerpiece was a cozy selfie of the two of them, Chloe’s head practically resting on Jackson’s shoulder. They were both holding controllers, grinning like they didn’t have a care in the world. The other pictures were a gallery of their in-game achievements: completed boss battles, high rankings on the new server leaderboards. It was clear they’d had a successful night. The comment section was a chorus of praise from Jackson’s friends. “Damn, Chloe, you’re a beast! That clear speed is insane.” “Only Jax can keep up with Chloe’s skill level. I’m still stuck on the first boss. Chloe, you gotta carry me sometime! Or get Jax to, lol.” “Is it just me or are Chloe and Jax themselves a power couple? Look at them. Total GOATs.” To any outsider, it would look like Chloe and Jackson were the ones who had been in a loving, seven-year relationship, on the verge of engagement. As I closed my suitcase, my roommate started fuming at the comments. “Seriously? Is Jackson blind? How can he not see how messed up it is for her to post pictures like that? And his friends? They’re clearly shipping them! Where does that leave you?” “That gaming console,” I added, my voice eerily calm, “was a birthday present I gave him.” And then the final nail: “The night before last, he promised me he would set boundaries with her.” “I get it now,” my roommate said, her voice soft with worry. She wrapped her arms around me in a gentle hug. “Lucy, we don’t need a man like that. But your lease is up soon. Where are you going to stay?” “I’ll stay with my aunt for a bit,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s perfect timing, actually. I can quit my job and finally go abroad for my master’s.” I looked at her, trying to project a confidence I didn’t feel. “Don’t worry about me. With my resume, I can find a job anywhere.” She sighed. “You’re right about that. You only took that corporate job to follow Jackson anyway. We all thought you’d go for your Ph.D., your research skills are top-tier. Just… promise you’ll take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything. I’ll always be in your corner.” “I will,” I nodded. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Jackson. “Babe, are you feeling any better? I ordered you some fried chicken and bubble tea. Please don’t be mad at me anymore? [puppy_eyes.gif]” I stared at the message for a long time. Then, I blocked his number and deleted him from every app on my phone. 3 After a quick hello to my aunt and dropping off my luggage, I took a cab back to my old university. I needed to pick up my transcripts, both in English and Chinese. But I was also there to say goodbye. I walked along the newly resurfaced running track, the sounds of undergrads laughing and chatting around me a ghostly echo of my own past. Then, I saw them. The two people I wanted to see least in the world. Jackson and Chloe. Chloe was clinging possessively to Jackson’s arm. The moment she saw me, her face split into a brilliant, triumphant smile. “Lucy! You’re here too?” Jackson rushed over. “What are you doing back on campus? I was just about to call you. The delivery guy said you never picked up the food.” I gave him a cold glance, my eyes landing pointedly on Chloe’s hand wrapped around his bicep. He finally registered it, awkwardly pulling his arm away. “Chloe said she wanted to see my alma mater, so I was just showing her around.” “Yeah, I was always so sad I never got to see where Jax spent his college years,” Chloe cooed, sidling closer. “We’re just best buds, you know? We’re so used to being like this. You don’t mind, do you, Lucy?” The sight of her made me feel sick. I turned to leave. But Jackson grabbed my arm, his voice laced with a new, wounded tone. “Lucy, are you still mad? I know you’re upset, but I bought you that bag you wanted. Please, just forgive me. I promise I’ll never, ever miss your call again.” He pulled a chic, expensive-looking box from his backpack. It was the latest design from a luxury brand, the exact one I’d mentioned wanting in a passing comment on my Instagram story a few weeks ago. A flood of memories washed over me. The college version of Jackson was always like this. He remembered every little thing I mentioned offhandedly. He tracked my cycle better than I did. Every time he made me angry, he would write me long, heartfelt apology texts. He’d spend his last dollar on flowers and gifts to win me back. When I was too lazy to eat breakfast, he’d wake up early to bring me something, worried about my stomach. When I was sad and stayed up all night, he’d stay up with me, just listening. I’d once asked him why he didn’t just tell me to go to sleep, and he’d said my feelings came first. His gentleness and devotion were what made me fall for him. They were also what made me forgive him, time and time again, after Chloe came into the picture. “Jax worked so hard to find this bag for you,” Chloe announced suddenly, her voice smug. She clapped him on the shoulder. “We had to check three different stores! In the end, I helped him pick this color. It suits you perfectly, right?” My head snapped up. “You picked it?” Jackson nodded, smiling. “Yeah, Chloe’s always had great taste.” Chloe took that as her cue, draping her arm around Jackson’s neck. “You know it! My taste is impeccable.” Jackson responded by wrapping an arm around her waist, and the two of them shared a laugh, completely at ease. The image was a needle straight to my eye. “Jackson,” my voice trembled. “Do you remember what you said on our first date?” He looked blank. “What?” “You said, ‘Lucy’s gifts have to be picked out by me, and only me, because only I know what she truly loves.’” I threw the gift box at his chest. “What about now?” The box fell to the ground, popping open and revealing the beautiful, expensive handbag inside. “I…” Chloe’s face soured. “What’s that supposed to mean, Lucy? I was just trying to help, and now I’m the bad guy?” “Shut up!” I snapped, cutting her off. “I’m talking to Jackson. This has nothing to do with you.” Jackson frowned. “Lucy, don’t be like that. Chloe’s my friend. At least show her some respect.” “Friend?” I scoffed. “Since Chloe came back, how many times has she dragged you away, saying she ‘missed her old buddy’? The last time we had a date night, you abandoned me in the middle of a restaurant because she called. And now, you let her sleep over at your house. I’ll say it again: if you two get married, don’t send me an invitation. The thought of it makes me sick.” People were starting to stop and stare. “That time, I managed to get us VIP tickets to see Jax’s favorite esports team! All the other guys were there too!” Chloe retorted, her lip trembling. “Jax, I even told you to buy her flowers afterwards! I thought you two had made up!” “The flowers from that night… you picked those out too?” A tremor ran through my entire body. I had been furious that night. It was the first time I’d truly questioned his feelings for me. But Jackson had come back groveling, a huge bouquet of flowers in hand, and spent half the night convincing me he was sorry. And because I knew how much that match meant to him, how much he loved that player, I forgave him. “Well, duh,” Chloe said, preening. “You really think a clueless guy like Jax could pick out something so perfect on his own? Lucy, ever since I got back, I’ve helped him pick out every single one of your gifts.” I stared at Jackson, my world tilting on its axis. “I saw that you liked the things Chloe picked, so I didn’t think much of it,” he mumbled, refusing to meet my eyes. He reached for me. “Lucy, let’s go somewhere private and talk. There are too many people here.” “No need.” I slapped his hand away and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Jackson, you make me sick.” The early winter wind bit at my cheeks, but I couldn’t feel the cold. I just walked, putting one foot in front of the other, moving away from him. Jackson didn’t come after me. 4 I don’t know how long I walked before a gentle voice called out from behind me. “Lucy Su?” I turned. It was Liam Yuan, Jackson’s old college roommate. We’d been in the same student club freshman year and bonded over a shared love for literature. We could have been good friends, but after I started dating Jackson, we both deliberately kept our distance, and eventually, we lost touch completely. “It really is you,” he said, jogging down the steps toward me. “Long time no see.” “I remember you. Jackson’s roommate,” I said, reflexively tying him to Jackson, avoiding his eyes. “What are you doing here?” “I’m a teaching assistant for the economics department now,” he said, his gaze soft. “And you? Back to get some documents?” I nodded, a sudden sting behind my eyes. Liam noticed my distress but didn’t press. He glanced at his watch. “Do you want to grab a coffee?” I hesitated for a moment. “Okay.” “I heard you’re planning to go abroad for your master’s,” he said as soon as we sat down. I was surprised. “How did you know?” “The professors in the department were talking about it,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Professor Zhang was disappointed to see you go. He said you could have easily stayed for the Ph.D. program.” I stared into my cup, stirring the dark liquid. “Some things… require a change of scenery.” Liam didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled a folder from his bag. “I put together some information on a few universities. Considering your research focus, I think these might be a good fit for you.” I opened the folder. It wasn’t just a list of schools. It contained detailed introductions, breakdowns of each economics department’s strengths, information on key professors, and even estimated living costs for each city. “This is… incredibly detailed,” I said, looking up at him. “When did you do all this?” “I started putting it together when I heard you were planning to leave,” he said calmly. “I spent a few years studying overseas, so I figured I might have some useful insights to share.” We talked for a long time. Liam never once mentioned Jackson. He just earnestly analyzed the pros and cons of each school, even suggesting a few programs I’d never considered but were perfectly suited for me. “If you need a letter of recommendation,” he said as we were leaving, “I’d be happy to write one.” I hesitated. “Can I… get your contact information?” Liam pulled a business card from his pocket. “This has my work email and phone number. Feel free to reach out anytime.” He paused. “My name is Liam Yuan.” His manner was polite and restrained, maintaining a perfect, considerate distance. I nodded, not mentioning that I had, of course, remembered his name all along. “Got it.” The sky had darkened by the time we left the coffee shop. “Lucy,” Liam called out suddenly as I was about to walk away. “Whatever you decide to do, remember to live for yourself.” I knew he’d seen it. He’d seen me and Jackson on the quad. “I will,” I whispered, the words nearly lost in the wind. 5 I didn’t rush to leave town. If I left now, I didn’t know when I’d be back. I wandered aimlessly, my feet eventually carrying me to the front of the Economics building. A light was still on in the third-floor lecture hall. That was where Jackson and I first met. It was in our freshman Microeconomics class. Jackson had been late, bursting into the room in a panic and bumping right into me in the front row. He’d fumbled to help me pick up my scattered books, looking up with an apologetic grin. “Hey, sorry about that.” His eyes were so bright then, like they were full of starlight. He told me later he’d noticed me earlier and had bumped into me on purpose, just to have an excuse to talk. I’d laughed and called him a schemer, but he’d turned serious. “Because the first time I saw you, I knew I had to meet you.” I kept walking, finding myself in the small garden behind the library. There was a bench there, our old spot. Jackson used to love reading me the poems he wrote. They were never very good, but his ears would always turn beet red. “Lucy,” he’d said once, suddenly putting down his notebook and taking my hand. “I’m going to give you the best life, I promise.” His palm was warm, his gaze so steady it made me believe every word. Around the corner was the cafeteria. Sophomore year, I had a high fever. Jackson skipped his classes and stood in line for half an hour to buy me my favorite congee. By the time he got it to my dorm, the soup was still piping hot, but he was shivering from the cold. “Eat it while it’s hot,” he’d urged, pressing the container into my hands. “I asked the lady to add extra ginger.” These memories flickered through my mind like a movie reel, each scene as vivid as if it were yesterday. Jackson really had given me his whole heart once. That meticulous care, that all-consuming affection—it wasn’t fake. So when did it all change? It must have been after Chloe returned from abroad. She was Jackson’s high school classmate and had come back last year. The first time we met, she’d slung an arm around his shoulder with an easy familiarity. “Jax! I missed you, man!” Jackson had laughed and playfully punched her arm. “Get off me, you weirdo.” I stood to the side, feeling a prickle of awkwardness. Only then did Jackson seem to remember me. “Oh, this is my girlfriend, Lucy.” “Hey, Lucy!” Chloe had grinned, sticking out a hand. “Jax and I were always like this in high school. Don’t mind us.” I forced a smile and shook her hand. That night, Jackson reassured me. “Chloe’s just really outgoing, that’s her personality. We were super close back in the day. Don’t overthink it.” I nodded, wanting to believe him. But soon, Chloe started appearing more and more. She was always calling Jackson away for “a reunion with the guys,” sometimes even when we were in the middle of a date. “Lucy,” Jackson would say, looking torn, “Chloe says it’s an emergency…” “Go ahead,” I’d always reply, not wanting to seem petty. Last month, we were at a nice restaurant celebrating our anniversary when Chloe called. She’d scored tickets to see his favorite esports team. “It’s tonight!” her voice was shrill with excitement over the phone. “Jax, you have to come! The rest of the guys are already here!” Jackson’s eyes lit up. He looked at me, his hope palpable. I put down my fork. “Go.” “You’re the best, Lucy!” he’d said, kissing my forehead. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise!” That night, I finished our two-person meal alone. When I got home, I saw a message from him. “Chloe is the GOAT! We’re in the front row! [Photo]” In the picture, Chloe was practically plastered to Jackson’s side, flashing a victory sign. I turned off my phone and lay awake all night. The next day, Jackson came back with a huge bouquet of roses and a necklace. “Don’t be mad,” he’d cooed, trying to win me over. “I brought you flowers and a gift.” I should have seen the problem then. But I chose to forgive him. A cold wind made me shiver, pulling me back to the present. I was standing at the main gate of the campus. My phone vibrated. A message from Liam. “Have you thought about it? Do you need me to contact any professors for you?” I took a deep breath and replied, “Thank you. I think I want to apply to the London School of Economics. If you could introduce me to Professor Zhang’s former mentor there, that would be incredible.” After sending the message, I took one last look at the campus, then turned and walked toward the subway station.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393982”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Eight years ago, my husband Brad and his first love Seraphina were caught in a hurricane abroad. Brad survived; Seraphina was declared dead. We built a new life together—until Seraphina returned. To make amends, Brad tricked me into divorce and moved abroad with her, then faked his death to sever ties. I played along, filing his death certificate. The shock killed my frail father-in-law. With no heir, my mother-in-law liquidated the family business—$4 billion—and gave it all to me. When Brad returned, begging his mother to recognize him, her reply was icy: “My son is dead.” 1 I was scrolling online when I came across a user’s post: “Eight years ago, my first love and I were traveling abroad when a hurricane hit. We both thought the other had died. Now, we’ve found each other again. I’m married, but she never moved on, never married anyone else, waiting for me. I know in my heart that I still love her. What should I do?” The comment section exploded, with thousands of replies: “To find each other after eight years? That’s fate! She waited for you for eight whole years. You can’t let her down this time!” “Dude, don’t feel guilty. The fact that you’re even posting this means you already know the answer…” “Here’s a plan for you: trick your wife into a divorce, get a new identity, and move abroad with your first love. Fake your death to get away clean.” … Reading this, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to people’s sense of right and wrong. The man’s story was chillingly similar to Brad’s. I couldn’t help but put myself in his wife’s shoes. I typed out a reply in the comments: “So what about his current wife?” I never expected my simple question to unleash a torrent of ridicule from the other users. The next day, I had all but forgotten about the post. But then, at the dinner table, Brad suddenly made an announcement. “Dad, Mom, Milana… I have something to tell you all. I’ve been accepted into a program with TotalEnergies in France.” “It’s one of the top energy companies in the world. I want to go for a three-year intensive training program. I can learn so much and bring that knowledge back to take our family business to the next level.” My father-in-law’s face beamed with pride. “That’s wonderful news!” “Son, if this is what you want, the whole family will support you. A man needs ambition!” Finally, Brad got to the point. “But…” “The company has a very strict policy. To ensure employees are fully focused, they only recruit unmarried individuals. I don’t meet the criteria…” “If I want to go, Milana and I… we’ll have to get a temporary divorce.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. The post from last night flashed in my mind, and with it, the story of Brad’s past. … My father-in-law saw my reaction and his expression turned serious. “Son, if you’ve truly thought this through, then I fully support you. This is an opportunity to better yourself.” Then, he patted my shoulder. “Milana, don’t you worry. You’ve given so much to this family over the years. Your son and you will be protected.” “After the divorce, I will transfer half of the company’s shares into your name.” Brad panicked. “Dad, we’re family! Is that really necessary?” “I’ll be back eventually, and Milana and I will remarry. We don’t need to do all that, do we?” My sensible father-in-law slammed his hand on the table. “Enough!” “Either you do as I say, or you give up this opportunity!” At his words, Brad’s face darkened. A tiny sliver of hope remained in my heart. I prayed that the post I’d seen hadn’t been written by him. After dinner, while Brad was in the shower, I picked up his phone. I had to know if he was the one who wrote that post. But he’d changed his lock screen password. I tried a few times, but it was no use. When he got out of the shower, he snatched his phone and began typing furtively. A moment later, he posted again, sharing the entire conversation from our dinner table in the comments section of that same thread. His main concern, it was clear, was my father-in-law’s promise to give me fifty percent of the company. The comment section erupted once more: “Are you stupid? He’s your dad. Once you’re settled with your first love and you come clean, who’s he going to side with? You, or the old ball and chain at home?” “Guy above me is right. Stage a big fight with your family. Have them pretend to liquidate the company and give all the money to her. Once you get the shares back, it’ll all be yours in the end!” “And while you’re abroad, your wife becomes a free live-in nurse for your parents. Then, when the time is right, you kick her out with nothing. It’s the perfect plan!” … A wide, ugly smile spread across Brad’s face as he eagerly replied to the users offering him their twisted advice. I created a burner account and left a comment: “You’re plotting against the woman you married. Aren’t you afraid of karma?” My comment was immediately buried under a wave of scorn: “LOL, you only live once. You gotta do what makes you happy!” “What century are you living in, still believing in that true love crap? This guy’s playing it smart. We should all take notes. Bro, we’re waiting for your good news!” … Beside me, Brad, his face alight with excitement, had no idea that I already knew everything. 2 Brad was incredibly eager to get things moving. The very next morning, he took me to City Hall to file for divorce. On the way, he kept whispering sweet nothings in my ear—how we were only separating on paper, how his heart would always be with me. I nodded along, playing the part, but in my mind, his words were nothing but the pathetic whining of a dog. The law required a one-month mandatory waiting period. During that month, Brad was a model husband. He showered me with attention, became more involved at home, as if he was terrified I would change my mind. That’s how marriage works, isn’t it? When one person gives unconditionally, filling the home with love, life feels sweet. For the past eight years, that person had been me. But I knew this current sweetness was a performance. He had his secret agenda, and I was simply playing along. Brad’s sudden change in behavior earned him high praise from my in-laws. “Our son is such a good man, a good husband, and a good father. He knows he’s leaving, and he wants to leave us with the best impression.” “Seeing you two so in love makes us feel better about this ‘fake’ divorce. Three years isn’t that long. No matter how hard it gets, you two just have to hold on.” “After the hardship, a brighter future is waiting.” … A month flew by. When we walked out of City Hall for the second time, our marriage, our so-called “divorce in name only,” was no longer protected by law. He struggled to suppress a triumphant grin, forcing a look of sorrow as he kissed my forehead. “Darling, this divorce is just a formality. Our love won’t change.” “I had no choice. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You understand, right?” I feigned heartbreak, dabbing at my eyes. “Go, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything at home. You just take care of yourself.” With the divorce papers in hand, he couldn’t wait to leave. His mind was already filled with fantasies of a wonderful new life with his first love. That very evening, he and Seraphina were on a flight out of the country. Our whole family went to see him off at the airport, and that’s when I saw her. Seraphina. Brad, afraid I’d get the wrong idea, explained that she had also been accepted into the program and that they were just colleagues traveling together. He specifically told me not to overthink it. Seraphina was tall and striking, with delicate features that bore a passing resemblance to a classic Hollywood starlet. No wonder Brad was willing to abandon his wife, his child, and his perfectly happy life to run away with her. About a week later, Brad’s social media account was updated. The picture was of two marriage certificates. He and Seraphina had already gotten married abroad. “Shoutout to my bros for the advice. With your blessings, I’m going to be truly happy now.” Brad called home every day to check in. And every time, my in-laws would end the call with a sigh, wishing the days would pass faster so our family could be whole again. But I knew this was all just the prelude to his grand finale: his faked death. 3 Sure enough, three months later, the daily phone call from Brad never came. My mother-in-law paced anxiously. “That boy… he promised to call every single day.” “What could have happened…?” My father-in-law waved a dismissive hand. “He’s at a top company. It’s natural he’d be working overtime, learning as much as he can.” I remained silent, my face a blank mask. Inside, I thought, The plan has begun. For a whole week, it was as if Brad had vanished from the face of the earth. Not a single call. My in-laws were beside themselves with worry. I feigned concern, but deep down, I felt nothing. Another week passed. Then, I received an email from France. I read the English on the screen fluently. It was a death notice from TotalEnergies. It stated that due to a difference in the electrical systems between France and our country, Mr. Brad Vance had made a fatal error during an operation and had been electrocuted. They expressed their deepest condolences and promised to buy him the finest burial plot in France, along with a compensation of one million dollars for our family. A million dollars was nothing to a man like Brad. I could tell at a glance that the email wasn’t official. There was no corporate signature, no official domain—just an IP address located in France. Nothing more. But I acted as if my world had collapsed. I translated the contents of the email for my in-laws. They stared at the message from overseas, their faces frozen in disbelief. I wailed, my cries echoing with gut-wrenching grief. “Dad! Mom! Brad was fine when he left! Now he’s never coming back! Oh, God…” “That bastard! How could he leave us? Our baby is so young! He’s going to grow up being called the boy with no father…” My performance was contagious. My mother-in-law collapsed onto the floor, slapping her thighs in despair. “Oh, God! It’s all your fault, you old fool! You’re the one who encouraged him to go abroad! Now look! Our son is gone forever!” “I… I…” My father-in-law’s face turned a deathly shade of purple. The man, nearly sixty, suddenly crumpled to the floor, clutching his chest. His heart condition, dormant for years, had returned with a vengeance. A cold smile played on my lips. Brad, when you were planning your fake death, did you ever stop to think how much it would destroy your parents? I instantly transformed into the strong, capable daughter-in-law. “Mom, stop crying!” I commanded. “Brad is gone, but we two women have to hold this family together!” “Let’s get Dad to the hospital, now! Don’t worry, whether Brad is here or not, I will always be this family’s daughter-in-law!” With that, I helped my father-in-law up and dialed for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, I sent a flurry of emotional texts to Brad’s phone. “Brad, you promised you’d be back in three years. Why did you break your promise…” “You’re gone, and you’ve taken my heart with you…” “I love you, my husband. I can’t accept that you’re dead. Can you come back and see me just one more time?” “It’s my fault. I was foolish to tell your parents the news. Mom is a wreck, and Dad had a heart attack…” “But don’t you worry. In life I was yours, in death I am yours. I will take care of this family for you. From now on, I will be their real daughter!” Outside the emergency room, I opened the social media app again. As I expected, Brad had posted. The picture this time was of two hands, fingers intertwined, radiating happiness. “Bros, the fake death was a success. Finally cut ties with the old ball and chain for good. Now I can be with my true love without a care in the world.” “It came at a cost, though. My mom’s a mess and my dad had a heart attack… but the good news is, my wife is still deeply in love with me. She sent me a bunch of messages saying she’ll be mine in life and death and will take care of my family for me.” Instantly, his chorus of armchair generals chimed in with congratulations. “Sounds like the plan was a total success! Your dad’s sick, but your wife promised to take care of him, so it shouldn’t be a big problem.” “Congrats, man! You’re finally free! Remember to send us an invite to the wedding…” Using my burner account, I left another comment: “Will you ever regret this?” To my surprise, Brad himself replied: “Regret what? I’m too happy to have any regrets!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393981”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I opened my eyes and I was eighteen again. I was in a classroom, a grimy, yellowing box, and a group of boys were using me to settle a bet. “…I’m telling you, for twenty bucks, you could get a feel of Claire. Any takers?” Their laughter was a low, dirty murmur. Finally, they settled on a champion. “Leo, you do it.” Leo’s voice, cool and confident, cut through the noise. “Sure. Why not?” I kept my head down on the desk, my eyes squeezed shut, and waited for his footsteps. 1 Tap. Tap. Tap. Leo’s knuckles rapped against my desk. I feigned a groggy awakening, lifting my head. “What is it?” “You busy after school? Need to talk to you about something.” I studied him. He was a master of feigned indifference, his posture ramrod straight, his expression meticulously casual. He looked so damn respectable. I played along, my own voice flat. “I’m free.” “Cool. Wait for me after the last bell.” He spun on his heel, a perfect, smooth pivot, and sauntered back to his seat. A wave of snickering followed him. I didn’t have to look to know the predatory grins plastered on their faces. Tch. A bunch of assholes. I buried my face in my arms again. I had no idea what kind of cosmic joke this was, being thrown back into my eighteen-year-old life. A life where my stomach was a hollow, aching pit, a void I could only try to fill with tap water from the school fountain. During lunch break, other kids napped because they were tired. I napped because the gnawing hunger made it impossible to do anything else. But sleep wouldn’t come. So I heard everything. The whispers of the boys. Their talk of video games, comics, basketball… and girls. I was one of their favorite topics. The pretty, poor girl. In any school, that combination makes you a target. But for a girl, their bullying took on a darker, more disgusting flavor. They were betting twenty dollars. And ten years ago, I had actually done it. For twenty miserable dollars, I followed Leo into the woods behind the school. He gave me the cash. I unbuttoned my shirt. Then, click. The sound of a camera shutter. The next day, the photo was all over the class group chat. From then on, I didn’t have a name. I was just “Twenty Bucks.” 2 When the final bell rang, Leo was the first one out the door. I grabbed my worn-out backpack. “Let’s go,” he said, waiting for me in the hall. I followed him without a word. We walked off campus, heading toward the woods behind the school. He kept glancing back, as if he was afraid I’d bolt. I clutched my empty stomach. “Hey!” Leo turned. “What? We’re almost there. You’re not backing out, are you?” “No,” I said. “But I’m hungry.” He blinked, then let out an annoyed sigh. “So? What do you want me to do about it?” “I want to eat.” He was impatient, eager to get this over with, but the thought of winning his bet was too tempting. He weighed his options for a few seconds. “Fine. We eat first.” I ordered a plate of fried rice from a greasy spoon diner. Leo paid. The place was cheap and grimy, and he clearly couldn’t bring himself to eat. He just sat there, arms crossed, watching me devour my food. “Christ, Claire,” he said, a look of disgust on his face. “Are you a starving refugee or something?” I ignored him completely. I couldn’t remember the precise feeling of being eighteen and hungry, but I remembered Melissa’s cruelty with perfect clarity. That beautiful woman had slithered into our lives like a disease, bringing her daughter with her and infecting my father. And just like that, I became the family charity case. Melissa had a chilling talent for calculating the bare minimum a person needed to survive. The allowance she gave me was just enough for a couple of bread rolls. Enough to keep me from dying, but not enough to stop the constant, grinding misery of hunger. It drained my energy, made it impossible to focus on my studies. If I couldn’t get into a good college, I wouldn’t be a drain on the family’s resources. All of it would go to her precious daughter. I finally put down my fork, a wave of satisfaction washing over me. “Finished?” Leo stood up. “Let’s go, then.” I reached out and grabbed his arm. He froze. His entire body went rigid, and the heat radiating from his skin could have cooked an egg. Ah, teenage hormones. So damn hot. But his eyes were even hotter. “Claire.” He looked down at me, his voice a low, rough rasp. “You need money, right?” I just smiled. What a stupid question. Of course I needed money. That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? “Come on,” he urged, his voice dropping lower. “To the woods.” I shook my head slowly. My hand slid up his arm, and I closed the distance between us until our bodies were pressed together. “…How about a motel?” I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear. In the dim light of the alley, the glowing neon of the ‘MOTEL’ sign seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Leo swallowed hard. 3 The moment the motel room door clicked shut, Leo’s breathing grew heavy and ragged. He lunged, pinning me against the door, but then he hesitated, reining himself in. Right. He was eighteen. All instinct and no experience. He was a bundle of agitated nerves, but he didn’t know what to do next. “Wanna shower first?” I asked, my voice calm. “You or me?” He snapped back to reality, staring at me with suspicion. He was probably wondering how I could be so composed, so familiar with a scene like this. “You first, then,” I said. He shot me a look of contempt and tossed his backpack at me. “I’ll be quick.” “Take your time,” I said sweetly. The second the bathroom door closed, I unzipped his bag and pulled out the camera. Then, I picked up the motel’s landline and dialed. The number was for a woman I’d seen loitering by the salon downstairs, bored and smoking a cigarette. Her number was taped to the glass door. I have a photographic memory. The call connected. I gave her the room number, hung up, and then went for his wallet. A thick wad of cash. Leo was a rich kid. His father owned the biggest supermarket chain in the county and spoiled him rotten, mostly with money. He had a lot of it. I only took half. The other half would be his payment for services rendered. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Perfect timing. Leo was just stepping out of the bathroom. He emerged, wrapped in a towel. “Why are the lights off?” Silence. The dim lamp by the bed cast long shadows, illuminating a large, human-shaped lump under the covers. Leo’s breathing hitched, his voice trembling when he called out my name. “Claire?” He crept toward the bed, his back a pale, lean line in the half-light. I watched, a predatory smile playing on my lips. His ragged breaths were the only sound in the dark room. He reached out, his hand shaking, and pulled back the covers. A pair of soft, unfamiliar arms snaked around his neck. Leo tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs with the woman I’d called. That’s when I flipped on the main light. CLICK. I took the picture. Leo’s eyes went wide. He was completely, utterly stunned. The woman from downstairs started yelling at me. “What the hell is this? This isn’t what we agreed on!” I held up a hand to quiet her, then dangled the camera in front of Leo, a triumphant grin on my face. The shock finally wore off, replaced by a wave of pure fury. “Claire!” he roared. “That photo just cost you a thousand bucks,” I said, tossing his wallet onto the bed. “I already took my share. The rest is for her. You can settle up.” I turned to the woman. “Get your payment from him.” Then, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked out without a backward glance. Leo scrambled off the bed, trying to come after me. “Stop!” he bellowed, his voice cracking with rage. “Claire, you fucking bitch, you set me up! You can’t just run off!” The woman grabbed him. “Where do you think you’re going? Pay me first!” “Let go of me!” “Not until you pay up!” A dog-eat-dog world. I slammed the door shut behind me, leaving them to it. He deserved it. 4 My first time at eighteen was a miserable existence. I was too young, too naive. A teenage girl with no other way to make money, my body was my only asset. That deal with Leo had bought me a week’s worth of food. It had also cost me my name. The image of my half-naked body was passed around, a permanent trophy in the phones of every boy in my grade. Slips of paper would appear in my desk, cruel, taunting notes asking for my price. Is twenty not enough? How about thirty? Can I just look, no touching? The girls, meanwhile, treated me like a leper. They’d hold their noses when they passed my desk, exchanging knowing, contemptuous looks. My life went from one level of hell to the next. No one laid a hand on me. No one yelled at me. But I was flayed alive by their silent judgment, a thousand times a day. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This time, at twenty-eight, I knew how to play the game. And Leo deserved everything he got. Humming a little tune, I walked home. One thousand dollars. It was enough to get me through the next six months. Enough to get me to the SATs, and then far, far away from this town. 5 Leo was late for school the next day. He looked like a wilted vegetable, all the life drained out of him. I’d heard his parents had been called. The woman from the motel told me everything. Leo had refused to pay her, and they’d caused such a scene that the manager, fearing a bigger incident, had found his student ID and called the school. The school, in turn, called his father. His dad ended up footing the bill. What a foolish boy, letting his pride get the best of him. All he had to do was pay the woman. I couldn’t help but smirk. Leo saw it. The look he gave me was murderous. I turned away with a soft “Hah.” He looked ready to pounce. One of his friends, oblivious, sidled up to him. “Hey, Leo. So, how’d it go last night? Did you score?” Leo finally had an outlet for his rage. “Score your mom!” The friend recoiled. “Whoa, man, what’s your problem?” “Get lost!” Leo roared, kicking over a nearby desk with a violent crash. A wave of shocked gasps filled the room. I didn’t turn around. I just kept twirling my pen, calmly circling key points in my new review book. This was just a small lesson. I had no intention of being called “Twenty Bucks” ever again. Ten years from now, that nickname would have no power over me. The twenty-eight-year-old me was a fortress, immune to the petty wounds of adolescence. I had smoothed over all the rough edges of my past. But not now. Not yet. The eighteen-year-old Claire still cared. 6 After school, Leo cornered me again. This time, I didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. I just raised an eyebrow. “Move, or I start screaming.” “Go ahead and scream!” he sneered, a twisted grin on his face. “Claire, you screwed me over. This isn’t finished.” I tilted my head, a mocking smile on my lips. “What are you going to do? Take me back to the motel?” “…” The color drained from his face, then rushed back in a wave of humiliation. He opened his mouth, then closed it, finally spitting out a single, crude word. “Bitch.” I pulled out the camera. “Give that back!” he snarled. “Who’s a bitch?” I asked sweetly. “…” He was so furious he was speechless, his chest heaving, his face crimson. It was almost funny. Leo just didn’t have thick enough skin. A different kind of guy would have treated that photo as a badge of honor, proof of his manhood. But there’s no sport in bullying the weak. I tossed the camera to him. “Here. You can have it.” He snatched it out of the air and immediately started fumbling with the controls, probably deleting the photo. When he was done, he looked up, his eyes narrowed. “Did you make a copy?” “What do you think?” It was my only leverage. Of course I had a copy. He gritted his teeth. “What do you want?” I beckoned him closer with a single finger. My eighteen-year-old face held the cold, merciless soul of my twenty-eight-year-old self. I let my fangs show and hissed one word at him. “Disappear.” I wanted nothing more to do with him. I had bigger problems to deal with. My stepmother. My stepsister. They were the real obstacles in my path. I needed to save my energy for them. They had already ruined my life once. I wouldn’t let it happen a second time. And Leo? He was just a footnote. 7 I stopped wolfing down my food at dinner. Melissa noticed the change almost immediately. Before, dinner was the only real meal I got all day, and I ate like I was trying to choke myself. But now that I was eating three meals a day, I could be more composed. Melissa started watching me, her eyes filled with suspicion. But she had no proof. She searched my room, turning over my backpack, my pillow, my mattress… but she found nothing. I’d already stashed the thousand dollars under her own daughter’s bed. A place she would never think to look. “Don’t get too comfortable,” Amber, my stepsister, said with a smug smile. “You can’t hide it forever. My mom will figure you out.” She spoke with absolute certainty. “We know you got money from somewhere, Claire.” I kept my head down, pretending to read, pretending I couldn’t hear her. Amber sat on her bed, her voice dripping with condescending advice. “Why bother studying so hard? Even if you get into a good college, my mom will never let you go.” I finally looked up at her. “Don’t waste your energy,” she said. Her face wore that familiar, lofty expression of mockery, laughing at my futile efforts, knowing she could sever my lifeline and crush my dreams without lifting a finger. “This is my house,” I said, my voice low and steady. Amber was taken aback, clearly not expecting me to talk back. But she recovered quickly, her lips curling into a soft smile. “And?” She leaned forward. “Claire, sooner or later, I’m going to throw you out of it.” I stared at her, my gaze as cold as ice. “Want to bet?” she challenged. “Let’s see whose house this really is.” As if on cue, the door swung open. My father stood there. “Brought you girls a late-night snack,” he announced, holding up a small bag. “Sesame balls. Amber, share them with Claire.” “Okay!” Amber chirped, taking the bag from his hand and beaming up at him. “Thanks, Dad.” My father ruffled her hair, then his gaze fell on me. “Still studying? Don’t stay up too late.” “I know,” I replied. The door closed. Amber took a bite of a sesame ball and held it out. “Want one?” Before I could answer, she laughed. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re allergic to sesame.” She looked so damn pleased with herself. 8 I soon found out what Amber meant by her mother’s “methods.” On Monday morning, during our homeroom meeting, Melissa burst into the classroom. She marched right up to me, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Claire, why did you steal money from the house? What kind of shameful things are you spending it on?” “You can’t be doing bad things, Claire,” she cried, her voice thick with fake anguish. “If you need something, just ask me! I’ll buy it for you! But you can’t steal!” Every eye in the room was on me. My face was a cold mask. “I didn’t take anything.” “I don’t believe you!” Melissa started ransacking my desk, sweeping everything onto the floor in a clattering mess. “Fine, deny it all you want. When I find the money, let’s see what you have to say for yourself!” I understood then. She thought I’d hidden the money at school. But she found nothing. Our teacher, Mr. Harrison, finally recovered from his shock and stepped in. “Mrs. Miller, please, let’s discuss this in my office. We shouldn’t disrupt the class.” He gestured for us to follow. “Come, let’s go to my office. Claire, you too.” In the office, Melissa put on a spectacular show, sobbing as if her heart was breaking. “Mr. Harrison, I’m at my wit’s end. I would never have come to the school if I had any other choice.” “It’s just… Claire is so disobedient.” “What exactly happened?” Mr. Harrison asked. “Five hundred dollars is missing from my wallet. Claire was the only one who went into my room.” Mr. Harrison looked at me. “Claire?” “I didn’t take it,” I said flatly. “I’m not the only other person in the house.” “Are you trying to blame Amber?” Melissa shrieked. “Claire, Amber is my daughter! I’ve watched her grow up, I know her character. She would never do something like that.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Are you sure?” My laugh seemed to ignite her rage. A venomous glint appeared in her eyes, though her voice remained pitiful. “Claire, I know your mother died when you were young, and your father is often away. You’re starved for attention, I understand. But no matter how much you need money, you cannot steal. What would your mother think?” My expression hardened instantly. She had no right to mention my mother. My kind, beautiful mother, who was worth more than Melissa’s entire being. I stood up straight. “If my mother knew you were framing me like this, she’d climb out of her grave and tear you to pieces, you bitch.” The office fell silent. Mr. Harrison stared at me, shocked that such a word could come from his usually quiet, well-behaved student. Melissa completely lost it, lunging at me. “Calm down, Mrs. Miller, please!” Mr. Harrison blocked her, then turned to me, his voice stern. “Claire, apologize. Now.” Apologize? To her? Not in a million years. “Disgusting,” I muttered. The office dissolved into chaos. I just turned and walked out. Leo was leaning against the wall outside. I walked past him, giving him a sideways glance but not breaking my stride. “Claire,” he called after me. “The money for your review books was from me, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell them?” I turned back. His eyes were filled with pity. He was pitying me. I didn’t want it. “None of your damn business,” I said. The look on his face was priceless, a kaleidoscope of shock and offense. 9 When I got home that night, my bed was a disaster. Melissa had given it a bath. The mattress and blankets were a sodden, disgusting heap on the floor. Amber was gloating. “You dared to curse at my mom. This is just a warning, Claire. Dad’s out of town for a week. Let’s see who you’re going to run crying to now.” I paid her no mind. Even if my father were home, I wouldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. When I told him I was always hungry, he asked Melissa about it. She explained it was for my own good. “Teenage girls put on weight so easily, and it’s hard to lose it.” “Claire is so pretty, it would be a shame if she got fat. Look at Amber, I don’t let her eat too much either.” And my father believed her. Then there was my period. I had no money for pads, so I’d fold layers of toilet paper, but the blood would always soak through to my pants. I washed them by hand every single day. Melissa would ask, in her concerned voice, “Does Claire have some sort of cleanliness obsession?” My father, confused, would ask, “What’s going on?” My hands would be submerged in soapy water as I stared at Melissa. She was so confident, so sure that I would never be able to speak to a man—even my own father—about the needs of my body. So I became the girl with the obsession. Picky, silent, and increasingly strange. They dismantled me piece by piece. And all I could do was endure it. I saved every penny I could, enduring the hunger so I could afford the pads I desperately needed. My body seemed to mock me; despite being malnourished, my period was always heavy, always on time. The irony was not lost on me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393980”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d been married to the man I’d secretly crushed on since I was a teenager for two years, and he’d never once touched me. I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why. Until the day I overheard him outside his office. “The only one I love is Dahlia. I only married her for the business merger.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. It all made sense now. I immediately sent him the divorce papers. But he insisted on seeing me one last time. On his way to meet me, he got into a car accident. When he woke up, he had amnesia. His memory was stuck back in high school. He saw the wedding ring on my finger, his handsome face falling. “You’re married?” he asked, his voice laced with disappointment. “…” Later, I stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw his latest post. “My wife wants to divorce me. How do I save our marriage?” Top comment: “Just have lots and lots of sex.” Second comment: “Or you could fake amnesia, then have lots and lots of sex.” 1 After my shower, I slipped into the “battle armor” my best friend had given me. “Trust me,” she’d said, “no man can resist you in this.” Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the bathroom and into Milo Brown’s bedroom. Ever since we got married two years ago, he’d moved into the guest room. He claimed he was too busy with work, that he was out entertaining clients until all hours and didn’t want the smell of alcohol to bother me. I’d thought he was being a gentleman. Now I realized we’d just been sleeping in separate rooms for two years. He’d buy me little trinkets and gifts to make up for not spending time with me. But seeing his gorgeous face and that incredible body every day… how was I supposed to just sit still? Milo opened the door, and the hand rubbing a towel through his wet hair paused. He raised an eyebrow. Droplets of water traced paths down the sharp ravines of his abs, disappearing into the crisp white towel slung low on his hips. It clung to him perfectly, outlining everything. Why is that towel so well-behaved? I thought. Why won’t it just fall off? I swallowed hard, a bold idea taking root. “Need something?” he asked. His words were always concise, his tone perpetually lukewarm. Remembering my mission, I cut to the chase. “I want to sleep with you.” No matter what excuse he came up with, I was determined to sleep in his bed tonight. Besides, the battle armor was on. There was no way he could resist. Milo’s eyes roamed over my “outfit.” He raised an eyebrow again, but his expression remained blank. “Okay.” He was surprisingly agreeable tonight. I was a little shocked. I’d tried every trick in the book before, and he’d never budged. I lay down on his bed, my heart pounding as he moved closer. His warm breath ghosted across my ear. But the next second… “Go to sleep.” He tucked the covers around me. The mattress dipped beside me as he lay down, his back to me. The guest room was peaceful. Serene. So this was just “sleeping.” Not the “sleeping together” I had in mind. A wave of frustration washed over me. He always did this. Every time I came to him, he would just lie beside me and sleep. He never crossed the line. I couldn’t help but question myself. Was I not attractive to him? Was my body not good enough? Was I ugly? I was throwing myself at him, and he was still completely unmoved. I couldn’t understand it. Eventually, I chalked it up to us having no emotional foundation. We’d been married two years ago for a business alliance, a merger between our families. We’d gotten married less than ten days after our first meeting. We knew nothing about each other. No emotional connection whatsoever. I knew that’s what he thought of me. But for me, this marriage was a dream come true. I’d had a massive crush on him since high school. That aloof, unapproachable aura, that cool demeanor, that devastatingly handsome face… the impression he made on my teenage heart had lasted for years. I’d met plenty of men since, but none of them gave me the same feeling. My plan had been to finish my degree abroad, come back, and apply for a job at his company. But the very first day I returned, my mother dragged me to a blind date. I never imagined the blind date would be him. I agreed on the spot. But I never could have predicted that this would be our married life. A bitter taste filled my mouth. The sadness and frustration swirled inside me. I looked at the man beside me, his breathing even and steady, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved him. “I’m right here next to you, and all you want to do is sleep?” I yelled. “Am I that unattractive to you? Do you hate me that much?” Jolted awake, he stared at me, his eyes bleary with sleep. When he finally processed my words, he just… said nothing. That same infuriating, detached look. I pressed on. “We’ve been married for two years, and you’ve never touched me! If you hate me so much, why did you agree to this marriage in the first place?” “It was just for the benefit of our companies, right?” “Ha, of course. Milo Brown only cares about his career. Why would he give a damn about what some insignificant person like me thinks?” His mouth opened, but no words came out. I laughed, a cold, empty sound. “There are plenty of men out there. Why should I waste my time on you?” He frowned, his voice raspy. “You’re not insignificant.” “And I didn’t mean it like that.” I stared at him, my face a blank mask. “Whatever.” With that, I stormed out of his room. “At this time of night, shouldn’t you two be tearing each other’s clothes off? What are you doing here?” I slumped into my best friend Mia’s apartment, my shoulders drooping. I pouted. “What do you think?” “Failed again?” Mia pursed her lips. “Don’t worry about it. There are so many men in the world. Who needs him and his lack of passion?” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pushed me onto the sofa, and returned from the kitchen with an armful of snacks. I bit into a potato chip with a satisfying crunch. A daring thought began to sprout in my mind. “What if… he has someone else? Is that why he won’t touch me?” I said it with conviction. “That has to be it!” Mia handed me a soda. “Do you have anyone in mind?” I shook my head. I had no idea who he could possibly like. His reputation for being clean and self-disciplined was famous, splashed across every media outlet. Combined with his looks and physique, he’d been voted #1 on the “Financial World’s Most Eligible” list last year. And going all the way back to high school, there were never any rumors about him and a girl. Mia and I looked at each other, frowning. Almost at the same time, we blurted it out. “Is he gay?” I blinked, stroking my chin in disbelief. Mia shook her head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t give off that vibe, but…” She trailed off, clearing her throat. “But if it’s not that, I can’t think of any other reason.” I wracked my brain. Loves cleanliness, borderline OCD. Compulsive. No ex-girlfriends or romantic scandals. And… won’t touch me. It was hard not to suspect he was gay. Unable to figure it out, I posted online: My husband and I have been married for two years, and he’s never touched me. He has no female friends, no romantic rumors, not even an ex-girlfriend. Help me figure out why. Top comment: Is he obsessed with cleanliness? Like, extremely so? Does he wear white socks? I replied: Yes, he’s a clean freak. He has OCD. And all his socks are white. Top comment: Definitely gay. Second comment: No ex-girlfriend means he has an ex-boyfriend, duh~ I frowned. The internet’s consensus matched my own. To test this theory, I decided to gather evidence. If he really was gay, I would divorce him! I was standing outside Milo’s office, my hand raised to knock. “Is it Dahlia you love, or your current wife?” A familiar voice drifted through the door. “The only one I love is Dahlia. I only married her for the money.” In that instant, the sound of my heart shattering was deafening. I pulled my hand back from the door. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by an airtight net. I couldn’t breathe. So, not gay. He wouldn’t touch me simply because he didn’t like me. The one he loved was a woman named Dahlia. I’d never even heard that name in our social circle, which meant Milo had protected her very, very well. I immediately found a lawyer, drafted a divorce agreement, and sent it to him with a message: “I’ve already signed. There’s no reason for us to continue this.” I expected him to sign it right away. Instead, I got a reply: “Can we meet and talk?” I could almost hear his voice, see his expression—that same cool, detached manner. “My time is valuable. You have ten minutes.” I sighed, giving in one last time. But after two hours, he still hadn’t shown up. Just as I was about to leave, I got a call from the hospital. “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Brown, Milo Brown’s wife?” “He’s been in a car accident. He’s awake now, but he doesn’t remember anything.” “You’re married?” Those beautiful eyes flickered between my wedding ring and my face. I nodded. For some reason, a look of disappointment crossed his handsome face. “When?” “Two years ago.” “So… I didn’t do anything?” I raised an eyebrow, a lie forming on my lips. “You… you came to the reception.” “That’s it?” “Yeah. What else did you want to do?” He didn’t answer, looking dejected. I inwardly smirked. Finally, I had the upper hand. After all, when we got married, there was a reception. He just happened to be the groom. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” I said, tilting my head. “You’ll take me? Won’t your husband get jealous?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes I’d never seen before. I blinked, feeling a little guilty. “Nah, he works at the international headquarters. He never bothers with me.” “Wow, what kind of guy is he?” he said, sounding indignant on my behalf. But there was a hint of glee in his expression. On the way, he peppered me with questions about me and my “husband.” “Why did you marry him?” “Do you love him?” “You guys don’t see each other often?” “…” He was usually so quiet. Amnesia had made him chatty. It wasn’t until I brought him back to our house that he realized something was off. “This is your place?” “Why did you bring me here?” Before I could answer, he saw the enormous wedding portrait hanging in the center of the living room. He looked at me, confused. “Why is there a wedding photo of us?” I quickly invented a reason. “Because… because you’re my… lover.” “I’m keeping you.” He pointed at himself in disbelief, then seemed to accept it. “Well, if it’s you, I guess being the other man is understandable.” I struggled to hold back a laugh. He suddenly got a serious look on his face, and I wasn’t sure what he was about to say. Cold sweat trickled down my back. Then, he said with a playful smirk: “Your husband is pretty generous, letting me take wedding photos with you and hang them in your living room.” I nodded, dying of laughter on the inside. When had the great Milo Brown ever been so talkative and so… ridiculous? The next second, he didn’t disappoint. “So, am I sleeping with you tonight? Do you need my… services?” A text from Mia popped up: Did he sign? Do you need me to find you a better lawyer? I took a deep breath, looked into his earnest eyes, and, as if possessed, nodded. “Of course.” I hadn’t heard him say anything like that in the past two years. Just a little teasing, and my heart was already fluttering like a trapped bird. Pathetic. I glanced at the bandage on his head and had a sudden pang of conscience. “No services tonight. We’ll wait until you’re better.” “Then I’ll try to get better quickly!” I choked on the orange juice I was drinking. This amnesiac version of him was surprisingly bold. That night, at Mia’s. “He didn’t sign. And he has amnesia. I’m telling him he’s my kept man now.” “Pffft-hahahaha! You go, girl! That’s brilliant!” Mia burst out laughing, then gave me a suggestive look, biting her lip. “So, when he’s all healed up, you two can get down to some… strenuous exercise~” A slow smile spread across my face. “I’m going to get back every bit of what I suffered these past two years. Especially since he has someone else in his heart!” Mia’s expression turned serious. “He has someone else?” I nodded and told her what I’d overheard. Mia frowned, her words a little hesitant. “That name… Dahlia… it sounds really familiar.” “But I can’t remember where I’ve heard it.” I patted her shoulder. “It’s fine. Just tell me whenever you remember.” “Once Milo is better, I’m definitely getting my revenge!” I didn’t care if he hated me when his memory came back. If he had someone else, he never should have agreed to the marriage in the first place. And he’d agreed so quickly, it had even made me think he might be interested in me. Anyway, we weren’t divorced yet. It was his duty as a husband to perform. I fumed silently, Milo’s perfect body flashing in my mind. “Alright, alright, my new nail gels are here. Let me give you a new manicure.” Mia comforted me. I nodded, pushing the thoughts away. She applied long nail extensions. I rarely got my nails done, so they felt a little strange. A mosquito bit me on the neck. It was a small bite, but incredibly itchy. I used the new nail to scratch it, and it was surprisingly effective. By the time the itching stopped, I had a large red patch on my neck. A few angry red lines were clearly visible. When I got home that night, Milo was shirtless in the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity. Those abs looked delicious… I mean, the food looked delicious. Hearing my footsteps, he turned with a bright, excited smile. “You’re back!” But the moment his eyes landed on the red marks on my neck, his expression fell. He looked like a golden retriever who’d just been denied a treat. I’d had a long day with Mia and was exhausted. I took a bite of the food he’d made and gave him a thumbs-up. “Delicious!” “I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to bed. You can eat by yourself.” The “golden retriever’s” eyes grew even dimmer. If he had a tail, it would be drooping sadly. But I ignored him. I was genuinely tired. And my plan was just to enjoy him, not to give him my heart again. The whole “Dahlia” thing wasn’t over yet. Later that night, a knock on the door. “It’s not locked. Come in.” The handle turned, and Milo slowly pushed the door open and walked in. “I’m in here,” I called out lazily from the bathtub, enjoying a hot soak. Besides, it was my own house. No need to lock the bathroom door. So when Milo turned at the sound of my voice, his eyes met mine as I lay in the tub. Those beautiful eyes instantly lit up, his pupils dilating. The look he gave me was… hot. “Need something?” I mimicked his usual cool, detached tone. He blinked, his gaze dropping to my exposed collarbone and neck. “No, just… heard you were tired. Came to check on you.” His voice was a little hoarse, dry. A faint smell of tobacco drifted towards me. I raised an eyebrow. “You smoked?” “Yeah.” He only ever smoked when he was stressed with work. What was it today? I wagged my index finger at him. “Don’t do that again. It’s bad for you, especially with the injury on your head.” He smiled, agreeing readily. “Okay~” The “tail” seemed to be wagging again. The water in the tub was getting cold, but Milo still didn’t leave. I smirked, a wicked idea forming. “Not leaving? Are you planning to carry me out?” A blush spread across his ears. After a moment, he looked at me, his eyes burning. “Okay.” Splash. He lifted me out of the tub and carried me to the bed. He worked out regularly, so he was strong. The veins that popped out on his arms as he carried me only added to his sex appeal. He immediately covered me with the duvet. “Don’t catch a cold.” I had to admit, the amnesia made him quite thoughtful. I patted the space next to me on the bed. “Come on, sleep with me.” “Okay.” The joy in his eyes was impossible to hide. He was very well-behaved when he lay down next to me, but it was different from our usual “sleeping.” He placed my hand on his abs. “This is part of my ‘service.’ I’m injured, so I can’t do much. You’ll have to make do with this for now, okay?” I suppressed my excitement, feeling the hard muscles under my hand. “Okay.” Amnesia wasn’t a good thing for him, but for me, it was fantastic. Before, our “sleeping” sessions were filled with my resentment. But this time, I was calm. But in the middle of the night, I started running a fever. My body was burning up, and I felt weak. My head was foggy. “You have a fever?” He leaned over, placing his hand on my forehead. I frowned, pushing him away. “It’s nothing. Go to sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.” He got up and left the room. I was too tired to open my eyes and see where he went. A moment later, he returned. His thumb pressed against my lips, his voice a gentle coaxing. “Come on, be good. Take some medicine, and you’ll feel better.” “You can’t wait until morning.” I turned my head away, ignoring him. His body tensed, and he didn’t press me further. …

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393979”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel