1 The headline blasted across every screen, a push notification that shattered my quiet world: A-LIST STAR’S LOST ID LEADS TO SECRET MARRIAGE. That’s how I found out Julian Wilder had forgotten he’d married me three years ago. The internet, in its infinite and terrifying power, launched a manhunt. Within hours, they had unearthed me, a single mother raising my little boy, Leo, in obscurity. Then, Julian himself tagged me in a public post: @VictoriaHollister I get the fan enthusiasm, truly. But maybe we could schedule a time to get this marriage annulled? Let me know. I replied: Fine. But we scheduled the appointment three times, and three times, Julian was a no-show. The first time, his assistant called. “An explosion scene on set ran late. Julian’s so sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.” The second time, his agent texted me. “Julian’s been hospitalized with a sudden high fever. We’ll be in touch.” The third time, it was my son, Leo, who showed me the news on his tablet. “Mommy, Daddy was in a car crash. He hit his head again.” … Before the fame, before the sold-out stadiums and screaming fans, we had been a secret. In the breathless innocence of our youth, he had dragged me to City Hall. His eyes had shone brighter than any star in the night sky. “This little book,” he’d said, his voice thick with a certainty that felt like it could bend the world to his will, “it ties us together. Not even God can tear us apart now.” He’d tipped my chin up, a roguish grin spreading across his face as if he’d just conquered the world. “And you’re mine in the next life, too.” But that very day, the car crash had stolen me from him. His family, who had always disapproved of us, seized the opportunity. They scrubbed every trace of my existence from his life, erasing me so completely it was as if I’d never been there at all. So when the news broke, I wasn’t surprised. This had his family’s fingerprints all over it. With Julian’s memory a blank slate, they could write whatever narrative they wanted, couldn’t they? They painted me as a deranged, obsessed fan who’d found his lost ID and gone on a psychotic spree at City Hall. It was a perfectly plausible, even entertaining, story. I stared at the blurry screenshot of the marriage certificate on the trending page. My driver’s license number was circled and magnified. The internet did the rest. A few hours later, the address of my small rental apartment and a haggard-looking photo of me with Leo were plastered all over social media. I’d found out I was pregnant after Julian lost his memory. Leo was two and a half now, and he looked just like me. No one would ever suspect he was Julian Wilder’s son. Not even Julian himself. @VictoriaHollister I get the fan enthusiasm, truly. But maybe we could schedule a time to get this marriage annulled? Let me know. The world was watching, waiting for the tearful, desperate pleas of a scorned woman. My DMs flooded with over 99+ messages of pure venom. They called me delusional. They called me a low-life, a nobody punching leagues above her weight. For the past three years, I’d watched him. I’d seen the breakout roles that catapulted him from a reckless boy in a foreign city to the untouchable “god” he was now. At his level, a wife and a child were liabilities, not assets. And after three years, he still hadn’t remembered. I’d given up hope a long time ago. He would probably never remember me. Never remember the four sweet, tangled years we’d lived together. I stared at the screen for five minutes, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then I typed one word: Fine. My heart had died three years ago. It was long past time for a burial. 2 The truth is, Julian wasn’t the first Wilder brother I knew. I met his older brother, Sebastian, first. I was the real heiress, swapped at birth, and at seventeen I was finally brought back to my wealthy parents’ home. I was a country girl, a hick who knew nothing but how to study. I was oil to the water of the polished young men and women of high society. To make matters worse, there was an old family agreement that I was to marry Sebastian Wilder. Everyone mocked me for it, the girl from nowhere who was supposed to marry the most eligible bachelor in the city. But Sebastian, he sought me out in private. “I intend to honor our families’ agreement,” he’d told me, his voice a low, steady comfort. “Focus on your SATs. Get a good score, and you can come study in the States with me.” In that world of casual cruelty, I didn’t have a single friend. His words were a lifeline. Even my own parents were ashamed of me, refusing to publicly acknowledge my identity. The “fake” heiress, the girl who had taken my place, used the opportunity to spread rumors at school. She told everyone I was the daughter of their housekeeper. My parents didn’t deny it. The entire school believed I was a charity case, a poor girl on scholarship. They isolated me, shunned me, whispered behind my back. “I’m not the housekeeper’s daughter,” I tried to explain. “I’m the real Lockwood heiress. Isabelle is the fake one.” A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom and slapped me, hard. “A housekeeper’s daughter playing princess? Isabelle doesn’t even bother to argue with a clown like you, but that doesn’t mean no one will put you in your place.” The leader grabbed my hair, trying to force me to my knees. “Take a good look at yourself. Do you really think you’re worthy?” I went to my teacher, my face red and swollen. She looked at me with cold dismissal. “Why do they only bully you, and not others? You should start by looking for the problem within yourself. And stop pretending to be a Lockwood. That family is kind enough to pay for your education. You should be more grateful.” In those days, I spent my nights drowning in a silent despair. And in between the waves of sadness, I memorized vocabulary for the SATs. I had to save myself. I had to escape. My score was good enough. Sebastian flew back personally to speak with my parents. He was taking me with him. They agreed. And so, it was by following Sebastian Wilder to a new country that I met Julian. 3 In the States, Sebastian rented a quiet, one-bedroom apartment for me near the school. Whenever he visited, his questions were always the same, a gentle, protective mantra: “Do you have enough money?” “Are you keeping up with your classes?” “Is anyone bothering you?” “You have to tell me if you’re in any trouble.” Sebastian was five years older than me. I was starting high school; he was finishing his university degree. He was like a perfect older brother, always maintaining a respectful distance, never crossing a line. One evening, as he stood on my small balcony watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, he laid everything out on the table. His voice was soft, but clear. “I brought you here to see a bigger world, Victoria. Not to chain you to some old promise. They called you a hick, so you should live a life so dazzling it blinds them. As for our family agreement… in my eyes, it’s a responsibility I must handle with care, not a matter of the heart. Do you understand what I mean?” I understood. He didn’t love me. He would never marry me. But I was still grateful. He was the one who had pulled me from the mud, given me a wider sky and the wings to fly in it. He was a gentleman, and my savior. I respected his decision. I just never expected his brother, Julian, to come crashing into my life. Julian was a hurricane, a force of nature that tore through the long, lonely quiet of my life abroad, leaving chaos and a strange, thrilling warmth in his wake. We lived together for four years. 4 It all started because I could cook. Like, really cook. The kind of soul-warming, classic comfort food that feels like a hug from the inside out. I remember it was a weekend, and a relentless rain was hammering against the windows. A knock echoed through the small apartment. I opened the door to a figure in a baseball cap, pulled low to shadow a face that was far too handsome to be left unconcealed. His arm was in a cast. When he looked up, his eyes were wild and restless, like a rain-soaked wolf, starved and impatient. “My brother said you’re a hell of a cook,” he announced, not asked. “I’m starving. I need a real meal. Something like… a perfect roast chicken. And that incredible four-cheese mac and cheese you make.” “Who’s your brother?” I asked. “Sebastian Wilder. My actual, blood-related brother.” Before I could even process it, the drenched figure had squeezed past me, storming into my kitchen and flinging open cabinets and pot lids like a one-man raiding party. Finding nothing, he turned to me with a desperate, pleading look that made it clear he wasn’t leaving until he was fed. I called Sebastian to verify. He sighed on the other end of the line, a note of weary amusement in his voice. “So that’s where he went. He snuck out of the hospital. I’m on my way to get him now.” By the time Sebastian arrived, dinner was ready. Julian didn’t say a word, just grabbed a fork and devoured the food like a man starved for weeks. He shoved forkfuls of steaming food into his mouth, hissing through his teeth at the heat but never stopping. The entire plate of chicken vanished, and he scraped the casserole dish clean. Full and satisfied, he slapped his damp hat back on his head and obediently followed Sebastian out the door. But not before snatching my phone to add himself on a messaging app. That night, a message popped up with his first demand: [Tomorrow. Lasagna.] After he was discharged from the hospital, he insisted on moving in with me. We were the same age but went to different schools. His was an hour’s drive from my apartment, but for a good meal, Julian would brave any storm. He was domineering and infuriating, but he was also the one who, on nights when I was afraid of the dark, would deliberately make noise in the living room and mock me gently. “What’s there to be scared of when you’ve got me here?” He was even the one who, when I got my period, would disguise himself like a ninja, with only his eyes showing, to go buy me pads from the store, only to come back and grumble, “That was so humiliating.” Of course, most of the time, he was just a pain. When I wanted to read quietly, he’d be in the living room, controller in hand, waging epic digital wars with guttural yells. Whenever I finished cooking, there was always a shadow at my elbow, ready to snatch the best pieces, eating with a ferocious and yet deeply satisfying gusto. Across countless meals and changing seasons, a young man and a young woman sharing a small space… the lines were bound to blur. Until one day, Sebastian suddenly changed his mind. He brought up the family agreement again. “The engagement,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, “is back on. Tomorrow, you’re coming back with me. After the engagement party, you can return to finish your studies.” 5 Julian’s agent contacted me soon after. She was a powerhouse, a sharp, no-nonsense woman who had single-handedly orchestrated his rise to stardom. “What time works for you?” she asked, her voice brisk over the phone. I closed my eyes, fighting to keep my own voice steady. “I’m free anytime. It depends on Julian’s schedule.” “Let’s say next Wednesday, nine a.m., then. Meet at the entrance to City Hall. And… would you be comfortable with the press being there? This whole situation has been a major blow to Julian’s image. We’d like to livestream the entire proceeding, and we were hoping you could make a public apology for the harm you’ve caused. To clear his name.” Clear his name. His innocence had been lost to me on a couch in a foreign country when we were eighteen. He’d been the eager one, a willing participant, his face flushed with a nervous excitement that matched my own. He’d cupped my face in his hands as we watched some cheesy romance film, the atmosphere growing thick and hot until he finally whispered, “Should we? Are you scared?” And I’d whispered back, “The only thing I’m scared of is you being a coward.” Years later, his agent was asking me to give him his innocence back. I wanted to say, Sorry, no returns or exchanges. We have a two-and-a-half-year-old receipt for that transaction, and we explored every possible position. Silence stretched over the line. The agent’s voice sharpened, taking on a threatening edge. “Ms. Hollister, I’ve done my research on you. You were the daughter of the Lockwood family’s housekeeper, taken in on their charity. You pretended to be their real daughter at that private school until you couldn’t keep up the lie and dropped out in your sophomore year. You didn’t even finish high school. We’re being generous by not pressing charges. I suggest you take this opportunity to cooperate and offer a sincere apology.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I understand. Next Wednesday. I’ll be at City Hall, in front of the cameras, and I will personally apologize to Julian Wilder for finding his ID and ruining his good name.” “I’ll see you then,” she said, and hung up. Leo tugged at the leg of my pants. “Mommy, why are you crying?” I wiped at my eyes, surprised to find them wet. A real tear. I forced a smile and scooped him into my arms. “It’s nothing, sweetie. The wind just blew something in my eye.” 6 I thought I wouldn’t see Julian until next Wednesday. But in the dead of night, as I was deep in a restless sleep, I heard a soft knocking at the door. I grabbed a baseball bat and crept to the entryway, peering at the digital peephole camera. A man stood outside, shrouded in a black hoodie and a black mask, with only his eyes visible. But I knew those eyes. I would know them if he were reduced to ash. Julian. How did he find me? And what was he doing here at three-thirty in the morning, skulking like a thief? After a long moment of hesitation, I opened the door. I feigned ignorance. “Hello? Can I help you?” He pulled his mask down for a fleeting second. “It’s me. Julian Wilder.” He quickly pulled it back up. “Just a couple of questions, then I’ll go. My brother said we’ve never met. That you just… found my ID and scammed the system. But something about it just doesn’t feel right.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I just had to come and ask you myself. Are you really just some deranged fan who found my ID and decided to marry me?” My gaze fell to his feet. He was wearing a pair of old sneakers, the laces frayed and worn. I’d seen them in countless paparazzi shots. The anti-fans always mocked him for it. “Can’t he afford new shoes?” “Why do you like those shoes so much?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. “Huh?” He looked down, a small, self-deprecating laugh escaping him. “Oh, these? They’re just comfortable. What, you think there’s some dramatic backstory? A gift from a long-lost love I can’t bear to part with? It’s not that deep. A shoe either fits or it doesn’t. And these just… fit.” The silence in the entryway felt heavy, suffocating. I was dangerously close to tears. He’d lost the memories, but his body still remembered the comfort of the shoes I bought for him. Suddenly, two fingers were under my chin, tilting my face up. “You still haven’t answered my question,” Julian murmured, his eyes boring into mine. “Are you just a fan?” Forced to meet his gaze, to look at that unfairly handsome face, a wave of grief washed over me. “Why are you asking? Did you… remember something?” He was too sharp, instantly seizing on the key word. “So, I am supposed to remember something?” His eyes narrowed, searching my face, desperate for a clue, a crack in my composure. I slapped his hand away. “No. I’m just a fan, like you said. You’ve asked your questions. You should go.” I tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his foot. “Do you have anything to eat? I’m kind of starving. I just drove five hours straight from the film set, and I have to drive five hours back. I’m worried my blood sugar will crash. It’s not safe to drive like that.” 7 Just like old times, he squeezed past me before I could say no. “I don’t have anything,” I said flatly. Julian was quiet for a moment, then a slow, knowing smile spread across his face, hidden mostly by the mask. “You’re not a fan.” “What?” “No real fan would ever turn down a request from their idol. You didn’t ask for an autograph. You didn’t whip out your phone for a selfie. A true ‘deranged fan’ wouldn’t look at me with that… dead-inside expression. Yeah,” he nodded to himself, “I was right to come here.” As if on cue, his stomach let out a loud, pathetic gurgle. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a theatrical helplessness. “See? I’m really hungry. Can’t you just whip something up?” I ended up making him a bowl of rich tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches on the side—the ultimate comfort meal. But just as Julian picked up his sandwich, before he could take a single bite, Sebastian arrived. Julian looked up, stunned. “Seb? What are you doing here?” “I should be asking you that,” Sebastian’s voice was tight with frustration. “Your assistant is going crazy. He called me in a panic when he couldn’t find you anywhere.” “Then how did you find me?” “Phone tracking. What are you doing here, Julian?” Julian pointed a thumb at me. “Just wanted to see her for myself. I don’t know, man. I just feel like… I knew her before.” Sebastian’s gaze flickered to me for a cold, hard second before he answered, his tone firm and absolute. “You don’t know her. Let’s go. Home.” Julian had no choice but to follow, grumbling as he went. “Don’t know her, fine. Why are you so serious about it? She made me food, Seb. I haven’t even had one bite. Can’t I just eat first?” “Is there a shortage of food at home?” Sebastian shot back, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll make you something myself when we get back.” “But I’m hungry now,” Julian whined. Then, in a flash, he snatched the other half of the grilled cheese from the plate and wrapped it in a napkin. “Waste not, want not. I’ll eat this on the road.” As he was leaving, he grabbed my phone again, tapping furiously. “There, I’m on your contacts now. Later, wifey. We’ll text about the divorce details.” I froze. My ears must be playing tricks on me. What did he just call me? Sebastian, standing beside me, was just as stunned. “What did you just call her?” Julian shrugged, a picture of nonchalant innocence. “Wifey. I mean, she’s technically my wife on paper right now, isn’t she? What’s the problem?” Sebastian’s voice was a low growl. “Not for long.” Julian, ever the carefree charmer, just grinned at his brother. “But she is for now. And look, my wifey even made me grilled cheese. Why haven’t you gotten a wife yet, bro?” The door closed, but I could still faintly hear their voices fading down the hall. First Sebastian’s: “I want to. But she’s married.” Then a pause, followed by a chilling addendum. “But she’ll be divorced soon.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393852”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The little girl from the house at the end of the lane went missing. The killer was apprehended swiftly. But the mastermind behind it all was a man of immense power. Not only did he walk free, but he began to threaten the old couple who were the girl’s grandparents. In his despair, the old man knocked on the door of my flower shop. The next day, the police came for me. One of the masterminds, the young master of the Thorne family, was now just a severed head, carelessly discarded at the entrance of the police station. 01 I was changing the water for the flowers when the police knocked on the door of my shop. These blooms were delicate things; a moment of neglect and they would wilt completely. I plucked a browning leaf from a stem and motioned for the officers to come in. I recognized the woman in the lead. Detective Olivia Reed, if I remembered correctly. She was the one in charge of the case that had been causing such a stir recently. I had to admit, Detective Reed had a certain professional grace. She stood quietly to one side, waiting patiently for me to finish my work. “Welcome to The Acacia. A bouquet of golden acacias, Detective?” I offered an apologetic smile for my delayed hospitality, holding up the bundle of brilliant, sun-colored flowers in my hands. The golden acacias were in perfect, vibrant bloom, yet they seemed to make Detective Reed frown for some reason. Composing herself, she fixed me with an inquisitive gaze. “No need to be nervous, sir. We’re just conducting a routine inquiry. I was wondering what you know about the Baker family at the end of the lane.” The image of a bright, lively little girl flashed in my mind. She was so innocent, so full of life. There’s a mirror in the shop. So I could clearly see my own lips curl slowly into a smile, and then, just as slowly, fall. I heard my own voice, sharp with a hostility that surprised even me. “I thought the case was closed. What are you still asking questions for?” 02 A few months ago, the little girl from the house at the end of the lane went missing. Her name was Lily. Her family was poor, which had made Lily remarkably sensible for her age, yet she had miraculously held on to that vibrant, childlike energy. All the residents of Acacia Lane loved to dote on her, and adults were always pressing little treats and snacks into her hands. Each time, Lily would blush crimson, thank them politely, and then skip away, hopping with joy in a corner where she thought no one could see. In this poor, grimy lane, a place perpetually shrouded in despair and anxiety, the little girl was a rare patch of pure, untainted ground in everyone’s heart. So when we learned she was missing, everyone searched for her, anxiously and tirelessly, combing through nearly every corner of the neighborhood. At first, everything seemed to be going smoothly. Her teacher told us Lily had left school with her friends, and she had them point out the last place they saw her. There was a small noodle shop nearby, and its security camera was pointed directly at the spot. The camera had done its job. The footage clearly showed a black car pulling up. It showed them taking Lily. The license plate was perfectly visible. With the police involved, the clues unraveled quickly. When the enraged neighbors and police officers stormed the opulent suburban villa, the scene inside was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. Drunken trust-fund brats were sprawled everywhere, some muttering incoherently in their stupor. Their faces were grotesque, yet they were dressed in designer clothes, as if the beasts they suppressed in their daily lives had just been unleashed. It was sickening. And Lily… she was lying on a massive, square dining table. Her body was a canvas of purple bruises, and a foul, unidentifiable fluid trickled down her skin onto the tabletop. Lily was dead. And before she died, she had suffered inhuman torture. Everyone present saw red. The police, bound by their code, didn’t resort to vigilante justice, but the way they dragged those men from the floor to the patrol cars was anything but gentle. What followed was what everyone had hoped for. The media reported it. Society was in an uproar. Countless voices screamed for these demons to be put to death. The case was handed over to the city’s highest court, prosecuted by the state. The chain of evidence was ironclad: witnesses, physical evidence, and even the DNA of at least three individuals extracted from the residue found in Lily’s body. The verdict of the first trial: death penalty for all involved. People mourned. People cheered. They grieved for the loss of a young life but celebrated the fact that the law had prevailed. Lily had been abandoned by her parents as a baby and lived with her elderly grandparents. After the tragedy, a man in a sharp suit visited the old Bakers at the end of the lane. He offered them a huge sum of money in exchange for a letter of forgiveness. It was a fortune, enough to ensure the old couple would never have to worry again. But the old man refused without a moment’s hesitation. The old woman chased the man out of the house with a broom. Someone from a neighboring house “accidentally” splashed a bucket of dirty water; someone else “accidentally” dropped an egg. That well-dressed lawyer left the lane looking like a wreck, his expensive suit stained and filthy, yet he was still shouting threats, promising he’d make them pay. No one took him seriously. Until everything turned on a dime. 03 “What do you mean, the footage is gone?” Old Mr. Baker was well past seventy, his hair and beard completely white. He was trembling with a rage that shook his entire body. The owner of the noodle shop, a middle-aged man, nervously wiped his greasy hands on his apron, unable to meet the old man’s eyes. Mrs. Baker raised a trembling hand to strike him, but she was stopped by a police officer with an apologetic look on her face. “The security system was broken that week. All the recordings were lost…” the noodle shop owner mumbled, hiding behind the officer. Detective Reed’s face was etched with disgust. The police had no respect for people like him, but professional duty required them to stand between him and the grieving couple. Without the security footage, a crucial link in the chain of evidence was gone. And a cold feeling told them this was only the beginning. The life seemed to drain from the old couple’s faces. They gripped Detective Reed’s arm, their hold surprisingly strong in their agitation, as if desperately seeking an anchor. “Officer, those monsters… they will be punished, won’t they?” Detective Reed didn’t know how to answer. She just nodded silently, though it was unclear if she was trying to convince them or herself. But if she wouldn’t say it, someone else would. The noodle shop owner bit his lip and spoke hesitantly. “You have no idea what kind of monsters you’re dealing with. Let it go. Lily’s gone, but you’re still alive. You need to think about yourselves.” Anyone could see the man wasn’t malicious, that he was just trying to give them some well-meaning advice, but it was impossible not to glare at him with contempt. The Bakers, however, had no intention of taking his advice. They insisted on appealing, determined to get justice for Lily even if it cost them their lives. Things began to spiral downward. The physical evidence vanished. Witnesses changed their stories. The once-unbreakable chain of evidence was blurred and erased, piece by piece. Security cameras from other locations were also mysteriously damaged or lost. The black car used to abduct Lily was found as a burned-out wreck in the suburbs. The children who had walked home with Lily were silenced by their parents, too terrified to say a word. Her teacher also changed her story, now claiming Lily had left school alone, smearing her name by saying she was a “promiscuous liar who was always trying to get boys’ attention.” Overnight, public opinion was twisted. The same online warriors who had fought for the Bakers were now swayed by this so-called “truth,” led astray by a massive army of paid trolls and concern-trolling devils’ advocates. They turned on the victims with vicious vitriol. “Princesses are born, not made. Age is just a number.” “Told you all not to jump to conclusions. Look at you now, a bunch of clowns.” “Disgusting. Good thing she’s dead.” Many people in the lane received warnings. The residents of Acacia Lane were poor; losing a job was a fate worse than death. So, one by one, they began to shun the old couple, avoiding them like they were beggars or carriers of some infectious disease. Their eyes held a mixture of pity and revulsion. The final blow was a court ruling. The High Court closed the case. The second verdict: two sentenced to life, three to ten years in prison. The rest were acquitted. Among the acquitted were the men whose DNA had been found. They were the true masterminds, yet they had escaped the law’s grasp. Even those who received sentences could be released early for “good behavior,” returning to their lives of luxury and debauchery once the scandal died down. A giant, unseen hand was toying with the old couple. When the lawyer had threatened and bribed them, Mr. Baker hadn’t wavered. When the noodle shop owner had pleaded with him, he hadn’t wavered. But now, as his friends and neighbors were threatened and hurt, forced to distance themselves with looks of helpless sympathy, he began to break. Mrs. Baker received one threat after another. A car nearly ran her down on her way home from the market, leaving her in a coma. Their windows were smashed, their door was splashed with red paint, and their phone rang off the hook with harassing, abusive calls. The police were trying to help, but arresting the low-level thugs was useless. It couldn’t touch the powerful families behind it all. Mr. Baker was afraid. But he was not resigned. The old man, who had lived a simple, honest life, couldn’t understand why the wicked were not punished. “God is blind,” he said. But the mastermind, Caleb Thorne, just looked down on him with arrogant disdain, like a giant staring at a worthless ant. “She was just a little bitch. So she’s dead. Who cares? How dare you sue me?” “And it’s not just them. I’m going to crush everyone around you, one by one, until you’re on your knees, begging me for mercy.” 04 He was so close. Honestly, Mr. Baker was on the verge of giving up. But someone told him: Go to the flower shop at the entrance of the lane. Ask for a bouquet of golden acacias. Someone there will help you. And so, the old man, his hair as white as snow, stepped into a flower shop for the first time in his life. Not to buy a rose for a sweetheart. But to seek justice for a victim. I smiled and handed him the brilliant, sun-colored bouquet. Like passing a torch in the dead of night, its flame was small but steady. The next day, a piece of news sent shockwaves through the entire city. Caleb Thorne was dead. The all-powerful young master of the Thorne family, the demonic bully, the mastermind of the case—was dead. His head had been severed, wrapped in a black plastic bag, and carelessly tossed at the entrance of the police station. A sanitation worker, thinking it was trash, had tried to pick it up. The strange shape and feel of the bag made him stumble backward in fright. The bag fell, and the head rolled out. Caleb Thorne’s grotesque, wide-open eyes stared directly at the police station doors. The mouth that had spouted lies and twisted the truth at press conferences, the mouth that had viciously cursed and threatened an old couple, was now slightly agape, as if in a final, silent plea for mercy. As for the body, the police still hadn’t found it. Such a gruesome death immediately screamed of a revenge killing. And everyone knew who his greatest enemy was—old Mr. Baker from the end of the lane. And I was the only person Mr. Baker had been in contact with the day before Caleb Thorne’s death. That’s why the police came for me. But I was just a humble flower shop owner. All I did was ask an old man if he wanted a bouquet of golden acacias. What could I possibly know? I feigned confusion, a faint, unreadable smile playing on my lips as I looked at Detective Reed. “So, Detective, you suspect I killed him?” She and her partner froze for a second, seemingly taken aback by my directness. “No, of course not. We’re just required to ask some routine questions,” she replied smoothly. They had no evidence pointing to me, so their tone was, for the most part, friendly. I nodded and answered all their questions with calm composure. The shop has security cameras. They proved I was in the store the entire time Caleb Thorne was killed. So, the little interruption ended quickly. Detective Reed and her partner left. But just as she was about to leave, she seemed to sense something. She spun around, her eyes meeting mine just as I broke into a brilliant smile. After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke. “If you think of anything that might be related, please, you must tell us.” I nodded, my smile widening. “Of course.” 05 Caleb Thorne was dead, and the Thorne family was incandescent with rage. The bejeweled Mrs. Thorne stood in the police station, screaming obscenities, her well-maintained face twisted into a mask of fury. “So what if some little tramp died? Is she comparable to my son? If you can’t find the killer, you can all start looking for new jobs!” No one dared to argue with her. For a behemoth like the Thorne family, getting a low-level employee fired was child’s play, even if they worked for the justice system. In the face of people like them, the so-called law, the so-called rules, were nothing but pieces of paper, things to be trampled on and ignored at will. I saw a young officer in the corner clench his fists. I gently patted Mr. Baker’s trembling hand, trying to soothe him. It was hard to tell if he was shaking from the news of Caleb’s death or from the rage ignited by Mrs. Thorne’s words. His expression was a complex mixture of emotions. After a long moment, he let out a heavy sigh. However, two other people had a far more extreme reaction than either the Thornes or Mr. Baker. Blake Harrison and Spencer Drake, the other two masterminds. Ever since Caleb’s head was found, the two had been on the verge of a complete breakdown, even showing signs of mental illness. The two young masters were crying and begging their families to put more pressure on the police, making life a living hell for Detective Reed and her team. A few days later, she showed up at my shop with dark circles under her eyes. The usually sharp and capable woman looked haggard and worn out. She claimed she was just “browsing,” but her eyes were scanning every inch of the shop. I knew she had never let go of her suspicion of me. She was like a hunting dog that had caught the scent of blood, circling her prey, feigning nonchalance. After a while, she seemed to deflated. She started making small talk, subtly steering the conversation back to the case and the old man, complaining about the pressure the powerful families were putting on her. “We were just about to have a breakthrough, and now they’re on our backs 24/7. That’s why I look like this.” As she spoke, she was secretly watching me, not missing the slightest flicker of expression on my face. I saw right through her little act but didn’t call her out on it. I just smiled and poured her a cup of herbal tea. Flower petals swirled in the water, creating ripples as the cup trembled slightly in her hand. “This isn’t poisoned, is it?” she asked suddenly, then took a large gulp without waiting for an answer. I shook my head, putting on the face of a timid, law-abiding citizen. “I wouldn’t dare. Poison a police officer?” A half-smile played on her lips. “You wouldn’t dare touch a cop, but you’d dare to go after those rich degenerates?” It was posed as a joke, but it felt like a test. “Detective Reed,” I said, changing the subject, “do you know why this place is called Acacia Lane?” I didn’t answer her question, instead looking directly into her tired eyes. Seeing no crack in my facade, a look of disappointment crossed her face, and she lost interest in my question. Just then, her phone rang. With an apologetic glance at me, she answered and hurried away. I stood at the doorway of my shop, watching her go. A strange feeling rose in my chest. Like watching a struggling animal in a trap. Or pitying a wailing child.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393851”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years into my secret love affair with my brother’s best friend, his adopted sister returned. I decided it was time to end it. I quietly agreed to the marriage alliance my family had arranged for me. The engagement party was an intimate, exclusive affair, with only our closest friends and family invited. As we were serving tea and formally addressing our new in-laws, my brother’s phone rang. He answered it, a smirk in his voice as he spoke. “You’re not even coming to Thea’s engagement party? And after she spent her whole childhood chasing after you, calling you her big brother.” On the other end of the line, Sam Kunz’s voice caught. “Whose engagement did you say it was?” 1 “What, did you finally break up with that mysterious boyfriend of yours?” My brother, David, was teasing me, but I could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. I couldn’t blame him. For three years, I had refused to make our relationship public. He had warned me long ago, “A man who doesn’t even have the guts to meet your family? What kind of a future can you have with him? It’s doomed to fail.” But back then, I was a true believer. I thought love could move mountains. Now, here I was, eating my words. “Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. “We broke up.” The casual teasing vanished from his voice, replaced by a weighted silence. “Did he hurt you?” The dam I’d built around my heart suddenly cracked, a flood of bitterness welling up inside me. I took a deep breath, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No. It was mutual.” “Good,” he said, his voice hardening. “Because if he did, I’d have to go break his legs.” “Thea, you can’t rely on men. If you’re going to get married, marry for an alliance. Power and shared interests—that’s what’s real.” “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “You arrange it. I’ll be back in two days.” I had just hung up when Sam Kunz walked into the room. “Who was that on the phone?” I was afraid he’d see the traces of tears in my eyes, so I kept my back to him. “Just a friend from school.” “Mm.” He brushed past me and disappeared into his study. In the three years we’d been together, he had always been like this—cool and distant. I used to think it was just his nature, that he was a man born with a reserve of ice in his veins, someone who disliked physical intimacy. But then there was last night. I’d come home early from a business trip, planning to sneak in and surprise him. The study door, usually locked tight, was slightly ajar. A warm, yellow light spilled from the crack. I crept closer, my hand raised to knock, when I saw him. Sam, his face taut with a pleasure he never showed me. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, one hand moving urgently beneath his waist. I froze, turning to stone. The photo on the screen was not of me. It was Isla, the girl his family had taken in when she was a child, his little “sister.” He was so lost in his world that he never even heard me open the door and leave. I checked into a hotel and sat in the sterile silence for hours. And finally, I understood. Sam’s coldness toward me these past three years wasn’t his nature. His refusal to go public with our relationship wasn’t because he was afraid of my overprotective brother. It was all because he didn’t love me. He just needed someone—anyone—to act as a smokescreen, a cover for his forbidden feelings for his adopted sister. And I, the girl who had chased him so relentlessly, had been the most convenient choice. He’d simply let me fall into the role of his secret girlfriend. That night, a new post appeared on Isla’s social media feed: “Touching down tomorrow! Someone better be there to pick me up.” 2 After the call with my brother, I took a cab back to the villa I shared with Sam. I still had things to pack. He was in the middle of breakfast when I walked in. He glanced up, his expression unchanging, and calmly told the housekeeper to prepare another plate. “I didn’t know you’d be back this early, so I didn’t have anything made for you.” I just nodded. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t that he didn’t know. It was that he couldn’t be bothered to know, couldn’t be bothered to ask. My quiet acceptance seemed to surprise him. Sam’s hand paused mid-motion. He looked up from the news on his phone, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He was right to be confused. The old me would have pouted, slid into the chair beside him, and snatched his plate away, chirping, “Well, since you forgot about me, I’ll just have to eat yours!” Or I would have wrapped my arms around him from behind, playfully pinching his ear and demanding to know if he’d forgotten me because he didn’t love me anymore. A man as sharp as Sam would, of course, notice the shift immediately. But he said nothing more. He simply nodded. “I’m heading to the office. Take your time.” He took the suit jacket the housekeeper handed him. For a split second, he hesitated, holding it in his hands. I had the distinct feeling he was waiting for me to do what I always did—jump up and help him into it, smoothing the lapels. Instead, he shrugged it on himself. The sound of his footsteps faded, followed by the decisive click of the front door. “Ms. Crawford,” the housekeeper asked gently, “what would you like for breakfast?” I shook my head. “Nothing for me. Could you please get me some packing boxes? I need them today.” I grabbed my suitcase and went back to our bedroom. By the time the housekeeper brought the boxes, I had already sorted my clothes and personal belongings. Next, I walked into Sam’s closet. Over the years, I’d given him countless ties, cufflinks, suits, and watches. He rarely wore any of them. They only saw the light of day when I insisted, practically dressing him myself. Just like me, his girlfriend. Kept hidden away in the dark. I swallowed the painful lump in my throat and began to methodically remove every single thing I had ever given him, packing them away. It took hours. When I was finally done, I sank onto the edge of the bed, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My phone buzzed. A text from Sam. Driver’s on his way to pick you up. He’ll be there in thirty. The message was brief, devoid of context or explanation. He was so certain I would never question him, never refuse. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Perfect timing. It was time to finally say goodbye. 3 The lights of the private club swirled in a hypnotic, decadent dance. This used to be one of my favorite places. I grew up coddled and adored, and my personality burned as bright and untamed as a wildfire. My friends used to call me the “Wild Rose of New York’s elite.” I first saw Sam at my brother’s university gala. I was immediately captivated by his cool, almost ascetic aura. I subtly grilled my brother, trying to find out if he was single. David had rolled his eyes. “Him? He’s an ice king. What girl would be brave enough to even get close?” A spark of joy ignited in my chest. He was ice, I was fire. We were a perfect match. Behind my brother’s back, I began my relentless pursuit. I even changed my university application from Columbia to the University of Miami, just to be near him. When David found out, he was furious, but his anger was always tempered by his love for me. He ended up calling Sam anyway, asking him to look out for his reckless little sister. I had smiled to myself, thinking: It’s all going according to plan. Back then, I thought I was a brilliant strategist, with both my brother and Sam playing parts in my grand design. It’s only today that I realize how pitifully stupid I was. A waiter led me to the door of a private suite. The atmosphere inside was already roaring. Someone was goading Sam. “Come on, Kunz. You’re so protective of that little girlfriend of yours, you barely ever let us see her. Now that Isla’s back—the sister you’ve doted on since you were kids—I have to ask. The girlfriend or the sister? Who’s more important in that cold heart of yours?” My feet stopped moving. I held my breath, waiting. Sam took a slow sip of his drink, saying nothing. Isla stomped her foot, pouting at him. “Sam!” Only then did a smirk grace his lips. He set his crystal glass down on the marble table with a soft clink. His voice, cool and clear, cut through the noise. “Girlfriends can be replaced. You only get one sister. You tell me who’s more important.” “Oof, I’ve got goosebumps!” the crowd roared with laughter and jeers. Isla stood up, triumphant, pointing a finger at half the people in the room. “You, you, and you! You lost the bet! Pay up!” Sam looked at her, feigning confusion. “What bet?” “They bet me you cared more about your girlfriend,” Isla explained, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Losers have to send me twenty grand each.” Groans of mock agony filled the room as people pulled out their phones. Sam watched them, a derisive chuckle escaping his lips. “Serves you right.” I raised my hand and knocked on the door. 4 The boisterous energy in the room instantly evaporated. Sam’s eyes found mine, and the seat next to him was immediately vacated, an unspoken invitation. He hadn’t brought me to meet his friends often, but on the rare occasions he did, he’d at least made a show of valuing my presence. I remember one time, after I’d pursued him for so long that his coldness was beginning to wear me down, he suddenly suggested I join him for a gathering. That night, his friends had told me, “You know, you’re the first girl Sam’s ever brought around, besides Isla.” At the time, I just thought of Isla as his sister. I didn’t think twice about it. I was just giddy, convinced that his icy exterior was just a front, that deep down, he truly cared for me. Looking back now, I see it for what it was: a performance for his friends, a simple act of courtesy. For him, it cost nothing, but for me, it was the perfect manipulation to dispel my doubts and make me even more devoted. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I ignored the empty seat beside Sam and chose a spot in the farthest corner of the room. A shadow crossed Sam’s face. “Thea?” I just smiled, saying nothing. Isla picked up a glass of wine and walked toward me. “You must be Thea,” she said. “I’m Isla. Sam’s…” She paused, searching for the right word. Sam finished for her. “Sister.” Isla’s brow furrowed, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. She held the glass out to me, her voice taking on a petulant edge. “Right. Sister. I just got back to the States. This is a toast to you.” It didn’t take a genius to sense the hostility radiating from her. This wasn’t the animosity of a sister towards her brother’s girlfriend. So, she’s in love with him, too. The image of Sam in his study flashed in my mind, and the whole situation felt grotesquely absurd. I forced a polite smile. “Welcome back. But I’m not feeling well, so I won’t be drinking.” Isla’s lips tightened. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I came all this way, and this is my welcome-home party. You won’t even have one drink with me?” “I said, I’m not feeling well.” The displeasure on her face intensified. She turned to Sam. “Sam, does your girlfriend not like me?” His gaze was cold, his tone flat. “Thea, don’t be difficult. Drink it.” A laugh, sharp and humorless, almost escaped my lips. “You called me here just to watch me drink?” He lifted his eyelids, his voice a low murmur. “Isla wanted to meet you.” So that was it. It was because Isla wanted to see me. It was all so she could size up her competition, so they could both be reminded of the societal lines they shouldn’t cross. I was just a tool, a prop in their twisted drama to keep their own forbidden desires in check. I stood up. “She’s seen me now. Can I go?” He must have sensed the uncharacteristic defiance in my tone. A storm began to brew in the dark depths of his eyes. I knew he was angry. But I was done placating him. “What has been your problem all day?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, chilling the air in the room. I looked back at him, a knowing, meaningful smile on my face. Sam, I know all about your filthy little secrets. And I’m not playing your game anymore. I turned to leave, but Isla grabbed my wrist. “The party’s not over until I say it is. I’m the guest of honor, and I didn’t say you could go.” I yanked my arm back and, with a sharp, satisfying crack, slapped her across the face. “Is it because you’re an orphan that you have no damn manners?” 5 I strode through the dimly lit corridors of the club, a whirlwind of drunken catcalls and slurred propositions swirling around me. A fire was raging inside my chest, and I desperately needed the cold night air to extinguish it. The moment I stepped outside, I finally exhaled. To clear my head, I decided against calling a car and started walking along the side of the road. I hadn’t gone far when a black van screeched to a halt beside me. I stopped dead, my hand fumbling in my purse for my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency contact. Sam. In the next second, several masked figures in black jumped out of the van. A burlap sack was thrown over my head, and a heavy blow to my skull sent me spiraling into darkness. When I came to, I was in a deserted factory. My hands and feet were bound tightly, my body suspended in the air. “Lower her a bit,” a gruff voice commanded. My body dropped suddenly, jarring my senses. A filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth, and I tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came out. I needed to talk to them, to negotiate, to find a way to survive. But before I could even try, a mountain of a man slapped me hard across the face. My head swam, stars exploding behind my eyes. The man’s face was hidden behind a mask. “Sorry about this, Ms. Crawford,” he said, his voice flat. “We’re just doing a job. You just managed to piss off the wrong person.” “Our employer has a message for you. Be a good girl and take these hundred slaps, and you can walk out of here alive.” “But if you scream, or if you even think about calling the cops afterward, he guarantees that you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.” Tears of pain and terror streamed down my face. The man gestured toward a security camera mounted on the ceiling. “Sir, shall we begin?” A voice came through a speaker. “Yes.” I froze, every muscle in my body locking up. It was like being struck by lightning. Even as a single word, I knew it instantly. It was Sam’s voice. In a horrifying flash, it all clicked into place. He had arranged this. He was going to have me beaten. One hundred slaps. This was his revenge for Isla. I sobbed against the gag, my muffled cries echoing in the cavernous space as I stared at the unblinking eye of the camera. He loved her that much. He truly, madly loved her. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer the slightest indignation. But I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could he be so cruel? For one slap, he would do this to me? Even if he didn’t love me, I had given him five years of my life, three years of my heart. Even if he didn’t care about me, I was still his best friend’s sister. How could you do this to me, Sam? How could you! I thrashed against my restraints, screaming his name through the gag, praying for a single shred of humanity to surface in his heart. There was no response from the camera. Just the sickening sound of one slap after another. The burning sting on my cheeks slowly gave way to a throbbing numbness. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, dripping down my chin, painting my face in crimson.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393850”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Julian and I were childhood sweethearts, but we spent a lifetime resenting each other. He resented me for forcing his memories back, for driving the woman he truly loved to leap from a roof. I resented him for breaking his promise to love me forever, for falling for someone else the moment he lost his memory. For ten years, our marriage was a frozen tundra. We were the most intimate of strangers. But when I was diagnosed with ALS and the whole world told him to leave me, Julian walked a pilgrimage on his knees, praying for a day and a night before the altar, just for a chance that I might live. On my deathbed, he held my frail body through the night, his forehead pressed to my cheek as he whispered, “Bonnie, in this life, I have fulfilled all my duties to you. If there is a next life, I hope you won’t make me remember. Let me be with her.” A single tear escaped the corner of my eye. I finally understood. I should never have used the love of our youth to bind him, to weigh him down for a lifetime. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I found him. This time, I chose not to wake his memories. This time, I would let my childhood love go, let him run to his moon. 1 “Mr. Cockle has lost his memory. He refuses to come back with us.” “But we’ve contacted the most renowned neurologist in the country. We can have his memory restored very soon.” The conversation was identical, word for word, to the one from my past life, the day I found the missing Julian. Only this time, the wild joy and desperate urgency I’d felt then were gone. I shook my head, refusing their offer. Then, I did two things. First, I went to the hospital for the most thorough physical examination of my life. Second, I took the confirmed diagnosis of ALS to Julian’s parents and asked to break off our engagement. Julian’s mother gripped my hand, her eyes red-rimmed as she shook her head. “We can’t end this, Bonnie. Julian loves you so much. He would never marry anyone but you…” I said nothing. I simply showed them a photograph. In the picture, Julian was gazing at a woman dressed as a mermaid in an aquarium show, his eyes soft and utterly captivated. “Instead of forcing him to marry a woman with a terminal illness,” I said softly, “let him be with the person he loves. I don’t want to be a burden to him any longer.” In my last life, after Julian disappeared, I searched for him for five years. I found him living with a woman named Luna, happy and in love. I ignored his wishes and hired a specialist to force his memories back. The day his memory returned was the day Luna jumped from a building. From that moment on, an impassable chasm lay between Julian and me. Our ten-year marriage was an arctic silence. It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with ALS that things changed. For seven years, Julian cared for me. He fed me, bathed me, took me on pilgrimages, and sought out every possible cure. But I knew. He did it all out of a husband’s duty, not out of love. Fighting back tears, I choked out the words, “There’s no future for Julian and me.” In this life, I would not make the same mistake. After leaving the Cockle estate, I went to find Luna. When she saw me, she quickly shooed Julian away. “I swear, I didn’t hide him on purpose!” she stammered, her words rushing out in a panic. I met her gaze calmly. “You and I both know the truth.” Realizing she couldn’t lie, Luna bit her lip, her panic giving way to a raw, desperate defiance. “I know, Bonnie! I know his heart has only ever belonged to you! The second he remembers, he’ll leave me in a heartbeat and run back to you!” “But I’ve loved him since the first time I saw him in high school! I loved him for so many years and never got a single glance from him. This was my one chance…” “I just wanted him to stay with me for a few more days. Just a few more days!” Her voice cracked at the end, heavy with unshed tears. I listened quietly, my gaze drifting past her to the man standing behind her. Julian. His eyes were dark, fixed on me. His entire body was tense, coiled like a spring, a storm brewing in his gaze. The guardian who once shadowed my every step was now someone else’s guard dog. Ready to pounce, to rip a piece of my flesh away if I made a single move against Luna. I couldn’t name the feeling in my heart. I only knew that this time, I couldn’t selfishly bind him to my side. A faint smile touched my lips. “Don’t be afraid,” I told Luna. “I’m not here to break you up. I’m here to take you both back to his family.” Luna stared, her shock palpable. “Both of us?” “Yes,” I nodded. “You’re the one he loves. If we left you behind, he wouldn’t come with us.” “Go pack your things. You’re coming back to the Cockle estate with Julian.” My voice was steady, devoid of emotion. “His parents know about you. They won’t stand in your way.” A wave of pure joy washed over Luna’s face. She grabbed Julian’s hand, her smile radiant, and rushed off to pack. Only then did Julian seem to relax, convinced I meant Luna no harm. He pursed his lips, his tone softening. “Sorry. I thought you were going to hurt her.” His entire world revolved around her now. No one remembered the past, when Luna’s constant pursuit would drive him to bury his face in my shoulder, feigning distress, urging me to play the part of the jealous girlfriend and declare his ownership to the world. “You have to tell them, Bonnie. Tell them I belong only to you. Be fierce about it.” He’d even make comical, snarling faces for me to imitate. We would always end up in a fit of laughter, tumbling onto the sofa in a playful heap. What a pity. Julian didn’t belong to me anymore. I forced a smile and brought them both back to the Cockle estate. When it came time to introduce me, everyone hesitated, unsure what to say. I spoke up first. “I’m the friend you grew up with. You always treated me like a little sister. You even promised to find me a boyfriend, but then you lost your memory, and we never got around to it.” The others in the room, who knew the truth, looked on with complicated expressions. But Julian didn’t suspect a thing. He even joked, “Alright, once things settle down, your big brother will find you a boyfriend right away.” 2 I was awakened in the middle of the night by the glare of a fire. Pushing my door open, I saw that everything connecting me to Julian was burning in a large bonfire. Childhood photos, award certificates we’d won together, even the wooden puppet he’d given me when he first confessed his love… Each one crackled, turning to ash. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, as if a cold hand had squeezed my heart. Just then, Julian turned to look at me. “Before, when neither of us was with anyone, it didn’t seem like a problem for us to be so close.” “But now that Luna is living here, seeing all this stuff makes her unhappy. So I’m burning it. I hope you don’t mind.” I dug my nails into my palms, trying to hide my devastation. “It’s fine,” I replied softly. “Actually, you can burn the things from my room, too.” I went back to my room, gathered every memento of Julian, and threw them into the fire. The flames licked at my face, but I felt as if I were submerged in ice water. For the next few days, the sounds of construction filled the courtyard. The garden of gardenias Julian had planted for me was torn out and replaced with Luna’s favorite red roses. The glass conservatory where we used to play piano and watch the sunset was demolished to make way for a swimming pool for Luna. Even the wisteria arbor where we’d first realized our love for each other was dismantled, the ground dug up to create a lotus pond that Luna adored. The day they planted the lotus seeds, Luna stopped me in the courtyard. She held her chin high, deliberately showing off the ring on her finger. “Julian found the design for this ring in his room. He said he knew instantly it was for his future bride, so he stayed up for nights making it by hand. Then he proposed to me.” She wiggled her fingers. “Isn’t it beautiful?” The design was of a bird and a fish, my favorite from long ago. I nodded, my voice sincere. “It’s beautiful. It looks perfect on you.” Luna’s expression darkened. “But I don’t like it.” “We both know who this was originally designed for,” she said, her gaze sharp and piercing. “You keep saying you have no feelings for him, but all his past feelings for you… they’re a ticking time bomb. I can’t live with that.” “What do you want, then?” I asked. “I want…” Before she could finish, Luna suddenly threw herself sideways, plunging straight into the filthy water of the newly-dug lotus pond! I was shoved hard, stumbling and falling to the ground. A searing pain shot through my ankle, and my palms scraped against the gravel, a burning sensation spreading up my arms. Before I could even get up, I saw Julian dive into the water like a madman. When he carried Luna to the bank, they were both covered in foul-smelling mud, a pathetic sight. But Julian didn’t care about himself. He frantically wiped the sludge from Luna’s face, his voice choked with panic. “Luna! Are you okay? Did you swallow any water? Are your eyes hurt? Are you cut anywhere?” It took Luna a moment to catch her breath. She shook her head, her lip trembling as tears streamed down her face. “I’m okay… It’s just… the ring you gave me. Someone threw it in the water. I fell in trying to get it back.” She held up her hand. The ring was gone. “Julian, your family doesn’t want me here,” she sobbed. “Can we just go back to our apartment? At least no one will bully me there…” Her pitiful, vulnerable act instantly twisted Julian’s heart. His eyes turned to ice. “Who threw your ring? Who bullied you?” Luna bit her lip and said nothing, only casting a timid, frightened glance in my direction. The fear and grievance in her eyes were a blatant accusation. I clutched my swelling ankle, my voice filled with disbelief. “It wasn’t me…” Julian’s gaze swept over me, as cold as a glacier, chilling me to the bone. “I had no reason to take your ring…” I explained, my voice hoarse. “You know what you did,” Julian said, his voice flat. He scooped Luna into his arms and shot a look at a nearby security guard. “Whoever threw the ring in can be the one to get it back.” The guard understood immediately. He grabbed me and threw me into the pond. The winter water was bone-chillingly cold. I started shivering the moment I hit the water, desperately trying to crawl back to the bank, but a hand clamped down on my shoulder, shoving me back in. “Miss Evans, we can’t let you out until you find the ring,” the guard said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “If you want to suffer less, I suggest you start looking.” I bit my lip and resigned myself to my fate, my fingers searching through the freezing mud. The filthy water seeped into my sleeves, numbing my hands until I could barely feel them. I searched from dawn until dusk. Only when Julian’s parents were about to return did my fingers finally close around the ring. Clutching it, I dragged myself to Julian’s room and knocked softly. When he opened the door, he looked at me with cold eyes. “We’ll let it go this time. From now on, stay away from Luna.” Then, he took the ring from my hand, and with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed it out the long gallery window into the deep darkness of the night. “Luna doesn’t like the design. I’ll make her a new one.” I watched the ring I had nearly died to retrieve disappear into the blackness, and a bitter smile touched my lips. Of course. He saw the past as a burden. It was only natural that he couldn’t stand the sight of a ring that carried its memory. 3 Despite their reservations about Luna, Julian’s parents couldn’t fight his insistence. They finally relented and began planning an extravagant engagement party. The party was a lavish affair, but the guests’ eyes kept drifting towards me. “Poor Bonnie. She finds her long-lost love only to watch him marry someone else.” “They were perfect for each other, childhood sweethearts from good families. We all thought they were meant to be. Who could have predicted this?” “If I were her, I’d have slapped them both. I can’t believe she even showed up.” Just then, Luna made her entrance, dressed in a stunning designer gown. Julian took her hand, his eyes overflowing with adoration. “Everyone,” he began, his voice clear and formal, “allow me to formally introduce…” But before he could finish, the lights in the ballroom flickered twice and then went out completely. In the darkness, screams mingled with the crash of tables and chairs. The scene descended into chaos. I instinctively backed into a corner, but a hand suddenly clamped around my wrist. A cloth with a sharp, chemical smell was pressed over my mouth and nose. The world spun violently. I struggled, but in the last moment before my consciousness faded, all I could hear were the deafening screams. I don’t know how much time passed. Through a hazy fog, I heard Luna’s voice, a furious, hushed whisper. “Damn it! Who told you to do this at my engagement party?!” “I told you to just tie me up and frame Bonnie! Who told you to bring her too?!” “You idiots! You’ve ruined everything! Even if this was an act, you’re not getting paid! You’ve completely wrecked my plan!” My senses slowly returned, and the pieces clicked into place. Another one of Luna’s schemes, only this time, it hadn’t gone according to her plan. As I struggled earlier, I’d felt a gun holster on one of my captor’s waists. These weren’t the low-level thugs Luna would hire. What made my blood run cold was that the leader’s voice was familiar. I recognized it as belonging to a business rival whom Julian had recently driven to the brink of bankruptcy. After a long while, one of the kidnappers made a video call. “Well, well, Mr. Cockle. One is the woman you grew up with for twenty years, your former love. The other is the woman you fell for after losing your memory. Who will you save?” Julian remained composed, but when his eyes fell on a red mark on Luna’s shoulder, he lost all composure. “If you touch a single hair on her head, I will burn your entire company to the ground!” I closed my eyes, a hot, uncontrollable ache spreading behind them. Tears slid silently down my temples. There was nothing to hope for. I should have known who he would choose. The kidnapper burst into laughter. “Did you really think I was going to give you a choice?!” The next second, I was dragged and shoved into a large glass tank. A warm body was pressed tightly against mine. The tank was thrown into the sea, landing with a massive splash. Weighted with stones, it began to sink rapidly. I quickly kicked off my high heels and used the sharp metal heel to smash against the glass. The current rushed in, and shards of glass tore at my limbs. Gritting my teeth, I dragged the unconscious Luna out of the tank and fought my way to the surface. I was nearly exhausted by the time we broke the surface, but I couldn’t stop. I pushed Luna onto a piece of floating debris and gently tapped her cheek. “You have to live.” If you live, his obsession in this life will finally have a home. I was pushing the makeshift raft towards the shore when the damned ALS suddenly struck. My arms went completely numb. Powerless, I began to sink into the deep sea. Gazing at the shimmering light on the water’s surface, I slowly closed my eyes. So be it. This is the end. In the final moments before my consciousness faded, I thought I saw a hand reaching for me with all its might. Was it just a hallucination?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393849”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At Serenity Dolls—a hyper-realistic adult doll showroom—seven men mistook me for an exhibit and assaulted me during my night shift. I bit one attacker severely, leaving him permanently maimed. The court deemed it “excessive self-defense,” sentencing me to three years. The day I was jailed, my fiancé Warren left me. The day I was freed, my parents received a video of my assault and prison abuse. One bashed their head into a wall; the other jumped off our roof. After burying them, the man I’d maimed returned, threatening to desecrate their graves unless I filmed something worse. As I lunged at their headstone, my college friend Kian stopped me, promising me a home. Seven months pregnant, I overheard Kian confess: “You hired those men to corner Stella, destroyed the footage, and fed cops false evidence. When she got out, you orchestrated her parents’ deaths and let that animal violate her again.” His friend asked if he regretted it. “I had to break her. Warren’s family would never have let him marry Peggy otherwise. This is the only way I can give Peggy the life she deserves.” Their words shattered everything. Kian paved a golden road for Peggy. Fine. I’ll pave one for them all—straight to hell. 01 “Those seven guys called again yesterday. They’re demanding three hundred thousand this time.” Kian lit a cigarette. “Pay them. I have another job for them.” Jack, his friend, was aghast. “Kian, are you out of your goddamn mind?” “Peggy is Peggy, but she’s married to Warren now, carrying his child! Stella, whatever her past, is carrying your child.” “You already caused her infertility by spiking her herbal tonics with birth control. She went through hell with IVF—countless pills and injections—just to get pregnant. She’s seven months along now. If something goes wrong, you could lose them both!” Kian finally shot Jack a sideways glance. “You’re awfully worked up about Stella. You falling for her?” A faint blush crept up Jack’s neck. “What the hell are you talking about?” But Kian, his mind consumed by Peggy, didn’t notice Jack’s discomfort. “Once Peggy secures her place by giving the Locke family their first grandson, I’ll make it up to Stella. I’ll take care of her.” As he was leaving, Kian paused. “By the way, is Stella’s baby a boy or a girl?” “A boy.” Kian nodded, a thoughtful, chilling look in his eyes. “A boy is good. If anything… unexpected happens with the Locke family, or with Peggy’s pregnancy, Stella’s baby could be… useful.” Jack was confused. “What do you mean? What does Stella’s baby have to do with Peggy and the Lockes?” A shadow passed over Kian’s face. “Nothing.” After they left, I clamped a hand over my mouth, my legs giving way as I slid to the floor. My heart felt like a block of ice. So, he was the architect of all my suffering. Kian. It was always Kian. And what did he mean, that my baby was connected to Peggy and the Locke family? A dark, formless dread began to take root in my soul. Terrified of being followed, I took the crowded subway instead of a cab. On the way, I called my best friend, Chloe, in another city, asking her to find me a place to stay. I told her I was coming soon. I was just steps from my apartment building when three men grabbed me, shoving me into a windowless van. When I opened my eyes, every nerve in my body screamed. The man I’d maimed stood over me. He yanked my hair, pulling my head back, and slapped me hard across the face, once, twice, three times. “Bitch!” he spat, his face a mask of rage. “Because of you, I’m a goddamn eunuch.” He leaned in close, his breath foul. “Little slut. Just wait and see what I do to you.” Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I didn’t dare cry out. I shielded my head with one arm and my pregnant belly with the other as he kicked my leg, a sharp, brutal impact. Another one of them, a guy with bleached-blond hair, snapped several pictures of me before dialing a number. “Mr. Locke? We’ve got your girl, Stella. If you want her back alive, bring five million. In person. Now.” A cool, detached voice answered from the speakerphone. “You have the wrong person. My woman is Peggy. And she’s in my bed right now.” The blond thug just smirked, tossed the phone aside, and ripped my dress open. He grabbed a beer bottle, smashed it against the wall, and held the jagged neck menacingly close, moving it toward the space between my legs. Just then, the warehouse door flew open with a deafening crash. Kian burst in. He moved like a phantom, a whirlwind of controlled violence. One against seven. It was over in minutes, all of them left groaning or unconscious on the filthy floor. “Stella, honey, are you hurt? I was so worried!” He apologized profusely the entire ride home. I just stared out the window, a cold, hollow feeling in my chest. It was all so laughable. Those thugs were terrible actors, their “unconsciousness” a pathetic charade. And Kian. His flashy moves were impressive, I’ll give him that. His performance of a deeply concerned husband was Oscar-worthy. Later that night, I drifted in a half-sleep, only to be pulled awake by the sound of Kian’s voice from the balcony. He was on the phone. “Peggy,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “I miss you. My whole body aches for you.” “It’s Stella’s birthday tomorrow. Will you come over? Please?” Half an hour later, he slipped into bed, wrapping his arms around me. He whispered into my hair, his voice laced with guilt, “Once Peggy and the baby have secured their inheritance from the Locke family, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” After his breathing evened out into a deep sleep, my eyes snapped open, clear and cold in the darkness. A demon. I don’t want your apologies, Kian. I just want you in hell. 02 At breakfast, Kian brought up my birthday again. “I don’t feel like celebrating. You guys can go out if you want,” I said, my voice flat. But he insisted. “You haven’t socialized at all since… everything that happened. You can’t keep bottling yourself up like this.” “It’s not good for your mood, which means it’s not good for the baby, and…” I was too tired to argue. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” My plan was simple: when they arrived, I’d leave. But I underestimated Kian’s determination to keep me there. He locked me in the house. That evening, he returned with Peggy, who was five months pregnant, and a group of his friends. The way his friends looked at me made my skin crawl. Their leering eyes stripped me bare, and I felt a familiar, chilling dread creep up my spine. It was the same look those seven men had given me, their predatory gazes filled with sickening hunger right before they tore my clothes, right before the pain and the blood. I started to tremble uncontrollably, instinctively curling into myself. “Hey, Stella,” one of them sneered. “No need to be shy with us. We’ve all seen that video of you a hundred times. Gotta say, you sound pretty good when you scream.” “Yeah,” another chimed in, “and at the end, the way you were shaking… looked like you were really getting into it, huh?” “We’re all curious, Stella. How’d you get your rocks off in prison? Did the guards hook you up? Did they pay?” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Say one more word,” I roared, my voice raw, “and I’ll rip your fucking tongues out!” Peggy shot the men a warning glance. “That’s enough. You have to show some respect. After all,” she said, her eyes glinting with malice, “she belongs to Kian.” I stared at Peggy, her undisguised hostility a splash of cold water that shocked me back to my senses. She then turned back to them, her voice dripping with mock curiosity. “Where in the video did you see her shaking like that? I’ve watched it so many times, and I must have missed it. What’s the timestamp?” “Fifty-two minutes, thirty-seven seconds,” one of them answered immediately. “Clear as day.” Suddenly, the living room was filled with the sounds from that video—my desperate screams, my pleas for mercy, punctuated by the grunts and vile laughter of men. I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the memories. Peggy pried my hands away with a sickly sweet smile. “Why cover your ears?” She gestured towards Kian’s smirking friends, at the noticeable bulges in their pants. “You scream even better than those dolls in the showroom, you know. Look, you’ve got them all worked up.” I slapped her hand away, snatched the phone playing the video, and smashed it against the floor. “Monsters! You’re all monsters!” Kian emerged from the kitchen just in time to see me shove Peggy away. He rushed to her side, steadying her as he turned on me, his voice a furious whip. “Stella, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “Peggy is pregnant! What if you’d hurt her?” I touched my own seven-month belly and looked at Kian, a cold, bitter laugh escaping my lips. “And where were you when your friends were torturing your wife? Are you blind?” My words hit their mark. He flinched, glancing at his friends. “Hey, show some class,” he muttered at them. “Don’t take it too far.” I let out another self-mocking laugh and turned to leave. So that’s all I was. A dog to be scolded, but still his property. “Wait!” Kian called out. For a fleeting, foolish moment, my heart lifted. I thought he was going to apologize. Instead, he grabbed my arm, his grip like iron, and dragged me in front of Peggy. “Apologize to her.” I looked up in disbelief, my eyes meeting Peggy’s, which were now filled with a soft, wounded expression. I turned back to Kian. “For what?” Peggy put on a show of defending me. “Kian, please, let’s just drop it. I’m sure Stella didn’t mean to push me.” Seeing the tears welling up in Peggy’s eyes only fueled Kian’s anger. He stroked her hair soothingly. “You’re carrying a baby, and she’s not blind. I think she knew exactly what she was doing.” He glared at me, his voice a low command. “Apologize.” I knew then there was no hope. He was blind to everything but her. Just as I was about to force the word out, someone kicked the back of my knees. My legs buckled, and I crashed to the floor, kneeling before Peggy. I twisted around. It was the man whose phone I had smashed. “That was a brand new, ten-thousand-dollar phone,” he snarled. “I’ll let it slide today, out of respect for Kian. But you’re going to get on your knees and bow your head to Peggy and beg for her forgiveness.” Peggy covered her mouth, hiding a triumphant smirk as she pretended to help me up. “Oh, Stella, please don’t. I couldn’t bear to have you kneel to me.” Kian pushed her hand away and repeated his command, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Apologize.” I looked at their hands, intertwined and secure. “Fine. You want an apology? I’ll give you one.” I scanned the room, my gaze passing over each of their smug faces. Still on my knees, I shifted back slightly. “In fact, since everyone is here, I’ll apologize to all of you at once.” 03 As they jeered, pulling out their phones to film me, I began. I bowed my head to the floor once, for Peggy. “I’m sorry.” My voice was dead calm. “It was my mistake to have ever crossed paths with you.” I bowed a second time, for the man whose phone I’d broken. “My apologies.” “I am nothing but a dog, and I’m grateful you would even bother to scold me on Kian’s behalf.” Then, I turned my gaze to Kian. A third bow. “I’m sorry.” Sorry that my pain could never compete with your masterful performance. Sorry that I deserved every bit of your venomous scheming. Kian’s face tightened. He opened his mouth to say something, but Peggy squeezed his hand, and his expression softened as he turned his attention back to her. Finally, I looked at the group as a whole and bowed a fourth time. “My deepest apologies to all of you.” May you never be reincarnated as human. May you all burn in the deepest circle of hell. Four bows. It’s a ritual reserved for the dead. One of them finally caught on. “What the fuck? You only bow four times for the dead! Are you cursing us?!” Peggy gasped, clutching her belly. “Kian! Is she putting a curse on my baby?” Kian’s face contorted into a mask of pure fury. He lunged at me, his hand clamping around my throat, lifting me slightly off the floor. “Stella,” he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. “Are you looking for death?” I stared right back into his murderous eyes, a defiant smile playing on my lips as I closed my own. “Go on, Kian. Don’t be a coward. If you have the guts, then kill me.” You already have my parents’ blood on your hands. What’s one more life? The hatred in his eyes burned hotter. His grip tightened, the force making the veins on his arm bulge. “Beg me, Stella.” I couldn’t breathe, my face flushing a deep red, but I refused to make a sound. In front of everyone, he was either trying to save face or break my will. He squeezed harder, determined to do one or the other. “Beg me, or I swear to God, I will kill you right here.” The others just watched, a silent, morbid audience. Peggy smoothed her dress, her gaze drifting to the gold locket around my neck. Only Jack seemed concerned. “Kian, stop! She’s carrying your child!” A flicker of something—hesitation? recognition?—crossed Kian’s eyes. With a final, brutal surge of strength, he threw me aside. “Stella,” he snarled, breathing heavily. “I had no idea you were so unafraid to die.” The searing pain in my neck was a stark reminder of how close I had just come to seeing my parents again. I met Kian’s hateful glare and laughed, a ragged, broken sound. “You really are a coward, Kian.” His face turned ashen with rage. He started towards me again, ready to finish the job, but Jack threw himself in the way, holding him back. Jack reached a hand out to help me up, but I flinched away. A pack of demons in human skin. The reaper is coming for all of you. Peggy pressed herself into Kian’s arms, her voice a pathetic whimper. “Kian, I’m so scared of ghosts and curses and… all that death talk. I know I’m going to have nightmares.” “I’ve heard,” she added, her eyes fixing on my neck, “that a protective charm can ward off evil things.” Without a word, without even a glance in my direction, Kian strode over and ripped the gold locket from my neck. The delicate chain snapped, cutting into my skin. “A venomous woman like you doesn’t deserve protection,” he spat, turning to Peggy. “Here. You wear it for now.” I touched the back of my neck, my fingers coming away sticky with blood. “The great Mrs. Locke,” I scoffed, “so desperate she’s coveting something that belonged to a dead woman. What a pathetic joke.” “Ugh! How disgusting!” Peggy shrieked, realizing the locket was a family heirloom from my deceased mother. She threw it to the ground with such force that the pendant shattered into three pieces. My eyes locked on the broken fragments. A violent tremor ran through my body. Kian’s face went rigid. He took a half-step toward me. “I’ll have someone…” But Peggy cut him off, clutching her stomach. “Kian, my stomach hurts.” Instantly, all his attention was on her. “I’ll help you lie down for a bit.” As they passed by me, while I was kneeling to pick up the pieces of my mother’s locket, Peggy deliberately stomped her heel down hard on the back of my hand. “Ah!” I cried out in pain. At my cry, Peggy stumbled dramatically, her eyes filling with tears as she looked accusingly at me. “Stella, I’m pregnant! How could you be so wicked as to stick your foot out and trip me?” She turned her tear-streaked face to Kian. “Kian, I think I should just go home.” Kian spun around and kicked me squarely in the back. “It was just a piece of jewelry! Do you have to be so goddamn malicious?” He ignored my pale face, my bleeding hand. He dragged me like a sack of garbage into a guest room and threw me inside. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through my abdomen. “It was Peggy,” I gasped, my face ashen. “She stepped on my hand on purpose.” Kian glanced at my bleeding hand and sneered. “You’d even hurt yourself just to frame her. You’re pathetic.” “Think about what you’ve done,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “Don’t even think about coming out until you have. And you can forget about dinner.” Peggy’s eyes fell on the phone in my hand. “It won’t be so bad. She can just scroll on her phone while she reflects.” Kian’s face darkened. He snatched my phone from my hand and slammed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the small room. My stomach growled, and a series of sharp contractions began, each one more intense than the last. I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one came. The sounds of a football game, of boisterous laughter and shuffling mahjong tiles, drifted in from the living room, mocking my isolation. Sometime late in the night, I was drifting in a feverish, half-conscious state when the door to my room began to shake with a rhythmic, sickening thud. A man’s voice, Kian’s voice, pleaded, “Peggy, please, let’s go to the master bedroom. Your belly is so big… this is too dangerous. I’m afraid I’ll lose control and hurt our son.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393848”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“The day the Blackwoods came, I discovered my husband of six years was actually the lost heir to a New York dynasty—an amnesiac prince. Upon reclaiming his throne, his first act was discarding me. Damian Blackwood stood on his marble steps, icy gaze dismissing me. His “”amnesia”” had returned, erasing all memory of me. Now engaged to Seraphina Winter—his social equal—he declared me a nobody. His mother, Eleanor, threw a $10M check at my feet, demanding I vanish. In my past life, I’d been a fool, clinging to hope he’d remember me—and our son. But I was just an obstacle. He locked me in an asylum, where Bruno, my own child, betrayed me. Reborn, I took the check. “”I’ll leave in three days,”” I told Eleanor. “”Just book my flight.”” This time, I’d live for myself. 1 At my words, Eleanor’s lip curled in disgust. “You clung to him for a month after his memory lapsed. I almost thought you genuinely cared for him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Turns out it was all just an act. A grimy little gold-digger, through and through.” Everyone who knew us knew I loved Damian to the point of self-destruction. Even after he’d forgotten me, I’d stayed, clinging to the hope of a future. But in my last life, I learned the truth just before I died. Both times Damian lost his memory, it was a lie. The first time, he used me to survive. The second, he used it to discard me so he could be with his childhood sweetheart, Seraphina. When I became an inconvenience, he had me committed and killed. I offered no explanation. I just looked his mother in the eye. “”I’ll be gone in three days. There’s no need to tell Damian.”” He had once told me I was a stain on his life. A stain that should be erased without a sound. Eleanor snorted, warning me to vanish on schedule. With the deal struck, I went to my room and opened my laptop, pulling up the application portal for UCL in London. I’d been accepted years ago but had to drop out. After finding Damian, I’d moved back to my small town and opened a diner to support him, our son, and our life together. He was the “amnesiac,” so the entire burden—financial and emotional—fell on my shoulders. I worked twenty-hour days, a ghost in my own life. When we were brought to the Blackwood mansion, he’d recoiled from the faint smell of cooking oil that clung to my clothes. He had thirty air purifiers installed. “”You small-town girls,”” he’d sneered in front of his family, “”even the air around you is dirty.”” He forbade me from eating at the same table, banishing me to the kitchen like a servant. This time, I would never again sacrifice my life for anyone. 2 I’d just booked my flight to London when Damian came home. He stumbled in, reeking of whiskey from some high-society gala. When I didn’t immediately rush to his side with a glass of water and a worried expression, his face darkened with anger. “”Rachel! Where the hell are you? Are you just going to let me stand here?”” It was the tone one used with a maid. He wasn’t alone. Draped on his arm was Seraphina Winter. Trailing behind them, clutching her hand, was our son, Bruno. I was supposed to have been his date tonight. In my last life, I had confronted him, my eyes red from crying. He’d just laughed, a cold, cruel sound. “”Rachel, look at you,”” he’d said. “”Everyone else brings a partner. You expect me to bring the help? Don’t embarrass me. You are the mother of my child, nothing more. Know your place.”” So this time, I ignored them, closing my laptop to head back to my room. But Damian’s eyes caught the screen full of English text. He stepped in front of me, a flicker of something—hesitation? confusion?—in his eyes. “”What are you looking at? You think a country bumpkin like you can actually read that?”” I didn’t have the energy to engage with his taunts. I tried to sidestep him. But Seraphina blocked my path, her smile as sweet as poison. “”Oh, Rachel, darling. I had to fend off so many people for Damian tonight. My head is just spinning. I’m dying for a slice of mango mille-feuille. Would you be a dear and make one for me?”” In my last life, when Damian had me chained to a bed in that hospital, Seraphina came to “”visit.”” She’d ground the heel of her stiletto into the back of my hand, twisting it until the skin broke and bled. She’d watched me scream, helpless and bound, and then she’d taken a scalpel and carved the word ‘TRASH’ into my arm, her laughter echoing in the sterile room. When Damian found the wound later, he’d merely commented that her taste was impeccable. A perfect description, he’d said. Now, my eyes fixed on the ring on her finger—a perfect match to Damian’s. A piece of my heart, a shard I didn’t even know was left, shattered. “”I’m allergic to mangoes,”” I said, my voice flat. “”Order it yourself.”” Damian’s patience snapped. “”Don’t be difficult, Rachel!”” He grabbed my arm, his grip like steel, and shoved me. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the edge of a console table. Pain exploded behind my eyes. “”Seraphina asked you to do something, so you do it! She is the future Mrs. Blackwood! Have you forgotten you’re living on our charity? You should be grateful we even let a parasite like you stay here as a maid!”” My head swam, but the ache in my heart was sharper. Back in our small town, for my birthday one year, he’d bought me a mango cake, forgetting my allergy. I’d broken out in hives, my throat closing up. He had carried me in his arms, running for two hours to the nearest clinic, his face a mask of terror. Afterward, he’d sworn he would never let another mango near me. If he did, he’d joked, he should be punished by never being allowed to marry me. He was faking his amnesia now, but his vow had come true in the cruelest way. The music had stopped, and our story was over. His heart was full of Seraphina, and the six years of love we’d shared had evaporated into nothing. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my calf. I looked down. It was Bruno. He was holding a fork, jabbing it into my leg, over and over. “”You’re a bad woman! You bullied my new mommy!”” Beads of blood welled up, tracing red lines down my skin. Seeing my blood only seemed to excite him, and he dug the fork in deeper. “”I’m punishing you, you bad, bad woman!”” Seraphina let out a delighted little laugh, praising Bruno for being her “”brave, loyal little knight.”” Damian watched, a faint, cruel smile playing on his lips as he observed my pain. I had always held onto a fragile, desperate love for my son. Now, as he twisted that fork, that last piece of my heart disintegrated. This was the child I had brought into the world in a tiny clinic, without an epidural, after nine hours of agonizing labor. The same child who, in another life, would kill me because he was ashamed of my origins. Now, he was hurting me for a woman who was practically a stranger. When they had finally vented their frustrations, the three of them went into the master bedroom together. A happy family. I was left alone in the vast, cold living room, an outsider. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I limped to the bathroom, cleaned and bandaged my leg, and began to pack. There wasn’t much to take. Just some clothes. That was the sum of my six years with Damian Blackwood. 3 Two days before my flight, I went to the bank to exchange currency for my new life in London. As I stepped out, a person in a fluffy mascot costume—a promotion for the mall—blocked my way. The oversized head came off, revealing a familiar, friendly face. “”Rachel? It’s Mark! From back home. I haven’t seen you in forever! When are you coming back for a visit?”” I was an orphan. Damian and Bruno had been the only family I’d ever known. I’d given up everything for them, and it had all been a terrible mistake. Mark’s simple, honest concern was almost too much to bear. I forced a smile. “”I’m not going back, Mark.”” He grinned. “”I always thought I had a shot with you, you know. Then you found that Damian guy six years ago. But hey, it all worked out. You married into a good family. I’m happy for you. Come on, let me buy you lunch.”” He made a hundred bucks a day wearing that stupid costume, but he insisted on taking me to a restaurant where a single meal cost five hundred. He said we didn’t know when we’d see each other again. I couldn’t refuse his kindness. The restaurant was next to the most luxurious bridal salon in New York. Damian had once promised me a fairy-tale wedding, a dress made just for me. It was another promise that had dissolved into thin air. I glanced through the window and froze. There they were. Damian and Seraphina, trying on wedding attire. And Bruno was with them, beaming. Damian saw me at the same moment. His face contorted with rage. He stormed out of the shop and, without a word, punched Mark squarely in the jaw. He spun on me, his voice dripping with venom. “”Rachel, are you that desperate? Scrabbling around in the gutter for trash like this? Then again,”” he sneered, “”I guess a poor girl from the sticks can only attract a loser like him.”” “”Damian, are you insane?!”” I scrambled to help Mark up, putting myself between them. Mark looked utterly bewildered, unable to comprehend that this was the same man who had once loved me so fiercely. A raw, burning anger rose in my throat. I stared at Damian and Seraphina, a perfect couple in their wedding finery. “”And what are you two doing?”” I spat. “”Playing house? Getting married? Should I send a wedding gift?”” He looked stunned for a second, shocked that I’d dared to talk back. Then his expression hardened into self-righteous fury. “”This is your fault! You’re an embarrassment! Bruno wanted to see his mother looking beautiful and elegant for once. Seraphina was just doing this for him, to make him happy! Don’t you dare project your own filthy, cheating mind onto everyone else!”” Bruno, clutching Seraphina’s pristine white dress, nodded eagerly. “”You’re ugly! You’re not my mom! I want Seraphina to be my mom! Why don’t you just get out of our lives?!”” Seraphina smirked, a look of pure triumph on her face. “”Rachel, darling, a woman has to accept when she’s past her prime. You really should consider some work. It does wonders.”” My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms so hard I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing but a cold, spreading numbness. “”Damian,”” I said, my voice dangerously low. “”Who the hell do you think you are? You’re the father of my son. That’s it. You have no right to control my life. You three can play your sick little family game all you want. Just keep it out of my sight.”” I turned to Seraphina. “”And you. If you enjoy picking up my leftovers, be my guest.”” With that, I helped Mark to his feet and walked away, not looking back. Behind me, I could hear Damian’s furious shouts and Seraphina’s fake, soothing reassurances fading into the city noise. “”Rachel,”” Mark murmured, “”don’t listen to them. You’re the best person I know.”” Back in our small town, everyone thought so. Even as an orphan, I’d had countless people trying to set me up. But with Damian, I was less than nothing. An object of disgust. Not anymore. I would never give him the power to hurt me again. 4 After taking Mark to an urgent care clinic, I went home. To my surprise, Damian was sitting on the sofa, waiting for me. He was holding a wedding dress. When he saw me, the hard lines of his face softened. He stood and held the dress out to me. “”I was out of line today,”” he said, his voice gentle. “”I’m sorry. I picked this out for you. We can take a family portrait with Bruno. We’ll hang it right there.”” He pointed to the main wall in the living room, a grand gesture, as if he truly saw me as the future lady of this house. But I recognized the dress instantly. It was the one Seraphina had been wearing earlier. The one she’d rejected. He was giving me her cast-offs. In his mind, that’s all I was worth. A small-town girl who could be placated with secondhand goods. I didn’t call him out. “”When?”” I asked, feigning interest as I ran my fingers over the lace. He thought I was pleased. “”Tomorrow.”” The day before my flight. I smiled faintly and nodded. A final memory with the two people I was about to excise from my life forever. After this, we would be strangers. 5 The photo shoot was a rare moment of peace. Even Bruno, who usually looked at me with open contempt, seemed different. As I emerged from makeup, he grunted, “”You don’t look as pretty as a princess like Seraphina, but… you look okay, I guess.”” Damian nudged him gently and pulled him into his arms for a photo with me. In my last life, a crumb of affection like that would have made me giddy for days. Now, I felt nothing. A complete, placid emptiness. Once I’d made the decision to cut them out of my heart, they lost the power to affect me. The photographer positioned us, his finger hovering over the shutter button. Suddenly, Damian’s phone shrieked. It was the special ringtone he’d set for Seraphina. “”Stop!”” he barked at the photographer, snatching the phone up. A frantic, female voice burst from the speaker. “”Damian, help me! There are these guys… they’re harassing me! There are three of them, I’m so scared… please, you have to come!”” The color drained from Damian’s face. “”Seraphina, don’t be afraid! I’m on my way!”” Without a word of explanation to me, he bolted from the studio. Bruno, recognizing her voice, started yelling, “”I have to go protect my new mommy!”” And just like that, father and son were gone. The photographer looked at me, his expression a mixture of pity and embarrassment. “”Miss… Reed? Should we… wait for them to come back?”” The fragile bubble of happiness from moments before burst, leaving only the bitter taste of ashes in my mouth. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. I returned the secondhand wedding dress. It wasn’t my style anyway. The supporting characters had left the stage. It was time for the star to have her moment. I chose a sleek, powerful pantsuit, the kind a CEO might wear, and asked the photographer for a set of professional headshots. A new portrait for a new life. Later that evening, my phone buzzed. It was a social media notification. Seraphina had posted a picture. There was Bruno, curled up in her arms, looking up at her and saying “”Mommy,”” his face alight with adoration. And there, standing beside them, his arm protectively around her, was Damian. The “”harassment at the bar”” had been a game of Truth or Dare. Seraphina had drawn a dare: call the most important person on your contact list and have them “”rescue”” you. And Damian had dropped everything and run to her side. It was fitting. It was the last day I would ever be a part of his world. 6 Damian came home late, the scent of Seraphina’s perfume clinging to his clothes. Bruno was already asleep on the sofa. He saw me and his tone was uncharacteristically soft. “”Seraphina ran into a little trouble at the bar. I had to go sort it out. It was nothing.”” I nodded, pretending to believe him. His lies were clumsy, but then, I wasn’t worth the effort of a good one. “”Go give Bruno a bath,”” he said, his tone casual, entitled. “”He’s exhausted.”” I walked silently to the sofa and gently lifted our son into my arms. I started to unbutton his shirt, but his eyes fluttered open. Seeing my face, he scowled and shoved my hands away. “”Get away from me! I want Seraphina!”” I froze. Before I could react, he kicked out, his heel connecting squarely with my bandaged leg, right on top of the fork wounds from the other day. A bolt of agony shot up my leg, and my knees buckled. “”Get off me! You’re disgusting!”” he shrieked, his voice filled with a venom that was terrifying in a child so young. The commotion brought Damian over. “”Bruno,”” he said, his voice holding a mild, unconvincing note of reprimand. “”That’s no way to talk to your mother.”” “”She’s not my mother!”” Bruno screamed, his face red and tear-streaked. “”Seraphina is my mother!”” I stumbled back, cradling my throbbing leg. Damian walked right past me, not even a glance in my direction, as if I were a piece of furniture. He sighed with theatrical weariness, then pulled out his phone and facetimed Seraphina. It was a familiar, practiced motion. Even his “”frustration”” with his son felt like a performance for my benefit. “”Seraphina, Bruno’s missing you. Can you talk to him for a minute?”” His voice was impossibly tender, the voice a man uses for the woman he truly loves. Her smiling face appeared on the screen. “”Bruno, sweetie, what’s wrong? Do you miss me?”” Bruno scrambled to the phone, his face a mask of misery, as if my touch had been a violation. “”Seraphina, I miss you! I won a prize at school today and I’m saving it for you! When are you coming over?”” “”I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay, sweetie?”” she cooed. “”You be a good boy.”” He nodded vigorously, a bright smile finally breaking through his tears. And me? I got cold silence, or scorn, or violence. The last flicker of warmth in my heart guttered and died. I turned, walked into my room, and shut the door, blocking out the sound of their happy chatter. I took out my phone and double-checked the details for my flight, the car service, the flat waiting for me in London. Everything was arranged. Later that night, in bed, Damian pulled me into his arms, his hold surprisingly tight, almost desperate. “”Bruno’s just a kid,”” he murmured into my hair. “”He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t be mad.”” I lay rigid in his embrace, the feeling of his skin against mine making my own crawl. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I silently counted down the hours. Tomorrow. Tomorrow it would all be over. ” ”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393847”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother set my sister up with a blind date who was rich, handsome, and highly educated. But my sister found fault with everything. She complained that he didn’t peel her shrimp at the dinner table. She complained that he didn’t understand internet slang and couldn’t keep up with her jokes. She even complained that he was showing off when he drove her home in his Lincoln. So, after she came back from yet another date with him, whining about his supposed flaws, I asked her calmly, “Do you really not like Liam Smith?” My sister tossed her long hair back with an air of superiority. “Of course not. What’s there to like? He’s just a guy with some money.” “If you don’t like him, then can you let me have him?” A flicker of something crossed her face, but she stuck her chin out defiantly. “He’s just a man. Take him if you want him.” The next day, when Liam Smith came to pick up my sister, I was the one who ran downstairs to meet him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith,” I said, my heart pounding. “My sister doesn’t like you. But I do.” 1 A shadow passed over Liam Smith’s face. He glanced up at the small balcony of our apartment. Just then, the curtains in the room behind the balcony were drawn shut. A look of profound disappointment washed over him. Desperate to hold his attention, I quickly pulled a folded piece of paper from my cheap handbag. “Mr. Smith, this is my resume.” “I graduated from a top-tier university, I’m 5’6″, and you can see what I look like. I look about half like my sister. The only difference is she’s better at dressing up, so she looks prettier. But don’t worry, once I have money, I’ll learn how to dress up, too. I’ll be just as beautiful as she is.” “As for work, I’ve been sending out my resume like crazy. Two major tech companies have already called me for an interview. I’m preparing for them now. I’m confident I can get a respectable job.” My voice trembled as I spoke, my hands shaking so much the paper rattled. Liam looked up at the balcony again, a long, searching look, before finally taking the paper from my hand. “Does your sister know you’re here?” I nodded emphatically. “She does. She said your personalities aren’t a good match.” “When she found out I had a crush on you, she was very encouraging. She told me to go for it.” 2 Liam’s fingers tightened on my resume. He glanced up at the balcony one last time. Then, with a sigh of resignation, he told me to get in the car. I was thrilled with how my plan was working. But not wanting to overstep, I chose the passenger seat. The car ride was silent. I was too nervous to speak. And Liam… I snuck a couple of glances at him in the rearview mirror. He was clearly still reeling from the news that my sister didn’t like him. His brow was furrowed, a veil of sadness clouding his features. I didn’t mind. I just watched the city lights streak past the window. Halfway to our destination, my mother called. The cheap, tinny ringtone of my old phone blared through the quiet car. I frantically hung up after the first ring. The noise must have startled him, because Liam finally spoke. “It’s alright. You can take it if it’s important.” I turned to look at him. “It’s not important. Right now, being on a date with you is the most important thing to me.” He didn’t say anything. But in the rearview mirror, I saw the tips of his ears turn a faint shade of pink. Liam took me to a trendy, Instagram-famous restaurant. The moment the car stopped, a valet rushed to open my door before circling around to get Liam’s. As Liam got out, I smiled. “Mr. Smith, I’ve always wanted to eat here.” “A friend from college recommended it once.” “But I never had the money to come.” With that, I pulled a small notebook from my bag. I flipped to a page in the middle, and among the densely packed handwriting, I found the line “Eat at the trendy restaurant” and checked it off with a flourish. Liam was a head taller than me and could easily see what I was doing. “‘One Hundred Things to Do with Liam Smith’?” he read aloud. “What’s this?” I grinned. “I made it last night, after I asked my sister if she liked you and she said no.” I ducked my head, feigning shyness. “I’m sorry, is this too forward? I just thought… even if we don’t end up together, at least I’ll have these memories. That way, I won’t have any regrets.” He didn’t speak, but his ears turned red again. He was listening. He was paying attention. The small victory made me giddy. As we walked upstairs, I practically bounced with excitement. When I’m happy, I can’t stop talking. I chattered about the ads in the elevator, the floor numbers, anything and everything. When we were finally seated, Liam was the perfect gentleman. He asked about my preferences before ordering for us. I just smiled at him, my admiration obvious. After the waiter left, I sighed contentedly. “Liam Smith, you’re exactly as wonderful as I imagined.” His ears turned red yet again. It was like discovering a new continent. After that, I peppered every sentence with praise. I complimented him boldly, expressed my affection without reservation. And though he was a man of few words, he always responded. I felt like I could leap out of my seat with joy. Just as our food arrived, he asked me his first real question of the night. “Why do you like me? Have we met before?” 3 His question sent a shiver through me. I didn’t want to dredge up the disgusting memories of my past. But I wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity for sympathy. If it would make Liam Smith fall in love with me, I would gladly rip open my own chest and show him my bleeding heart. I smiled calmly, about to answer. Just then, his phone rang. He frowned slightly and looked at me. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” I nodded, still smiling. He stepped away from the table. The moment he was gone, I deflated like a punctured balloon, slumping onto the table. He had been quick, but not quick enough. I had seen the caller ID. “Rina.” My sister’s name. The wait felt endless. He was on the phone for a full ten minutes. When he returned, the apology in his eyes made my heart sink. As I expected, he said, “I’m so sorry, Miss Yates, but something’s come up at the office. I have to go.” A sharp, stabbing pain pricked at my heart. But I just smiled and nodded. “Of course. Drive safe.” He grabbed his suit jacket and walked out without a second glance. I watched him go. A wave of panic washed over me. After a moment of hesitation, I chased after him. “Liam Smith,” I called out. “Can I see you again tomorrow?” He stiffened, but after a moment, he nodded. I quickly held out my phone for him to add me on social media. He hesitated for a second. But he added me. Then he walked away, his pace quickening. I went back to our table and sat there until two in the morning, when the restaurant finally closed. 4 My first encounter with Liam Smith was a cliché story of salvation. When I was eighteen, I got into a top-tier university. While my classmates and teachers were celebrating with me, my father called me out of my room as I was preparing to register. He lit a cigarette and spoke calmly. “Sierra, there’s something I need to discuss with you. I’ve talked it over with Aunt Jane, and we’re getting married in a few days.” Aunt Jane was his girlfriend after he and my mom divorced. I neither liked nor disliked her. “If you’re happy, that’s all that matters,” I said. But his next words plunged me into an abyss. “Aunt Jane is pregnant. And you know, I don’t make much money. So, she said… she’ll have the baby, but I have to stop supporting you financially. Your mother has money. You can ask her for your university fees.” My fists clenched. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced them back, my voice a desperate plea. “My tuition isn’t that high… maybe five thousand a semester. The first year is only three thousand. Can you just help me with that? I… I can get a student loan…” But he just stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Sierra, the law only requires me to support you until you’re eighteen.” Then he went back to his room and slammed the door. The sound echoed in the empty house for a long, long time. I stood there, tears streaming down my face, for I don’t know how long. The next day, I did as he said. I messaged my mother. I drafted the message like a report to a CEO, agonizing over every word before finally summoning the courage to hit send. Her reply was swift and brutal. “Sierra, I hope you understand that laws are meant to be followed, not broken. When your father and I divorced, we agreed that he would support you, and I would support your sister. Your father is incompetent, and you are eighteen now. You’re an adult. Don’t be a useless parasite like him, coming to me for money. My money is for your sister. It has nothing to do with you.” I hid in my room and cried for hours. It was just like when they divorced. They had fought over who got my sister, Rina. They had even come to blows at the courthouse. Neither of them wanted me. In the end, my mother had to give up her rights to the house we lived in just to get custody of Rina. I never understood why I was so unwanted. Why, when we both came from the same womb, did my sister get all their love, while I was an inconvenience no one was willing to take? My tears soaked my pillow. The next day, just as they wanted, I packed my bags and went to the city where my university was, looking for work. To save money, I took the slowest train. The journey took two days and two nights. I cried the entire time, mourning the cruelty of my parents, my uncertain future. As I sobbed, a man struck up a conversation with me. He was kind. He gave me a piece of his bread, some of his cured meat. He told me he had a daughter my age, who had also gotten into a good university. He was on his way to a factory job to earn her tuition. His face was so full of paternal love that I, so starved for it myself, believed him. When he told me he could get me a job at the factory, earning five thousand a month, I trusted him completely. But that night, he led me down a dark, deserted alley. He slapped me dozens of time, ran his hands all over my body, molesting me in the most degrading ways. Then he took my luggage, all my money, and left. The moon was bright that night, so bright it seared my eyes. I went to the police. I had lost not only my money but also all my documents, including my university acceptance letter. That night, I wanted to die. A policewoman looked at my desolate eyes. “You should be thankful, kid. It’s a safe city now, isn’t it?” My cheek throbbed where he had slapped me. I borrowed the station’s phone and called my father. He listened to my story and said calmly, “Isn’t your mother in that city? Go find her.” Then he hung up. My hand trembled as I held the receiver. But the tears threatening to spill over stayed put. I turned to the policewoman. “Can I borrow a hundred dollars? I need to go find my mother.” She looked at my unfocused eyes. Her colleague tried to signal her to say no, but she pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and handed it to me. I took a bus to my mother’s villa. I didn’t cry. My head was buzzing. I walked the rest of the way from the bus stop. As I approached the house, I heard the sound of music. A banner hung over the gate: “Congratulations to our little princess, Rina, on getting into university.” Through the iron bars, I saw my sister standing in front of a giant cake. She wore a beautiful crown and a princess dress. The living room was filled with beautifully dressed young men and women. They were probably her classmates, or my mother’s business partners. The tears I had been holding back all night finally broke free. The bitter taste mixed with the pain in my mouth. It was a raw, agonizing ache that made me tremble. I clung to the iron gate, the peeling paint digging into my flesh. I was a pathetic, peeping Tom, a miserable clown watching a life that could have been mine. As my tears threatened to run dry, a luxury car pulled up beside me. A handsome, impeccably dressed gentleman got out. Fueled by a desperate, vengeful impulse, I walked up to him, tears streaming down my face. “Hello, I’m so sorry to bother you, but… can I borrow five thousand dollars? No, ten thousand. I’ll use my face as collateral.” “You can take a picture of me and show it to the owner of this house. Tell her to pay you back. She will.” The man studied my face. He was silent. I knew it was a lost cause. My shoulders shook with choked sobs. “I’m sorry, I… I shouldn’t have bothered you,” I stammered, turning to leave. But just as I turned, he called out to me. “Give me your phone. I’ll transfer it to you.” I froze, then collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, the raw, guttural cries of a broken heart. Through my tears, I looked up at him. “I… I don’t have a phone. It was stolen.” He thought for a moment, then pulled out his own phone and made a call. “Wait here. I’ll have someone bring you the cash.” I stared at him. Then he walked into the villa, disappearing into the crowd that was my mother’s and my sister’s world. Ten minutes later, a man brought me ten thousand dollars. Clutching the money, I felt a new emotion bloom in the desolate landscape of my heart. It wasn’t just sadness anymore. It was jealousy. Jealousy of my sister. And for the first time, it was hatred. Hatred for my mother. But it was also the first time I felt a flicker of desire for my own barren, disgusting life. I wanted that man.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393846”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment my father died, his illegitimate daughter, Amber, flew in from overseas to steal my family home. As the sole daughter from his marriage, with his will firmly in my favor, it should have been an open-and-shut case. It wasn’t. Because my fiancé, Zach Song—a man who practically owned the city of Northwood—chose her side. He shielded the wheelchair-bound Amber behind him, his voice laced with impatience as he tried to reason with me. “The money I’m offering you could buy a dozen estates like this. Have you no compassion, Jenna? Why are you fighting a disabled woman over a house?” I stared at him, the betrayal a bitter pill I couldn’t swallow. “Fighting her for it? Zach, that house was the only thing my mother left me!” In the end, he still helped Amber win the lawsuit. He looked at my tear-ravaged face, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Jenna, I’ll make it up to you.” But I knew, right then, there was no “us” left to make up to. 1 “I’ll add another five million to the compensation. Just give the estate to Amber.” “She was in a car accident overseas, Jenna. She’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Just think of it as taking pity on a cripple.” Zach’s casual words felt like daggers, driving me to the brink of madness. “Not in a million years! That house was my mother’s legacy!” My voice cracked. “Her mother was nothing but a maid in our house! She crawled into my father’s bed while my own mother was pregnant with me. Then she had the gall to flaunt her baby bump in my mother’s face, taunting her until the stress sent my mom into premature labor. The hemorrhage was too much. She died right after I was born.” “You want me to pity her? Who’s going to pity my mother and me?” My hysterical accusations were met with a sigh. Zach took off his gold-rimmed glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at me, his patience worn thin. “Jenna, stop making a scene. I’ll add another twenty million. That’s enough to buy you a whole portfolio of properties like that one. Are you satisfied now?” He slid a contract across the table. “Here. Sign the transfer agreement.” I looked at the man before me in utter disbelief, hot tears spilling down my cheeks. “Zach, I’m your fiancée! Not only are you refusing to help me, but you’re helping the very person who destroyed my family?” “Is this the love you promised when you proposed to me?” He had the grace to look ashamed. After a long silence, his tone softened. “I just feel sorry for her, that’s all.” “Jenna, if you just sign this quietly, I, Zach Song, promise that from this day forward, I will protect you and only you.” The contract was pushed in front of me again. Without a moment’s hesitation, I snatched it, ripped it to shreds, and threw the pieces in his face. “Forget it. I’m never signing.” “We have a court date tomorrow. If you still plan on siding with her, then I’ll see you there.” I grabbed my bag and turned to leave. Zach’s voice, now a cold warning, stopped me in my tracks. “Jenna, don’t force my hand.” My steps faltered for a second, then I walked on, more determined than ever. Suddenly, a scuffling sound from behind me, followed by a familiar, terrified yelp. “Arf-arf!” My heart plummeted. I spun around, my eyes wide with horror. “Are you insane?” “You’re using Buddy to threaten me?” Buddy. The dog we had raised together for five years. He was like our child. But now, he was shackled in heavy chains, two burly security guards pinning his frail body to the floor. A vet stood beside them, holding a syringe with a glittering needle. All it would take was one word from Zach. The lethal dose would flood Buddy’s system. Zach sighed, a mask of regret on his face. “Jenna, you’re the one who forced me to do this.” “I had them prepare another copy of the agreement. Sign it.” “You have three minutes. Whether Buddy lives or dies is up to you.” The sight of Buddy, held hostage, shattered my composure. I lunged at Zach, clawing at his sleeves, my voice a choked sob. “Zach, that’s Buddy! The puppy we adopted together! How could you do this to him? He’s ten years old, he’s so old and fragile, he can’t take this! You’ll kill him!” My tears didn’t stir an ounce of pity. He glanced at his watch. “You have two minutes to decide. The estate, or the dog?” Buddy’s old body was already failing him. He struggled violently for a moment, his tongue lolling out as he panted, his barks turning into sharp, desperate yelps. But the guards just pressed him down harder, silencing him until only weak whimpers escaped. He couldn’t speak, he could only plead with his eyes for me to save him. His tail, once a happy metronome, was now limp on the ground. His eyes, barely open, were fixed on me, and I could see the tears welling in them. Every second I looked at him, I felt my heart being torn to shreds. But the estate… it was the only piece of my mother I had left. How could I hand it over to the daughter of the woman who caused her death? How could my mother ever rest in peace? “One minute left, Jenna.” Thump. My knees gave out. All pride, all dignity, evaporated as I fell to the floor before him. “Zach, I’m begging you. Please, let Buddy go!” I pleaded. “Why do you have to drag him into this? Don’t you remember when he had Parvo as a puppy? He was so close to dying, and you were crying right there with me. I know you love him. How can you be so cruel to him now?” “Please, give him back to me. Can’t you see he’s barely hanging on? Please!” Zach didn’t answer. He just stared at his watch, his voice a cold, detached countdown. “Ten seconds.” “Five.” “Doctor, you can inject…” The syringe was raised high. On the floor, Buddy was limp, almost lifeless. In that instant, I finally understood the true depth of Zach’s cruelty. I collapsed completely, my body giving out as I screamed, the sound raw and broken. “I’ll sign!” 2 My hand trembled as I signed the agreement. Zach finally smiled, satisfied. He passed the papers to Amber, who was waiting behind him. Her own smile was one of pure triumph as she waved the document at me. “Thank you ever so much, sis.” “I’ll have my mother move in with me soon. She’ll be so happy to finally live in the estate, rightfully and openly.” I was too furious to speak, turning my face away to look back at Zach. “Now. Can you let Buddy go?” Zach nodded, gesturing for the guards to release the dog. He bent down, about to help me up. Just then, a terrified shriek came from behind him. “Ah! Help me!” Amber screamed. “Something’s wrong with my wheelchair!” As she yelled, the electric wheelchair accelerated backward, rocketing toward the spot where Buddy lay. In a flash, it ran straight over him, only stopping when it slammed into the wall. “It hurts! My legs, they hurt so much!” she cried out. She could still cry out in pain. But my Buddy, his legs still bound, had no way to escape. He took the full weight of the machine as it crushed him. He let out one last, agonizing cry, and then… silence. Zach didn’t even glance at him. He strode right past Buddy’s broken body. He swept the pale-faced Amber into his arms, his voice a soft murmur. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ll get you to the hospital right now.” And then they were gone. I scrambled, practically crawling, to Buddy’s side. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. I grabbed the vet’s arm, my voice a feral roar. “Save him!” “He’s not breathing! You’re a doctor, do something! Save him!” The vet checked for a pulse, for breath, and then slowly shook his head. “Miss McQueen, I’m so sorry. He’s gone.” A deafening roar filled my ears. I don’t remember much of that afternoon. I was a ghost, a hollowed-out shell, carrying my dog’s body to the crematorium. I have no real family. My mother died young, my father was a cheat. For years, there was only one person and one dog I had truly loved. Now, Buddy was dead, and Zach had betrayed me. Standing before the searing heat of the furnace, a profound, unshakable chill seeped into my bones. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Zach. He just got rolled over a bit, right? I heard him yelp, so he should be fine. Amber got a real scare, though. I’m staying with her at the hospital tonight. Won’t be home. Since the agreement is signed, make sure you withdraw the lawsuit tomorrow. Don’t be sad. I’ll love you twice as much from now on. I didn’t reply. I clutched the urn containing Buddy’s ashes, my gaze falling to the diamond ring on my middle finger. The irony was suffocating. Love? To hell with his love. Zach knew this would destroy me, and he did it anyway. That wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. A deliberate, calculated choice to hurt me. And that was something I could never forgive. That afternoon, I didn’t withdraw the lawsuit. Instead, I spent the night packing my bags and moving out of the home we were supposed to share as a married couple. The ring that once symbolized our love, I took it off. And left it on the coffee table. The ring was trash. Zach’s love was even worse. My phone buzzed again. A notification from an airline: Dear Ms. Jenna McQueen, your purchase of a ticket for flight AA8785 from Northwood to San Francisco has been confirmed. The flight will depart the day after tomorrow at 10:15 AM. We wish you a pleasant journey! Another vibration. A text from an unknown number: Miss McQueen, I have the information you requested. There is no record of Amber being in any car accident. 3 I didn’t withdraw the lawsuit, so the court hearing proceeded as scheduled. But with the signed transfer agreement, Zach effortlessly won the case for Amber. As the court adjourned, he cut me off before I could leave. Seeing my cold expression, he asked tentatively, “I told you to withdraw the suit. Are you still angry?” “It’s not that I’m taking her side. Amber was a junior of mine back in high school abroad. We were close. Seeing her like this now… I just pity her. That’s why I…” “I saw a new development over at Seaside Point. The environment and location are much better than the old estate. I’ll buy you two villas there as compensation. I’ll take you to see them. And I already promised you, from now on…” Zach’s words were cut short. The ever-present Amber rolled up in her electric wheelchair, interrupting. “Jenna! I was just about to look for you!” “Zach said he was worried people in our circle might bully me since I’ve just returned. He’s throwing a party at the estate tomorrow night, a housewarming to show everyone I have his support.” “Since you’ll be moving out tomorrow anyway, why don’t you join us?” The moment Amber spoke, Zach eagerly chimed in, “Yes, exactly. Amber’s status is… awkward. With you there, it will help legitimize her.” I frowned, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Legitimize her? How?” “Her age and her parentage are facts. A child born during my parents’ marriage is the child of a mistress. What other name is there for it?” With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me, Amber’s face flushed red with anger. She choked back a curse, turning a wounded, helpless face to Zach. “Zach… is Jenna still mad at me?” “It’s all my fault. I should have just stayed overseas, a useless cripple, and died. I shouldn’t have come back here to be a burden to everyone.” Zach patted her shoulder reassuringly. “What right does she have to be angry? I’ve more than compensated her for her troubles.” “Don’t overthink it. I’ll take care of everything for you tomorrow.” What Zach meant by “take care of everything” was, of course, a threat. The next day, while I was in the backyard directing movers, the party in the front yard was in full swing. Zach pushed Amber’s wheelchair through the crowd, patiently introducing her to his influential friends. They even wore matching outfits in a complementary color scheme. From a distance, you’d think they were the engaged couple. I let out a hollow laugh and looked away, focusing on getting the movers finished as quickly as possible, refusing to set foot in the main house. I didn’t realize Zach had approached me from behind until his voice, sharp with displeasure, cut through the air. “I sent you dozens of messages last night. Why didn’t you reply to a single one? She’s already lost her legs, for God’s sake. Are you really so cruel that you want to make it impossible for her to live in this city?” When I refused to even look at him, he stepped in front of me, holding out a tablet. On the screen was a live feed. A group of men with shovels and pickaxes were surrounding my mother’s grave. Their intentions were chillingly clear. “Jenna, if you would just be a little more cooperative, I wouldn’t have to resort to this.” I looked at the man before me, my heart so broken it was simply numb. Desecrating a grave. He had really outdone himself this time. It’s always the one you love the most who knows exactly where to stick the knife. I couldn’t even summon the energy to be angry anymore. The disappointment was absolute, a vast emptiness hollowing me out. More than that, I hated my own powerlessness. “There’s no need for such a dramatic display, Mr. Song.” “It’s just a few words. Don’t disturb my mother’s rest.” I handed the tablet back to him. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Where’s the engagement ring I gave you?” he demanded. 4 “Never mind. After this is all over, I’ll buy you a better one.” He answered his own question, effectively silencing the “we’re over” that was on the tip of my tongue. I scoffed, pulling my hand free and walking toward the front yard. I stood beside Amber, took the microphone, and spoke the sanctimonious words they wanted to hear. “Amber is my dear sister.” “Her mother was not a mistress. She was my father’s second wife.” “I gave this estate to Amber willingly, a welcome-home gift from a loving sister.” … From the crowd, Zach led the applause, his actions cementing Amber’s place in Northwood’s high society. Just as I was about to leave, Amber tugged on the hem of my dress. “Thank you, sister, for clearing my mother’s name and mine. We haven’t had a proper chance to talk since I came back. Do you have a moment?” In front of everyone, I couldn’t refuse. I followed her to a secluded corner of the garden. The moment we were alone, her façade dropped. “You really thought forcing Dad to send me away all those years ago would work?” she sneered. “The second I’m back, everything is mine. So what if I’m the illegitimate one? With Zach on my side, who in this city would dare to even frown at me?” “Jenna McQueen, soon enough, you’ll be just like that pathetic old dog of yours—crushed under my heel!” My gaze drifted past her, to a hidden security camera nestled in the eaves of the garden pavilion. I let out a small, deliberate laugh. “The Song family would never allow a cripple to become Mrs. Song.” As I expected, Amber wasn’t provoked. Instead, she slowly, deliberately, rose from her wheelchair. “Surprised? I was faking it.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “And you just watch. The real show is about to begin.” “I have your house. And soon, I’ll have your fiancé, too!” The words had barely left her mouth when she purposefully climbed onto the low railing bordering the garden pond and threw herself in, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Somebody help me!” Hearing the cries, Zach came sprinting over. Without a second thought, he dove into the water and pulled Amber out. She lay in his arms, her face pale and fragile, and pointed a trembling finger at me. “Jenna, why did you push me? I know you hate me, but to push me into the water when I’m like this… you were trying to kill me!” Zach clutched Amber protectively, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at me. “Jenna, I thought you were just heartless. I never imagined you were this venomous! Do you have any idea what could have happened? If I’d been a second later, she could have drowned! How could you attack a disabled person?” “Apologize!” he roared. I frowned, stunned that he wouldn’t even give me a chance to explain. He had already condemned me. “She jumped in herself!” This only enraged him further. “That’s absurd!” he bellowed. “Amber can’t even walk without her wheelchair! How could she possibly jump?” I raised my hand, pointing towards the pavilion. “There’s a camera. We can check the security footage and see if I’m lying.” I was about to order someone to retrieve the footage when Zach lunged forward and shoved me hard. I tumbled backward, plunging into the cold pond water. “Why bother checking? If you were brazen enough to do it, you were smart enough to cover your tracks.” He loomed over me as I struggled in the water. “Instead of forcing a fake apology out of you, maybe you should experience what it feels like to drown. Then we’ll see if you ever dare to lay a hand on Amber again!” The water wasn’t deep, and I fought to get my footing. But Zach was determined to teach me a lesson. The moment I gasped for air, he grabbed my head and shoved it back under. Water flooded my throat, my airway spasmed, and my lungs felt like they were about to explode. He would pull me up just long enough for me to take a single, desperate breath before plunging me down again. Over and over, until my body was spent, until I had no strength left to fight, my consciousness fading into a dark, swirling void. Finally, he mercifully dragged me out and dumped me on the grassy bank, leaving me to cough and splutter in a pathetic heap. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Go home and think about what you’ve done,” he spat. “I want to see you at Amber’s door with a formal apology tomorrow morning at nine.” With that, he lifted Amber into his arms and strode away. The crowd of onlookers stared, their gazes a mixture of pity, amusement, and morbid curiosity, before they slowly dispersed. I lay on the cold, wet ground, too weak to even move. “Cough…” I choked up a lungful of water. I numbly wiped at the tears I hadn’t realized were falling, and a strange sound escaped my lips—a laugh, quickly dissolving into uncontrollable sobs. But at least… At least he had been decisive. He had suspected me, abandoned me, and tortured me without hesitation. He had systematically destroyed every last, lingering shred of love I had for him. And then, I truly laughed. Here’s to a heart finally dead. Here’s to my freedom.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393845”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d just been dropped into the body of the useless, washout heir of the Northern Duke, just in time for my fiancée to publicly break off our engagement at the ceremony. “Caden,” she declared, her voice ringing through the hall, “the man I love is Asher. Now that he’s back, I can’t possibly marry you. I hereby announce that our engagement is over!” Asher, the story’s golden-boy protagonist, drew his sword, his voice a low threat. “And if you don’t agree, Caden, I swear I will slaughter every last member of your family.” The original Caden was a pathetic simp for the girl, Elara. He would have gladly handed over his life for her. So, as everyone in the room held their breath, expecting me to meekly agree and let them walk away… I spoke, my voice deceptively calm. “Excellent. You dare to publicly humiliate the House of the Northern Duke? Then you can all die right here.” 1 The engagement ceremony was in full swing when he appeared. The moment Asher, the story’s “Chosen One,” stepped into the grand hall of the ducal palace, my fiancée, Elara, shot to her feet. “Caden, I don’t love you,” she announced, her voice filled with righteous defiance. “If your family hadn’t strong-armed mine, I never would have agreed to this engagement! The man I love has always been Asher. And today, I, Elara Thorne, declare that our engagement is null and void!” Asher drew his sword, a menacing glint in his eye. “And if you object, Caden, I will one day slaughter your entire household.” I was still reeling from being thrust into this world, my head spinning. But the plot of the novel came rushing back to me. This Northern Duke’s heir was just a side character, a pathetic, spineless loser obsessed with the female lead, Elara. In the original story, to make her happy, he not only stepped aside but also provided them with a fortune in resources for their training and cultivation. And his reward? The moment Asher achieved the highest level of swordsmanship, he and the Thorne family stormed the ducal palace, slaughtering everyone inside. The hero and heroine then lived happily ever after. I remembered reading that part and cursing out the author. The next thing I knew, I was here. And with my temper, there was no way I was letting that happen. I slapped Elara hard across the face. “You goddamn bitch,” I snarled. “Every scrap of resources your family has came from my house. And now you want to call it off? You humiliate me and my family in public, and you expect me to just take it?” Elara stared at me, her hand pressed to her reddening cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Caden, you hit me? You told me you loved me! Was that all a lie? You said you’d do anything to make me happy! All I’m doing is breaking off an engagement! What’s the big deal?” Asher looked equally stunned. This was not how the script was supposed to go. 2 The guests began to whisper amongst themselves. “Is Elara Thorne insane? The Duke’s heir is top-tier in family background, talent, and looks. Why would she break it off?” “He doted on her, gave her family anything they asked for. And this is how she repays him?” “Exactly. And to do it so publicly… she’s lost her mind.” “Well, you know, based on his usual behavior, he probably would have agreed. But something’s different about him today…” I shot a cold glance at the hero and heroine. “Where are the ducal guards?” The captain of the guard, a man named Kane, dropped to one knee. “Your Grace, what are your orders?” “Kill them.” “What?” Asher immediately stepped in front of Elara. “Caden, are you insane? You’d kill Elara over something so trivial?” Trivial? They had just dragged my family’s name through the mud in front of the entire nobility. Were the people in this book all idiots? Besides, if I didn’t kill them now, they’d be the ones wiping out my entire family later. “Caden, you said you loved me!” Elara cried. “Is this how you show it?” Even Kane, the guard captain, hesitated. The entire palace knew how much she meant to the original Caden. He wasn’t sure if I was serious or just trying to scare them. “Hmph. Caden, you disappoint me,” Elara huffed, her chin held high. “So you just wanted to possess me. Don’t you know that true love is wanting the other person to be happy? I’ve found the man who can make me happy, and instead of wishing me well, you threaten us? That’s not love!” What the hell kind of twisted logic was that? This was definitely a story written for a female audience. “I’m telling you, Caden, let us go right now,” she declared. “Otherwise, we can’t even be friends!” My face darkened. I turned to Kane, my voice laced with displeasure. “Are you deaf? Or have my orders as the heir suddenly stopped meaning anything?” Kane hesitated no longer. He drew his blade and lunged at Asher. The other guards immediately formed a protective circle around me. Asher hastily drew his own sword to parry. BOOM! A powerful shockwave erupted from the clash, sending tables and chairs flying. Dishes shattered, food and wine splattering everywhere. The weaker guests were thrown from their feet, crying out in pain as they rolled on the floor. The hall was in chaos. Asher, a level-eight warrior, stood his ground. But Kane, a level-nine, was forced back a dozen steps, his face a mask of shock. I had to hand it to him. Asher was the Chosen One, all right. He could fight above his weight class and still come out on top. Good thing he was still in his early stages. It was the perfect time to crush him. 3 Two of the palace’s grandmasters, powerful cultivators in service to my family, appeared at my side in a flash. They bowed. “Your Grace.” “Caden, what kind of man relies on his family’s power to fight his battles?” Asher taunted. “If you have any guts, you’ll fight me one-on-one. If I win, you let me leave with Elara.” The original Caden, despite his decent talent, was only a level-six warrior. I’d have to be an idiot to take that deal. Elara’s father, Lord Thorne, seeing the grandmasters appear, quickly positioned himself in front of his daughter and Asher. “Your Grace, please forgive us! This is all my fault for failing to raise my daughter properly. I’ll be sure to discipline her when we get home. The Thorne family would be honored to have Elara marry you.” “But,” he added, his tone shifting, “as Elara said, her heart belongs to Asher now. You can’t force love, can you?” I didn’t even spare him a glance. “Seize the entire Thorne family,” I ordered coldly. “Anyone who resists is to be executed on the spot.” “Yes, Your Grace.” Hundreds of ducal guards descended on the Thorne family contingent. They, of course, did not go quietly. “What do you think you’re doing? Touch me again and I’ll cut you down!” “Our Elara has the Duke’s heir wrapped around her finger! You think he won’t have you all killed for this?” “Agh! Get your filthy hands off me, you dogs!” The guards showed no mercy. For those who resisted, blades flashed. Four or five Thornes fell, their blood staining the marble floor. The rest finally understood the gravity of the situation and fell silent, their faces pale with terror. “Caden, you dare to have my cousins killed?” Elara shrieked. “You kill these guards right now and get on your knees and apologize to me! Otherwise, I will never forgive you!” I looked at her like she was a moron. “Haha, Elara, you really are brainless. Did you honestly think I was going to let you walk out of here alive today?” I gestured to the two grandmasters. “What are you waiting for? Kill these two degenerates. And make it quick. Don’t give them a chance to turn the tables.” “Yes, Your Grace.” 4 Just as they were about to move, a powerful voice roared through the hall. “I’d like to see you try!” A crushing pressure filled the air, so intense it seemed to crackle. A black-robed old man appeared in an instant, his presence suffocating. Asher’s eyes lit up. “Master, you’re here!” The newcomer was Asher’s master, Alistair, the vice-master of the Martial Temple, a half-step away from being a Saint-level powerhouse. My father, the Northern Duke, had taken most of the household’s elite forces and our half-a-million-strong army to the northern border to fight off an invasion of demonic beasts. The strongest fighters left in the palace were grandmasters, no match for a near-Saint. I looked at the old man, my voice cold. “Vice-Master Alistair, is the Martial Temple planning to interfere in the affairs of my house?” “Your Grace,” Alistair said, his tone placating, “my student acted rashly, but surely his crime is not punishable by death. I hope you will be magnanimous and show him mercy.” I laughed in his face. “Magnanimous? Your student publicly tried to steal my fiancée, disgraced my house, and made us the laughingstock of the entire kingdom, and you want me to be magnanimous?” Alistair bowed again. “What Asher and the Thorne girl did was wrong, I admit. But Lord Thorne has already promised to discipline his daughter. I will also punish my wayward student severely and give you a satisfactory explanation. Will that suffice?” “No,” I said flatly. “No one humiliates my house and walks away unscathed. I don’t care who they are.” Alistair’s face hardened. “Your Grace, do this as a favor to me. I will owe you one.” In the original story, the Martial Temple played a major role in the downfall of my house. The last thing I was going to do was give him any “face.” “Alistair, who the hell do you think you are? Is the Martial Temple declaring war on the House of the Northern Duke?” I was betting he wouldn’t dare. At this moment, my house was at the peak of its power. Besides the half-million-strong army, we had two Saint-level powerhouses and the kingdom’s only Sword Saint, a legendary figure named Lucius. Though Lucius had been injured in a great battle, he could still easily dispatch a regular Saint. If my father got truly angry, not just the Martial Temple, but the entire royal family would have to think twice. The only reason Elara was so bold was because the original Caden was such a pathetic simp. In the book, when my father found out, he was furious and wanted to wipe out the Thorne family, but the original Caden threatened to kill himself to stop him. Alistair, a man used to being revered, had never been so humiliated. A flash of killing intent flickered in his eyes. “So, Your Grace, you refuse to give me this courtesy?” “That’s right. These two lovebirds must die.” “And what if I insist on taking them with me?” “Then you can try.” I turned to the grandmasters. “You two, hold off Alistair. The rest of you, kill that bastard and his whore!” “Yes, Your Grace!” 5 Alistair’s face paled. “What are you all waiting for?” he yelled at Asher and the Thornes. “Run!” Asher and the surviving Thornes finally snapped out of their daze and scrambled for the exit. The battle erupted. The two grandmasters, both masters of the blade, attacked Alistair from either side. Their sword energy cut through the night air like twin rainbows of destructive light. Alistair met their attack with his own sword, a dazzling display of crisscrossing energy. BOOM! BOOM! The collision of forces was devastating. A gale-force wind ripped through the palace courtyard, sending rocks and debris flying. The ground was torn apart. The three combatants were all thrown back, but they were on each other again in an instant. The air thrummed with the sound of clashing steel and explosions. The courtyard was turned into a crater-filled wasteland. Though the two grandmasters were clearly outmatched, they managed to keep Alistair tied down. Meanwhile, the Thornes were being slaughtered. A dozen had already fallen. Lord Thorne and Elara had managed to escape the palace. Asher was covering their retreat, his body a canvas of bloody wounds. Kane was no match for him, forced back again and again. Taking two blows from the guards to create an opening, Asher cut down several more before finally disappearing into the night. [Ding! Congratulations, Host, for severely wounding the Chosen One. Reward: Ancient God-Devil Physique +1, Divine Bow of the Archer God +1] The moment the bow appeared in my hands, a surge of energy flooded my body, instantly boosting me from a level-six warrior to a level-nine. I was ecstatic. This was like leveling up on a rocket ship! This was awesome!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393844”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Mike’s thirteenth secret was different—Selena, a relentless “entrepreneur” who failed upwards. Today, 20millionvanishedintoasupermarketchain.Tomorrow,50 million disappeared on a hotel venture. She bled money daily, loving the stock market’s spectacular losses. Unlike his other flings, Selena landed Mike in headlines. “Just a business partner,” he’d say. But when I uncovered proof of the affair, his mask cracked. “You’re investigating me?” he hissed. “Remember your place—stay home, care for my mother.” He stepped closer, eyes icy. “She’s ambitious. Something a trophy wife like you wouldn’t understand.” His whisper was a blade: “Cross her, and this’ll be my second marriage.” I called Selena. “Mrs. Pierce,” she sneered, “we’re nothing alike. I build empires. Men are just stepping stones.” 1 “And let’s be clear,” she continued, not even letting me get a word in, “I’m not stealing your man. He’s the one crawling into my bed. If you can’t keep your husband’s zipper up, don’t come crying to me.” Click. She hung up. I stared at my phone and, to my surprise, I laughed. I’d never encountered a mistress so brazen, so utterly clueless. A self-made woman, she called herself. I wondered just how long her “empire” would last once I cut off her funding. At dinner that evening, Mike put on a show for his mother, pretending nothing was wrong between us. As usual, his mother brought up the same tired subject. “You’ve been married for seven years. It’s time you had a child.” “We’ll talk after this busy period is over,” he mumbled, a line I’d heard so many times it had lost all meaning. I used to feel a flicker of hope. Now, I just felt empty. Mike shot me a look, sharp as a shard of glass, assuming I’d put her up to it. It was a warning: don’t try anything. After dinner, he showered, dressed immaculately, and pulled out his phone. He sent a quick voice message, his tone warm and intimate. “Wait for me, twenty minutes. Sorry, running a little late. I’m on my way.” He shoved the phone in his pocket, eager to leave. He’d been glued to it all evening, his usually stoic face animated by a stream of playful emojis. I caught a glimpse of his screen—a cartoon avatar. He, the man who only ever used a stark black background, now had a matching profile picture with Selena. I pretended not to see and headed for the shower. Suddenly, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. I turned to see Mike’s face flush a deep red, his breathing ragged. The cool composure in his eyes was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate lust. He lunged at me like an animal, his mouth messy and urgent on my neck. “You drugged me!” he accused between frantic kisses. “No, I didn’t!” One second he was accusing me, the next he was fumbling with my clothes like a starved dog. “I want you!” I tried to push him away, but he suddenly staggered back, his eyes glazed over as if he were drunk. He fought for control, his voice a harsh rasp. “Is this all you know? These cheap, dirty tricks? Is that all you think about?” He ripped off his Hermès belt and tore off his pants, then his boxers. He pointed down at himself, his voice thick with rage and arousal. “You see this?! It belongs to Selena!” There, stark against his skin, was her name tattooed in elegant script, now bold and prominent. A thousand tiny needles of pain pricked my heart. Just two months ago, in this very room, he had whispered in my ear, “I love the way you scream my name.” The shock gave way to a wave of humiliation and fury. “If it’s hers,” I said, my voice shaking, “then let’s get a divorce.” 2 Mike glared at me. “Don’t start with that again. You pull one more stunt, and I’ll make sure you get what you’re asking for.” As if afraid I might pounce on him, he scrambled to pull on his pants, grabbing his phone as he bolted for the door. I heard him sending another voice message. “Babe, get out of the shower and wait for me. I’m about to explode.” The words weren’t a physical blow, but the humiliation was absolute. A thorn of pain lodged itself in my throat, a constant reminder of how pathetic my life had become. I took out my phone and sent a text to my assistant, Leo. Liquidate everything. Pull all our investments from Pierce Corp and dump the stock. He replied instantly. Ma’am, if we do this, Pierce Corp will likely become insolvent. It will trigger a massive financial crisis for them. Are you sure you want to go this far? Yes, I typed back. It has to be done. Just as I sent the message, the maid wheeled my mother-in-law into the room. “I created the perfect opportunity for you,” she chided. “Why did you let him leave?” Desperate for a grandchild, she was always scheming. “He went to see Selena,” I said flatly. “Men always crave excitement,” she sniffed. “This woman is ambitious. It’s just a phase for Mike, it won’t last. Don’t worry about it. You can’t help him with the business anyway. Just turn a blind eye. Once you have a baby, he’ll settle down.” I had been her primary caretaker for seven years, ever since the accident that put her in that wheelchair. I’d tended to her every need. I thought, foolishly, that she might stand up for me. But in her eyes, I was just as useless. It didn’t matter. Soon, I wouldn’t be her daughter-in-law anymore. The next morning, my phone was buzzing nonstop with notifications. I was being tagged by thousands of strangers across every major social media platform. “@KateValoisPierce what’s going on? Selena is telling you to get your husband in line!” “OMG, the great Kate Valois can’t even control her own man?” “They had the wedding of the century, a union of two dynasties, and now she’s being called a powerless wife. Kate, aren’t you going to say anything?” I opened the news app. The headline was impossible to miss. PIERCE CORP CEO KNEELS IN RAIN ALL NIGHT TO APPEASE ‘BUSINESS PARTNER’ The accompanying photo showed Mike—the proud, powerful man I knew—kneeling reverently in front of a run-down apartment building. Selena’s building. She was triumphantly tagging me everywhere, sharing the article with her own commentary. “See this, Mrs. Pierce? @KateValoisPierce I’m not the one chasing him! He’s the one begging for my attention!” “He wouldn’t leave, just kept kneeling downstairs. If you can’t control your man, it’s rude to come after me.” “Besides, we have a business relationship. Something a useless, pampered trophy wife like you wouldn’t understand!” “If I were you, I’d either support my husband’s ambition or get a divorce! Stop playing these pathetic little games.” I was instantly thrown to the wolves. The internet dubbed me the first “Original Wife” in history to get publicly owned by the mistress and not say a word. 3 My phone exploded with messages, a deluge of mockery and vitriol. The most common refrain was that even a blue-blooded heiress couldn’t keep her man, that I was pathetic for taking it out on the other woman. Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open. Mike stumbled in, looking like a wreck. The knees of his pants were soaked and stained with grime. His hair was a mess from the night in the rain, but his eyes were as sharp and cold as a winter storm. He lunged toward me, planting one knee on the bed, and grabbed the collar of my nightgown. “Did you think I was joking?” he snarled. “Who told you to go to her? Now she won’t even talk to me. Are you satisfied?” I just stared at his crazed expression. “Mike, we are still married. For you to treat me like this over another woman… have you lost your mind?” He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “So that’s it? Your status as Mrs. Pierce gives you the right to bully her?” “If that’s what you want to believe.” My quiet defiance stunned him. For seven years, I had never once talked back to him. I could see the fury building in his eyes, see the vein throbbing in his temple. His grip on my collar tightened. “If you want to remain Mrs. Pierce, you will post a public apology to Selena on every platform and leave it up for a month.” “And you will call her, right now, and beg her to forgive me!” It felt like a piece of my heart had been violently ripped out. I stared into his furious, unyielding eyes and realized, in that moment, that I had never truly known the man I’d been sleeping next to for seven years. Seeing my silence, his agitation grew. “I told you when we got married! This is an alliance, a merger of families! You are Mrs. Pierce, the lady of this house, and nothing more!” “Don’t you dare imagine anything else!” “Selena is a good woman. She’s driven, ambitious, full of positive energy. She doesn’t deserve to be bullied by a useless, spoiled brat like you!” A bitter smile touched my lips. He was rewriting our entire history to justify his affair, conveniently forgetting the countless nights he’d held me, his eyes soft with love, and told me he loved me. In the middle of our standoff, my phone rang. I answered it. It was one of our housekeepers, her voice frantic. “Miss, your mother! She saw the news about you… she had a heart attack! It’s very serious, they’re taking her to the hospital now!” “Your brother is still overseas on business! You have to get to the hospital, they need you to sign the papers!” The world tilted on its axis. My heart stopped for a beat, and a terrifying panic seized me. I scrambled to get out of bed. Mike grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. His eyes were cold, commanding. “First, you post a 1,000-word apology. Then you call Selena. You’re not leaving this room until you do.” I struggled, but he was too strong. “My mother is dying!” I screamed at him. His expression didn’t flicker. “Your mother has doctors. If you want to walk out that door, you’ll do as I say.” He was using this moment, my mother’s life, to blackmail me. The pain was like swallowing razor blades. Tears welled in my eyes. I surrendered. I quickly typed out a groveling apology, posting it from my official “Mrs. Pierce” account. Then, I dialed Selena’s number. She answered with a triumphant sneer. “Mrs. Pierce, are you ever going to give up? Are you blind? Didn’t you see the news? Your husband is obsessed with me! I, Selena Lin, have never needed a man! You should spend less time harassing me and more time controlling your own husband!” I clenched my fist, swallowing my pride, and forced the words out. “I’m sorry, Selena. I apologize for everything I’ve done. I hope you won’t be angry with my husband.” My voice was a choked whisper. “Please, don’t ignore him. I hope your partnership is successful. I will never interfere again.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “What’s wrong with you? Did hell freeze over?” I hung up, the tears finally breaking free and streaming down my face. I looked at him, my voice raw. “Are you satisfied now?” His grip loosened. I bolted from the room.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393843”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel