Every child in Port City knows: cross Tessa Thorne, and you answer to her three guardians. Danny Cole, my husband—the city’s sharpest lawyer, yet never out-argued me. Leo Virtue, my childhood friend—now Chief Inspector, who swore to protect me. Miles, my brother—who shielded me from the elite’s cruelty since he was fifteen. On my 29th birthday, I waited with a positive pregnancy test. But the coroner came instead, bearing news of Miles’ murder. Then I saw Danny in court—defending my brother’s killer. Leo cuffed me to the railing as I screamed. “Miles is gone,” he said coldly. “But Sarah’s brother is all she has.” Danny didn’t even wait for me to process the betrayal. He held out a settlement agreement, gesturing to the frail, white-clad girl standing beside him. “Tessa. Be good,” he commanded, his voice gentle but laced with steel. “Sign this. We’ll say it was all a tragic accident.” He looked at the girl, Sarah. “When the mudslide hit us on East Mountain, Sarah saved our lives, even at the cost of her own leg. Now, all she’s asking is that we save her only family. How can we refuse?” He turned his gaze back to me, and it was cold, unforgiving. “We owe her this, Tessa. You are the most important person to us, which means you share in this debt. You will help us repay it.” The words were so monstrous, my mind refused to process them. Just last night, these two men were meticulously planning my birthday party. They were Miles’s sworn brothers, inseparable since childhood. And now, with this twisted logic, they were forcing me to forgive my brother’s murderer. I slapped the pen and paper from Danny’s hand, my eyes sweeping over the three of them—Danny, Leo, and this weeping girl. “Miles was stabbed nineteen times. Who in their right mind would call that an accident?” I spat. “And another thing. Are you two absolutely certain it was Sarah Jenkins who saved you from that mudslide?” Before I could say more, Sarah collapsed to her knees with a pathetic thud. “Miss Thorne, I’m begging you! My brother is all I have left!” she wailed. “If you need a life for a life, then take mine! We’re just country folk! Our lives aren’t worth as much as yours!” Leo’s face filled with a pained sympathy as he rushed to help her up. “Tessa! You’re being cruel!” he snapped at me. “How can you just stand there and watch an innocent person kneel before you?” Danny’s expression was thunderous. “I’ll be honest with you, Tessa,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ve already made the calls. Even if you don’t sign this, not a single lawyer in this entire city will dare to take your case.” I bit down on my lip, tasting blood. Fueled by a grief so profound it felt like rage, I twisted my wrist, ignoring the searing pain as bone scraped against steel. With a sickening crack, I wrenched myself free of the handcuff. Before they could react, I lunged forward and delivered two stinging slaps, one for each of them, across their stunned faces. “Then watch me,” I vowed, my voice shaking with a terrible calm. “I, Tessa Thorne, will never let my brother die in vain.” 2 For the next three days, I visited every law firm in Port City. All eight hundred of them, from the glitzy downtown towers to the dusty walk-ups in the suburbs. The answer was always the same, delivered with a mix of pity and fear. “Mrs. Cole, please, don’t put me in this position.” “With Mr. Cole’s word out against you… if I take your case today, my firm will be shut down by tomorrow.” Desperate, I tried to access my personal fortune, the inheritance I’d set aside over the years, to hire the best international litigator money could buy. But the bank delivered another blow. All my assets were legally considered marital property, shared with Danny. He had already filed a motion to have them frozen. Without his signature, I couldn’t touch a single penny. The deadline to pay the retainer for the overseas lawyer was fast approaching. I, Tessa Thorne, who once had Port City at her beck and call, was reduced to a raving lunatic at a bank teller’s window, screaming and begging for my own money. The bank’s security guards were swift, pinning my arms behind my back and forcing me to the cold marble floor. “Let go of me! Do you know who I am?” I thrashed like a caged animal, my wings clipped, my roars a pathetic display of my own helplessness. “That’s enough. Let her go.” A pair of familiar leather shoes, standing next to a familiar white dress, came into view. I looked up into Danny’s cool, controlled eyes. He had one arm wrapped around Sarah, his gaze a deep, bottomless pit. “Tessa,” he said, his voice calm. “Have you learned your lesson?” He offered me a choice. “Accept Sarah’s apology and the settlement, or continue to be seen as a madwoman. The choice is yours.” I rubbed my shoulder, which felt close to being dislocated, and slowly pushed myself up from the floor. Unbidden tears of humiliation blurred my vision. Three years ago. The four of us—Danny, Leo, Miles, and I—had been on a camping trip when the landslide hit. Danny and Leo were buried, knocked unconscious instantly. It was Miles and I who dug them out with our bare hands. We carried them for miles until we stumbled upon Sarah Jenkins, a villager from a nearby hamlet. We emptied our pockets, giving her every last bit of cash we had, plus a wire transfer of ten thousand dollars, just to convince her to call for an ambulance. I never knew she had taken credit for what my brother and I did. And I never, ever imagined that Danny would use that lie to drive us to ruin. The memory brought a bitter, ironic smile to my lips. I pushed past him, my shoulder brushing against his. “I told you,” I whispered, my voice a blade. “My brother will not have died in vain.” As I walked away, I heard his furious hiss, and Sarah’s saccharine voice attempting to soothe him. “Danny, don’t be angry! I’ll go apologize to her again! If I beg hard enough, she’ll have to agree!” “No! You will not apologize!” Danny’s voice was like thunder. “If she can’t even comprehend this simple act of human decency, then she needs to be taught a lesson she will never forget.” 3 I thought I knew what he meant by a “lesson.” Freezing my accounts, ensuring I had no legal counsel—I thought that was the extent of it. I never imagined that in a single night, Danny and Leo could twist the entire narrative. They destroyed, replaced, and buried every piece of evidence. They painted my brother, my kind, brave Miles, as a monster. The story they fed the press was that he’d attempted to rape Sarah, and her brother had killed him in a heroic act of self-defense. In front of the news cameras, Danny, representing the killer’s family, bowed in apology to the supposed victim’s family. Sarah clung to her smirking, degenerate brother, basking in the city’s praise. The internet erupted. Angry mobs of trolls tore into the Thorne Group, our family’s company, exposing every detail, real or fabricated. Our stock plummeted by thirty percent, crippling a company already reeling from the loss of its leader. The hatred was viral. They attacked my deceased parents, defacing their graves with vile slurs. Some anonymous accounts, their cruelty knowing no bounds, even threatened to livestream the desecration of my brother’s body. Reading the headlines, the world tilted on its axis. Danny and Leo. The two orphans my family had sponsored since they were boys. For years, they had shown me only their gentlest sides, their unwavering devotion. I had almost forgotten that they had clawed their way to the top using my family’s influence as a stepping stone. How could they truly be as kind and gentle as they had always seemed? In their gilded cage, I had been pampered into a helpless canary, unable to fly. “Have you learned your lesson this time?” Danny’s voice, as smooth and captivating as ever, sounded from right behind me. It sent a shiver of pure ice down my spine. I turned, my eyes swimming with a grief so deep it was desolate. “What more do you want from me?” “Leo has everything arranged. Tomorrow, the police and I will hold a joint press conference,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “You, as the immediate family member, will publicly offer compensation to the victim’s family. You will also apologize to Sarah and her brother and drop all legal claims.” He stepped closer, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t know had fallen. “Of course,” he added softly, “you can still refuse.” He took out his phone and pulled up a live feed from a high-end nursing home. 4 On the screen was my grandfather. After my parents died, his health had deteriorated rapidly. He was sustained only by a ventilator, a fragile thread connecting him to life. Even so, his trembling hands were clutching a small, exquisite music box. I could see his lips moving, whispering that it was a birthday gift for his Tessa. Tears streamed down my face. After losing Miles, my grandfather was my only remaining blood relative. “You’re despicable, Danny,” I choked out. “Such a delicate little princess,” he mocked. “You can’t handle even this small amount of pressure?” He crooked a finger, tilting my chin up, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper. “Now, tell me, my love. Tomorrow… will it be your grandfather, ripped from his life support, who apologizes for you? Or will it be you?” “Enough! Stop talking! I’ll do it!” I screamed the words, the sound tearing from my throat. “Danny! I hate you! I hate you so much!” He pulled my collapsing form into his arms, stroking my hair as if to comfort me. “There, there. That’s my good wife,” he murmured. “After tomorrow is over, we’ll go visit him together. We’ll set his mind at ease.” The next day, the press conference began. I was a puppet on a string. Under Danny and Leo’s direction, I knelt. I kowtowed. I apologized to the family of the girl my brother supposedly tried to harm. I knelt and apologized to Sarah and her loathsome brother. I faced a sea of murderous glares and a barrage of sharp, cruel questions from reporters. “Is it true Miles Thorne had a history of abusing women? As his sister, were you aware of this?” “We hear the girl he attacked bears a striking resemblance to you. Was she a substitute for you, Miss Thorne?” “What was the nature of your relationship with your brother? Was it inappropriate?” The flashing cameras were like a thousand tiny knives, flaying me alive. Sarah’s brother, Aaron, whistled lewdly. “Yeah, that’s right! The bastard was thinking about his sister’s birthday even as he was dying! Sounds pretty damn inappropriate to me!” he jeered. “And look at her, wearing a dress to a press conference. Can’t keep away from men, can she? A total slut!” My body shook with rage. I was about to launch myself at him, to tear that smirk off his face, when Danny’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. He held up his phone, the image of my grandfather’s frail form on the ventilator flashing before my eyes. I could only dig my nails into my palms, forcing the tears back, forcing myself into submission. Seeing me sway on my knees, Sarah moved to help me up, a picture of false kindness. But out of the camera’s view, she rolled her eyes in triumph and whispered in my ear, her voice dripping with venom. “You had your chance to accept my apology, princess. Now, you get to be the sister of a monster for the rest of your life.” As she pulled me up, she dug her nails sharply into my waist. The pain was so sudden I cried out, which only incited the crowd. “Look at her! The bitch still isn’t sorry! Let’s teach her a real lesson!” That was all it took. The loose security line broke, and the mob surged forward. The victim’s family, strangers, everyone swarmed the stage, their fists and feet raining down on me. “Danny! Leo! Help me!” I screamed. Then a new terror, sharper than any other, seized me. “No! Please! My baby!” But my voice was lost in the roar of the crowd. The last thing I saw before my world went black was Danny and Leo, my guardians, my protectors, shielding Sarah as they escaped the chaos.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393788”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I have a gift—by touching an object, I can locate its missing owner. People like me are called Trackers. Once, Elder Kinsman paid me a fortune to find his missing grandson, Shane. I drained years of energy to find him, but then Shane’s sister, Isabelle, called. She accused me of kidnapping him as part of a scam. “Find my brother in 24 hours,” she hissed, “or I’ll kill your parents and send you their remains as a souvenir.” But my gift has one rule: only one search per day. By the time I got home, my parents were dead. Isabelle branded me a fraud and murderer. I died in agony. Then I woke up—back on the day Elder Kinsman came begging for help. This time, I cut him off. “Sir, you’ve been misled. No one can find people like that. If they could, they’d be gods. Call the police instead.” … I watched with cold eyes as Elder Kinsman pleaded with me, his own eyes brimming with tears. “Ms. Vance, I’m begging you, have mercy… Shane is only eighteen. He’s the future of our family…” I stepped back to pull my arm from his grasp, but he clung to me like a drowning man to a life raft. “I know the rules of the game. I’ll triple the fee! No, five times! If you find Shane, you can have half of the Kinsman family fortune!” “Mr. Kinsman, money can’t buy a life, and it can’t bend my rules. I told you, I don’t have this gift. Your best bet is the police.” He looked up, his wrinkled face a mask of pure despair. “But they all said you could! Three years ago, you found the Miller girl after she was gone for six months. Five years ago, you located the Hayes boy in that unmarked grave. Ms. Vance, those children got to live. Why can’t my Shane?” I stared at his trembling lips, a familiar ache rising in my chest. It had been the same in my past life. He had knelt in the mud of my small garden, telling me how he’d raised Shane himself, how the boy was dearer to him than his own son. My heart had softened. I took the jade pendant Shane always wore and burned through most of my energy to get a location. Just as I was about to speak, the phone had rung. I could hear the sound of chains clanking in the background of Isabelle’s call. “Tracker? Your parents are currently enjoying some stale bread I so generously provided. Would you like to hear them?” My mother’s muffled sobs echoed through the phone. “Release my brother, and I’ll release them. Twenty-four hours should be plenty of time for your little magic trick, right? Oh, and I forgot to mention, I’ve strapped timed explosives to their ankles. If my brother isn’t back, you can expect two boxes of minced meat to arrive on your doorstep.” I had run home like a madwoman. The first thing I saw was the iron box on the kitchen table. Inside was a neat arrangement of bloody, unidentifiable flesh. Isabelle had been leaning casually against the doorframe, toying with Shane’s jade pendant. “So much for your ‘gift’,” she’d said with a smirk. “Couldn’t find my brother, and you got your own parents killed. Men, take her away.” Then she’d smiled sweetly at me. “Come along, little fraud. I’ve already prepared a coffin just for you.” Her bodyguards dragged me away like a dead dog. I was thrown into the Kinsman family’s basement and subjected to days of unimaginable torment. As I lay dying, she had whispered in my ear, “If anything happens to my brother, I’ll make sure your parents never know a moment of peace, even in the afterlife.” 2 “Ms. Vance? Ms. Vance, are you alright?” Elder Kinsman’s voice pulled me back to the present. I blinked, realizing he was now kneeling on the ground before me. “What are you doing?” I scrambled to pull him up. “I’m begging you… Shane came to me in a dream last night. He said he was cold. The boy’s been frail since he was a child. Ms. Vance, please, think of it as a good deed. For the sake of an eighteen-year-old boy… save him!” “I don’t have that power.” “You do! I know you do!” His fingernails dug into my arm. Just as I was about to speak again, the sound of hurried footsteps approached the courtyard gate. Right on schedule. “Grandfather! What are you doing on your knees?! You—you conniving bitch! How dare you bewitch my grandfather!” Isabelle Kinsman’s voice was like a shard of poisoned ice. Seeing her grandfather kneeling, she rushed forward and kicked me hard in the back of my knee. I stumbled but caught my balance, staring at her coldly. “What are you looking at? You think that pretty face is enough to swindle the Kinsman family? Why don’t you take a good look at yourself in a puddle first? If anything happens to my brother, I’ll peel the skin from your face and feed it to the wild dogs!” “Isabelle! Show some respect!” Elder Kinsman struggled to his feet with his cane. “Grandfather, don’t let her fool you! These street magicians are experts at putting on a show! I bet she’s the one who kidnapped Shane, trying to extort us! Just you wait. I’ll chop her fingers off right now and see how she performs her little tricks then!” Isabelle suddenly leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “Your parents are still out in the countryside, aren’t they? How would you like it if I sent some people to ‘invite’ them over for a visit? They can see for themselves what a murderous, thieving daughter they raised.” “You wouldn’t dare!” I shoved her hand away. “Wouldn’t I? Last time some hack from downtown tried to cross me, I had his parents’ graves dug up and their ashes scattered to the wind. Tell me, if I had your parents’ arms and legs cut off, turned them into living torsos, and shipped them overseas… don’t you think that would be a worse fate?” “Isabelle, you’re insane! Those are two innocent lives! If your brother… if he dies… he would never rest in peace knowing what you’ve done!” “My brother? If anything happens to my brother, I’ll make this entire city burn for him! And this bitch will be the first to go! I’ll cut out her tongue, sever her tendons, and gouge out her eyes. Let’s see her pretend to be a Tracker then!” Elder Kinsman collapsed to the ground, bowing his head again and again, his old face streaked with tears. “Ms. Vance, please, don’t take it to heart. She’s… she’s just mad with grief…” Everyone in the city knew how vicious Isabelle Kinsman could be. I knew it better than anyone. But I had already died once. This time, without my help, I was morbidly curious to see how Shane Kinsman would defy his fate. A grim satisfaction bloomed in my chest. The debt she owed me, owed my parents… I would collect it in full, with interest. Seeing the flicker of a smile on my face, Isabelle’s rage intensified. She shoved me violently against the wall. The impact sent a burst of black spots across my vision. Isabelle gestured to the bodyguards at the gate. “Take the old man back to the estate. And don’t let him leave without my permission.” “Isabelle! You can’t do this! Only Ms. Vance… only she can save Shane!” Elder Kinsman cried out as he was dragged away. The courtyard gate slammed shut, plunging the world into silence. It was just the two of us. She sauntered over to the small table and picked up the locket my mother had given me, something I’d worn for over twenty years. She held it between two fingers as if it were something foul. “I hear this is the good luck charm your mother crawled up a thousand temple steps to pray for. Peasants will be peasants. No wonder she raised a fraud like you. Clearly a case of no proper upbringing.” I moved to snatch it back, but she stomped her foot down on my wrist. The sharp stiletto heel ground into bone, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead from the searing pain. “What’s the hurry? Aren’t you the great actress? Keep it up. Now tell me! Where did you hide my brother?” “I didn’t kidnap him.” My voice was shaking, not from fear, but from a deep, burning hatred. “No? Fine. Name your price. How much to get him back?” “I told you, I didn’t kidnap him!” She laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Playing hardball, are we? Fine. Have it your way.” She raised her voice. “Bring them in!” At that moment, the courtyard gate creaked open, and I heard a familiar, desperate cry. 3 My head snapped up. Two bodyguards were dragging my parents into the courtyard. My mother’s hair was disheveled, and a trickle of blood ran down my father’s temple. “Dad! Mom!” “Let them go!” I roared, scrambling to crawl toward them, but Isabelle’s foot pressed down harder on my back, pinning me to the ground. She crouched, yanking my hair back. “Fine! Release my brother first! Or you can watch me turn your parents into living torsos, piece by piece!” “Miss, please,” my mother sobbed, her body trembling. “Our Aria is a good girl… she’s not a con artist! She would never do something like this!” “Not a con artist?!” Isabelle snatched an iron rod from one of the guards and brought it down hard on my father’s leg. A sharp crack echoed through the yard, followed by my father’s agonized scream. The shock sent my mother into a dead faint. “Dad!” I tried to crawl forward, but Isabelle’s heel dug deeper into my spine. She used the iron rod to lift my father’s chin. “Your daughter kidnapped my brother for money. As her parents, you share the blame. If she won’t talk, you will.” My father, though contorted in pain, glared at her. “You… monster… my daughter would never…” “Still stubborn?” She swung the rod again, breaking his other leg. He let out a choked gasp, his shirt instantly soaked with cold sweat. Just as Isabelle was about to use the rod to pry open his mouth, the sound of a powerful car engine cut through the air. A man in a tailored suit strode into the courtyard, followed by four imposing bodyguards. The sheer force of his presence made Isabelle’s men tense up instinctively. “Marcus Austin? What are you doing here?” Isabelle frowned, her voice laced with hostility. The Austin and Kinsman families had been business rivals for a decade, and Marcus was the competitor she despised most. Marcus didn’t even look at her. His gaze fell on me. Seeing the blood on my wrist and the scene of carnage on the ground, his brow furrowed. He signaled his men, who effortlessly pushed Isabelle aside and helped me to my feet. “Ms. Vance,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “I’ve come to request your services.” Isabelle let out a shrill, piercing laugh. “Marcus, are you blind, or did you just hit your head? The whole city knows this woman is a charlatan who cons people out of their money. Is the Austin family fortune so vast you can afford to throw it away on gutter trash like her?” She suddenly lashed out, kicking me in the knees. I crumpled to the ground, my chin hitting the stone pavers with a sickening crack. The taste of blood flooded my mouth. “Take a good look at her!” Isabelle shouted at Marcus, her foot pressing down on my back. “Yesterday she was picking through rotten vegetables at the farmer’s market, and today she’s playing at being a Tracker? I bet she couldn’t even find her own parents’ graves!” Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Isabelle, watch your mouth.” “My mouth?” She laughed as if he’d told a joke, then grabbed my hair and shoved my face toward him. “You’re pinning your hopes on this? I bet your niece was kidnapped by a fraud just like her! For all you know, she’s being sold to a brothel right now to pay this bitch’s bills!” My father, trembling with rage, tried to push himself up. “You’re lying! My daughter is not—” Isabelle backhanded him across the face with the iron rod. Blood streamed from the corner of his mouth. “Shut up, old man! She doesn’t have any real gift! Her parents probably raised her on money they scammed from a marriage proposal! This whole family is a brood of vipers!” Marcus’s face turned to stone. “Isabelle, that’s enough.” She just laughed, pulling a crumpled ball of paper from her pocket and tossing it at his feet. “I found this under her bed this morning! Probably her little book of scams.” It was actually a collection of recipes my mother had written for me. Mangled as it was, it could be whatever she claimed it to be. “Oh, Marcus, Marcus,” she taunted. “Your niece has been missing for three days. Was she taken by one of your enemies? You must be truly desperate to turn to a fraud like this. Then again, I suppose the great Austin family can’t afford a decent private investigator anymore. Oh, that’s right, you’re on the verge of bankruptcy, aren’t you? Ever since your father’s failed investment last year, you’ve practically had to mortgage the family estate!” “Enough!” Marcus’s voice was as cold as ice. But Isabelle was reveling in her cruelty. “Did I strike a nerve? It’s pathetic, really. Ignoring the police to hire a psychic who claims she can find people by sniffing their underwear. The whole city will laugh at you! Your niece would be better off dead than being used in a scam by this parasite!” She raised her foot and stomped down hard on my hand. The sound of bone crunching mixed with my own cry of pain. “Talk! Did you sell my brother off already? Are you trying to scam the Austins now, too? I’m telling you, if you don’t produce my brother today, I’ll strip you naked, hang you from the gate, and let every stray dog and homeless man in this city have a taste—” Her phone began to ring, shrill and insistent. Her voice trembled as she answered it. “Hello? … What? … No, that’s impossible! You’re mistaken!” Whatever was said on the other end made her let out a terrified scream. The phone slipped from her grasp and hit the ground, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. Isabelle scrambled to her feet and bolted, shoving Marcus hard as she ran past him. “Marcus, you watch this bitch for me! If a single hair on her head is out of place, I’ll gouge out your niece’s eyes and use them as marbles!” Marcus waved a hand, and his bodyguards immediately moved forward, carefully helping me to my feet. “Ms. Vance, let me get you and your parents to a hospital.” Meanwhile, Isabelle raced home. She burst through the living room doors to find Elder Kinsman collapsed on the sofa. On the mahogany table before him sat a black box, its edges dripping with a dark, reddish liquid. “Grandfather!” She lunged forward. The box tipped and fell, and a severed hand rolled out onto the floor. On the inside of the wrist, a lopsided sun tattoo seared itself into her vision. She’d taken Shane to get it two years ago. He had been so afraid of the pain, he’d cried and squeezed her hand for half an hour, causing the artist to botch the design.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393787”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When the love of her life, Larry, returned to the country and discovered she’d married me, he drank himself into a stupor and died in a car crash. My wife, Brenda, was shattered. She held his body all night, refusing to close her eyes. Everyone assumed she’d hate me for it, that our marriage was over. After all, I was just the guy who’d worshipped her from afar; Larry was the one she had always truly loved. But Brenda did the exact opposite. Instead of blaming me, she seemed to fall deeper in love with me. She, who had always been terrified of animals, even adopted a dog to bring us closer. That’s when I drew the line. In front of our family and friends, I demanded a divorce. The room fell silent. Someone even whispered that I must be possessed. Brenda’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Are you insane? Haven’t I been good enough to you?” My expression was a flat, emotionless wall. “It’s because you’ve been so good to me that I have to end this.” 1. “James, what the hell has gotten into you?” Brenda’s eyes were bloodshot, her voice choked with a fury that trembled on the edge of a sob. “We’ve been married for less than four months! You promised you’d spend your life taking care of me. Have you forgotten all of that?” A collective gasp went through the room. My mother rushed to Brenda’s side, dabbing at her tears with a tissue. “Brenda, honey, don’t be upset. James’s just joking. He’s just joking! He loves you more than anything. He’d never divorce you.” “Mom, I’m not joking,” I said, my voice cutting through the air. “This marriage is over.” The certainty in my eyes stopped my mother cold. She stood there, frozen, the comforting words dying on her lips. Brenda’s face flushed with a new wave of anger. She screamed at me, “Why? Why are you suddenly doing this? What did I do wrong? I know you love dogs, so even though they terrify me, I got one for you. Isn’t that enough?” I looked at her, my face a blank canvas. “You did nothing wrong. I just want a divorce. Please, just sign the papers.” My mother lunged forward, snatching the divorce agreement from my hand. Her own hands trembled like leaves in a storm. “James, have you lost your mind? You’ve been in love with Brenda since you were a kid. You chased her for eight years! When she mentioned she liked houses with an ocean view, you worked yourself to the bone saving for a down payment. You finally have her. Why would you throw it all away?” I ignored my mother, my gaze locked on Brenda. “Sign it. Let’s end this peacefully.” “Sign it?” A bitter, broken laugh escaped her lips, though tears streamed down her cheeks. “James, look me in the eye and tell me—is this because of Larry? Do you think that now that he’s gone, I’m all yours to control? To humiliate?” Her fingernail scraped across the words “Voluntary Dissolution of Marriage” on the document. Her voice rose to a shriek. “I’m telling you, never!” “I know you were always jealous of him, but he’s dead, James! Are you really going to be jealous of a dead man?” she cried, collapsing against my chest. “All I want now is to build a life with you. I cook for you, I do your laundry, I even got Lucky for you. What more do you want from me?” At the mention of the Golden Retriever, a sour taste filled my mouth. Brenda has been terrified of dogs since childhood, ever since a neighbor’s German Shepherd chased her for three blocks. The sight of a furry animal could make her tremble. But two weeks ago, she brought home the three-month-old puppy from a pet store, claiming she wanted to cultivate a shared hobby. The dog’s wet, dark eyes were always on me. At night, it would often lie by our bedroom door, a low, guttural whine rumbling in its throat. One night, I got up to use the bathroom and, in the pale moonlight, I saw it. It was pawing at the nightstand, right where our wedding photo stood. I pushed the memory away. “Lucky is a great dog,” I said, my tone flat. “But I don’t like him.” “You used to love dogs!” Brenda’s voice cracked. “You begged me to get one. Have you forgotten that, too?” “Things change,” I said, cutting her off. I pressed the divorce papers back into her hand. “Sign them. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.” “No! I won’t sign!” she shrieked, tearing the papers into a flurry of tiny pieces. “James, just tell me the truth. Is there something you can’t tell me? Whatever it is, we can face it together!” Her tears fell onto the back of my hand, hot and desperate. Many people in the room were our mutual friends. They knew how madly I’d been in love with her, and they were all starting to believe I had some secret, tragic reason for this sudden change of heart. “Yeah, James, man,” my friend Mike said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, just say the word. A husband and wife are a team. Why are you pushing her away?” 2. All eyes were on me, waiting for an explanation. I just shook my head. “There’s no hidden reason. I just want a divorce.” My mother was frantic. She pointed a trembling finger at my nose, tears streaming down her face. “For eight years, you were the town joke chasing after her! You stood outside her apartment in the dead of winter for three hours just to bring her hot soup. When her father was in the hospital, you ran around handling everything, so exhausted you fell asleep on a bench in the hallway! Have you forgotten all that?” “I haven’t forgotten,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s precisely because I remember that I’m doing this.” “What is it you want? Brenda is giving you her whole heart now! What more could you possibly be unsatisfied with?” My father slammed his teacup on the table, his eyes filled with bitter disappointment. “How did our family produce such a scumbag? You get what you want, and then you throw it away. If you go through with this divorce today, you can consider yourself written out of this family tomorrow!” I looked him straight in the eye. “Dad, don’t threaten me with that. This divorce is happening.” The sound of a car horn blared from downstairs. Brenda’s brother, Alex, had arrived. He was notoriously overprotective of his sister; back when I was pursuing Brenda, he’d threatened to break my legs more than once. “You son of a bitch, James!” He stormed in, grabbing me by the collar. A fist whistled through the air. “Brenda has been bending over backward for you, cooking and cleaning, and this is how you treat her?” I didn’t move. The punch landed squarely on my jaw, and the coppery taste of blood instantly filled my mouth. “Alex!” Brenda screamed, throwing herself at her brother and clinging to his arm. “Don’t hit him! It’s my fault, it’s all my fault…” She turned to me, her eyes like shattered glass. “James, please, stop this. Let’s just go home. I’ll make you some soup to clear your head. Don’t you love my pot roast? I’ll go to the butcher right now…” “Don’t bother,” I said, wiping a smear of blood from my lip. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Brenda, I have no feelings left for you.” “No feelings left?” She looked at me as if I’d told the world’s most cruel joke. “James, don’t you forget, you were the one who wouldn’t leave me alone, who chased me relentlessly. And now you’re the one screaming for a divorce. What do you take me for?” The room erupted in a chorus of accusations, the voices a tidal wave of condemnation crashing over me. But my mind was made up. Without another word, I turned and walked out. 3. That night, I tried to check into a hotel, only to find my bank account was nearly empty. I’d forgotten. When we got married, I had transferred all my savings to Brenda’s account. I’d told her I wanted her to feel secure. For years, I had worked day and night, and every cent I earned went straight to her. I never carried more than a hundred dollars on me. I really did love her once. As for why I was so determined to divorce her now… I suspected only three people in the world knew the real reason. The next morning, I went to the art studio where I taught. Before I even opened the door, I could hear my students talking about me. “Professor Chen is so heartless. A goddess like Ms. Moses cooks and cleans for him, and he’s still not happy?” “I know, right? He likes dogs, so she faced her biggest fear and got one for him. What more could he ask for?” “He’s just spoiled. He acted like a puppy when he was chasing her, and now that he’s got her, he’s a wolf.” I pushed the door open. The chatter died instantly. The way they looked at me, it was like they were examining something filthy, their eyes filled with contempt. I didn’t offer an explanation. Just then, Brenda’s voice floated from behind me. “Alright, everyone, back to your easels. Professor Chen is a good man. It’s me who isn’t good enough.” I turned. And of course, she had that Golden Retriever with her. The students scattered, and the studio filled with the soft, scratching sound of charcoal on canvas. “James,” she said, approaching with a practiced smile. “As long as you drop this talk of divorce, I can forget yesterday ever happened. Please, just come home. Lucky and I both miss you.” I shot her a cold, silent glance. “Are you upset that I didn’t pay enough attention to you before? I’ve changed, I really have. Look what I have for you.” She pulled a delicate wooden box from her purse. “It’s that handcrafted sable brush you said you liked. I had someone bring it back from a famous artisan in Europe. See if you like it.” One of the students gasped. “Oh my god, isn’t that made by the master craftsman? I heard those are impossible to get!” “Ms. Moses, you’re too good to him. If my future girlfriend is half as wonderful as you, I’ll be set for life.” “Seriously, Professor. A woman like Ms. Moses is one in a million. You’d better be careful, or you’ll be the one begging for her back.” I ignored their banter and snatched the box from Brenda’s hand. I walked over to the trash can and dropped it in. “Since it was a gift for me, I assume you have no objection to me throwing it out.” Brenda’s eyes instantly reddened. She bit her lip, too hurt and humiliated to speak. The students erupted. “Are you even human? She pours her heart out for you, and you just crush it?” “I can’t believe I ever thought you two were some kind of fairy-tale romance. A man like you doesn’t deserve her!” I tuned them out. “Sign the papers, Brenda. Soon.” With that, I gathered my supplies and left. Her desperate cries followed me out the door. “James! What do I have to do to make you forgive me? What will it take for you not to divorce me?” I didn’t look back. I just kept walking. 4. For the next three days, I ignored all of Brenda’s calls and texts. On the fourth day, my mother called, her voice frantic. “Where have you been, you little brat? Do you have any idea what Brenda’s been doing? To pray for you, she went on a pilgrimage to that old mountain chapel. She collapsed halfway up the trail from exhaustion! Get your ass to the hospital now!” When I arrived, Alex was standing guard by the hospital bed. He saw me and his face twisted with rage. “You have the nerve to show your face? She went to that mountain before dawn to get you a protective charm. She climbed for six hours straight. She just woke up!” Seeing me, Brenda struggled to sit up. “James, you’re here. I got the charm. Please, don’t be angry with me anymore, okay?” Just then, the doctor came in, holding a chart. “Congratulations, Ms. Moses, you’re four weeks pregnant. The fainting was just due to low blood sugar, but you’ll need to be more careful from now on.” Brenda’s eyes lit up. She grabbed my hand, her voice filled with renewed hope. “James, do you see? We’re having a baby. We can be a real family now, okay?” My gaze flickered to the golden retriever, Lucky, lying at the foot of her bed. I pulled my hand away. “I don’t want this child,” I said, my voice cold and dead. “Get rid of it.” The room plunged into a suffocating silence. The color drained from Brenda’s face, her lips trembling too violently to form words. Alex, shaking with rage, slammed his fist into the wall. “James, you’re not a man, you’re a monster! That’s your child!” My mother rushed forward and slapped me across the face, her handprint stinging my cheek. She collapsed into a chair, wailing. “What have I done to deserve this? What kind of demon did I raise?” Brenda’s face was a portrait of utter devastation, tears falling in an endless, silent stream. “Do you hate me that much? Do you hate this baby that much?” I nodded, my face impassive. “We’re getting divorced anyway. There’s no point in bringing a child into this. I’ll schedule the procedure for this week. Be there.” “No… I won’t do it!” Brenda suddenly shrieked, clutching her stomach protectively. “This is my baby! I will never get rid of it!” “Suit yourself,” I said flatly. “But you will sign the divorce papers.” Brenda closed her eyes, two final tears of despair tracing paths down her pale cheeks. “James, I’m done with you. I’ve completely given up.” She looked at me, her eyes hollow. “You want a divorce? Fine. I agree.” “Meet me at the old family estate tomorrow at noon. I’ll sign the papers there. If you don’t show up, you’ll be trapped in this marriage for the rest of your life.” “Fine,” I said, and walked out.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393786”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother is fifty-three. She has three daughters, and I am the youngest. She was wonderful to my two older sisters, but for me, there were only fists and curses. For years, I believed I wasn’t her real daughter. I stole a lock of her hair for a DNA test, but the results confirmed it: I was hers. When she beat me until I was black and blue, my grandmother would beg her to stop. But then my mother showed her a video. My grandmother fell silent, and then told my mother to kill me. When my grandfather tried to intervene, my mother showed him the same video. He, too, begged her to kill me. I don’t understand. Why does everyone want me to die? What in God’s name is on that video? 1 “Ugh, still breathing? What a tough little roach.” “Why couldn’t I have just beaten you to death?” The first thing I saw when I woke up were my mother’s cold, hateful eyes. This was the twentieth time she had put me in the hospital. The reason this time? I’d spilled a little bit of my soup. It sounds absurd, but it was the truth. I stared right back at her, searching for a flicker of guilt, a hint of remorse. There was nothing. Only disgust, distance, and a profound disappointment that she hadn’t finished the job. My mother had despised me since the day I was born. Growing up, my life was a cycle of beatings and verbal abuse, while my sisters were showered with affection. She’d lovingly brew them nourishing soups, but when I was doubled over with period cramps, she’d just sneer, “Good, I hope you bleed to death.” My sisters wore beautiful dresses; I was left with faded, hand-me-down jeans. She even encouraged them to bully and belittle me. I was so convinced I wasn’t her biological child that I secretly sent her hair for a DNA test. The result was a bitter pill: I was, without a doubt, her daughter. I obsessed over it. I concocted wild theories. Maybe my father was having an affair with a woman who looked just like me, and my mother was taking her anger out on her doppelgänger daughter? But after tailing my father several times, I found nothing. He was faithful. There was no reason. No explanation for why she beat me. I simply endured her senseless violence, from childhood into my teenage years. During those years, I often pleaded with my grandparents for help. At first, my grandmother was heartbroken for me. She would scold my mother fiercely. “What is wrong with you? What kind of mother tries to kill her own child?” My mother would say nothing. She would simply take out her phone and show my grandmother a video. After watching it, my grandmother’s face would turn to ice. She wouldn’t just stop pleading for me; she would join in, her voice sharp with venom. “Kill her. She’s better off dead!” My grandfather was the same. He’d come to break up the “fight,” see the video, and his attitude would instantly flip. He’d beg my mother to end my life. Over the years, it was always the same story. Anyone I turned to for help, once they saw that video, wanted me dead. Even my own sisters would stand by impassively as my mother attacked me, their eyes as cold and empty as hers, as if they were all waiting for my last breath. I wracked my brain until it ached, but I could never figure it out. Why? Thank God for my father. He was the only one who protected me. But he traveled constantly for work, leaving me to face my mother’s wrath alone. Somehow, through all of it, I survived. Lying in the hospital bed, covered in fresh bruises, the memories sent a chill through me. My mother stood over me, a silent, menacing statue. I looked at her, the question bubbling up one more time. “Mom, why do you hate me so much? What did I do wrong? Please, just tell me, and I’ll change. I promise.” I meant it. I desperately wanted to know my crime. She met my tear-filled eyes and let out a short, harsh laugh. “I hit you because I feel like it! The only pity is that I didn’t kill you.” Her words were light, airy, and utterly devoid of warmth. The light in my own eyes dimmed. This time, she had truly tried to kill me. I’d only survived because I managed to call my boyfriend before I passed out. Speak of the devil. Just then, my boyfriend, Martin, burst into the room, followed by a group of police officers. The lead officer walked straight to my mother and snapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. “Claire Shaw, you’re under arrest for domestic abuse. You’re coming with us.” 2 Even with the police there, my mother’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes were calm, her face a placid mask. Martin looked at me—my bruised body, my arm and leg in casts—and his face contorted with rage. He turned on my mother, his voice shaking. “How could you be so cruel? Is Gwen even your daughter?” he roared. “You’re a monster! You don’t deserve to be a mother!” His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. I knew if my mother weren’t a woman, he would have already hit her. The thought that someone, at least, loved me made the pain a little more bearable. The police officer prompted my mother for a statement, but she didn’t even grant them a glance. Seeing her silence, Martin turned to the police, his voice filled with fury. “I can be a witness. I’ve seen the bruises on my girlfriend for months. This is abuse, and it cannot be tolerated! She needs to be punished to the fullest extent of the law!” Before he could finish, my mother’s soft laughter cut him off. She slowly pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out towards him. “Come here. I want to show you something.” In that instant, a cold terror seized me. I grabbed the corner of Martin’s shirt, my voice trembling. “Don’t. Don’t go over there… Please, don’t look.” I knew. I knew that if he saw that video, he would change. My fear only made him more curious. “Gwen, it’s okay,” he said, trying to soothe me. “Don’t be afraid. I will protect you.” His words were firm, but I couldn’t let go. I didn’t dare risk it. “Martin, I’m begging you. Don’t go.” The more I pleaded, the more he needed to know. He gently pried my fingers from his shirt and walked towards my mother. “Hmph. Playing games,” he muttered. “Let’s see what kind of twisted thing could make a mother do this to her own child.” He took the phone and started the video. I watched his face, praying for a miracle. Maybe he would be different. Maybe he would still love me. I was wrong. His eyes widened as he watched. In just a few short minutes, the color drained from his face. He said nothing, just looked at my mother with an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. She simply nodded at him. Then, Martin turned to me. The love and pity that had filled his eyes moments ago were gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness. He handed the phone back to my mother, then turned to the police officers and bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. This was all a misunderstanding. There’s no abuse here. Thank you for your time.” The police looked from him to me, their expressions skeptical. But what could I say? I felt like I’d swallowed poison. The star witness had just recanted his testimony. No one would believe me now. “It was just a family argument that got out of hand,” Martin continued smoothly. “We can handle it ourselves.” With no evidence, the police had no choice but to remove the handcuffs and leave. When Martin faced me again, his expression was ice. And then, right there in front of me, he dropped to his knees before my mother. “Aunty,” he begged, his voice raw. “You were right to beat her. You should have just killed her.” “She’s better off dead!” Tears streamed down my face, splashing onto the back of my hand. “Martin,” I whispered, my heart shattering. “Why? Why are you abandoning me too?” He wouldn’t even look at me. His voice was flat, dead. “You deserve to die.” In that moment, everything inside me turned to ash. Martin was just like all the others. He had abandoned me. I remembered the first time he’d seen my bruises. He’d sworn he would protect me for the rest of my life, even from my own mother. “You really won’t ever give up on me?” I had asked, a flicker of hope in my heart. “Of course not,” he’d replied with a warm smile. “If your family won’t love you, I’ll love you a hundred times more. I’ll make up for all the pain.” He promised he would save me from this hell. But in the end, all I got was his back as he walked away. Amid the crushing despair, the seed of a question took root and began to grow. What kind of video could possibly make everyone—everyone—turn against me and beg for my death? 3 I broke up with Martin. He agreed without a moment’s hesitation. I spent the next few days recovering in the hospital. My mother and sisters were off somewhere, enjoying themselves. They never visited. But then my father came back from his business trip. He rushed straight to the hospital from the airport. He looked at my injuries, his eyes filled with pain, and gently stroked my head. “I’m so sorry, my darling Gwen,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Daddy failed to protect you. I just… I don’t know what to do with your mother.” He was so distraught that tears welled in his eyes. I didn’t blame him. He was the only person in my family who was ever kind to me, the only one who had never abandoned me. When my mother would beat me, he would always step in to shield me. But she was his wife; he couldn’t exactly have her thrown in jail. All he could do was his best. He was busy, often away from home. But knowing he cared was enough to give me a reason to keep living. I had thought about running away a thousand times, but the thought of my father’s love always kept me there. Thinking of the video, I grabbed his hand. “Daddy, can you promise me something?” He smiled and nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. A hundred things.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Daddy, you have to promise me you will never, ever watch the video on Mom’s phone. Promise me you won’t leave me.” “What video?” “It doesn’t matter! Just promise me!” “Okay, okay, I promise. Daddy won’t watch it.” “And you’ll always love me?” “Of course. I’ll always love you.” He promised. I thought that as long as my father didn’t see it, there would be at least one person in the world who loved me. He even offered to buy me my own apartment, to hide me from my mother so she could never hurt me again. I agreed. But the very next day, he broke his promise. When I was discharged, my father didn’t come to pick me up. I figured he was just busy. I limped my way home, and the moment I walked through the door, my mother hurled a glass bottle at me. It shattered against my still-healing arm, and a sharp cry of pain escaped my lips. She sat on the sofa, glaring at me. “Why didn’t you just die out there?” Hurt and confused, I looked to my father for help. But this time, he said nothing. Seeing this, my mother became even more frenzied. She snatched my crutch away and shoved me to the floor. “Mom, why?” I sobbed, looking up at her. “Why are you doing this? Haven’t you beaten me enough all these years? Do you really want me to die?” She spat on the floor and swung the crutch, bringing it down hard on my back. “I wish you were dead!” she screamed. “Why did you have to come back and pollute my sight?” She struck me again and again. My screams echoed through the house. And my father just sat there, reading his newspaper, not lifting a finger. Finally, I cried out his name. “Daddy! Daddy, please, save me!” I expected him to rush over and shield me like he always did. He didn’t. He just said, his voice flat, “You upset your mother. Let her blow off some steam.” His words were like a thunderbolt. The last thread of hope inside me snapped. Had he seen it? Had my father seen the video? I wept as I confronted him. “Daddy, you saw it, didn’t you? You saw the video. But you promised! You promised you wouldn’t look! You said you were going to help me move out!” As I shouted the last words, I thought I saw my mother’s hand tremble. My father walked over, his face a mask of annoyance, and kicked me. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger, all the old affection gone. “What stupid video? I think you just deserve a beating. Maybe it would be better if she just beat you to death!” He was just like the others now. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that he had seen it. There was no other explanation. Just then, my two sisters came home. They glanced at me lying on the floor, their faces blank, and went to their rooms without a word. I don’t know how long it lasted. When my mother finally grew tired, she stopped. My father put his arm around her waist and helped her to their bedroom. The beating had reopened all my old wounds. Everyone in this house was blind to my pain. And I didn’t even know what crime I had committed. I was trapped in an icy hell. Even my father had abandoned me. There was no reason to stay. 4 I packed a small bag, planning to slip out in the dead of night. As I crept past the study, I saw a sliver of light under the door. On impulse, I tiptoed closer and peered through the crack. My mother was there, watching that video on her phone. I watched with her. And what I saw… it burned itself into my memory forever. I finally understood why my mother wanted me dead.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393785”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Paul was my first love. Years passed before we met again, in an elevator. He didn’t recognize me. After pressing the button for the 26th floor, he noticed I hadn’t moved and asked where I was going. I answered in a small voice, “The 26th floor, too.” He stared at me, his gaze so intense it made my whole body tense up. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t recall seeing you around the office.” My hand, clutching an insulated food jar, tightened. “I’m here for one of the employees,” I replied. He nodded once and said nothing more. I stared at his tall, broad back for a few seconds, lost in thought. He didn’t remember me. But I would never forget him. He’d been my boyfriend for three short months before using me as a stepping stone to get to my best friend. They became a couple. In the blistering heat of that long-ago summer, I lost my best friend and the love of my life all at once. 1 Paul and I stepped out of the elevator, one after the other. With his long legs, he strode ahead, and I followed at a measured pace behind him. He turned left into an office, and I saw the nameplate on the door. So he was the new boss Ian had mentioned a few days ago, the one who’d been brought in from headquarters. I turned right, into the main office area. At nine o’clock at night, the development department was still a blaze of light. Most of Ian’s colleagues knew me. Seeing me with the food jar, their eyes went wide with envy. “Damn it! How come Ian gets lovingly prepared meals while we’re stuck with the sad, lonely cafeteria food?” Under the pressure of their good-natured teasing, Ian smiled shyly and pulled me out onto the balcony. It was quieter here; this was where he always brought me when I delivered his dinner. Inside the jar was chicken soup, made from a free-range chicken my mother had bought specially from the countryside. The aroma was intoxicating. “Smells amazing,” Ian said, sniffing appreciatively. He looked at me, his face full of emotion. “A woman like you… what more could a guy ask for?” “When do you think you’ll get off work?” I asked, stroking his head with a pang of sympathy. “I think you’re starting to go bald.” “Can’t be helped. New boss, new rules. Everyone’s pushing hard to meet the deadlines right now.” He leaned in and gently bumped his forehead against mine. “Once I finish this project, I can take my leave for our wedding.” Ian and I had been set up by mutual friends. He had a high income; I had a stable job. We were a typical match in the modern dating market. After a few dates, we found we were both easygoing and got along well, so we made it official. We’d met each other’s parents last month and had started discussing a wedding date. He was good to me. Even though we weren’t married yet, he was completely open with his finances. He’d learned a thing or two from the internet, always making sure to label his contributions to our joint account as a “voluntary gift.” In return, I felt for him, working so hard, and often brought him dinner after I finished my own work. It was a comforting, stable way to be together. He didn’t mind my plain looks; I didn’t mind his straightforward, sometimes boring, personality. Just two ordinary people, supporting each other, building a life together. 2 Ian worked overtime for nearly a month straight, and I visited him every few days. Even if I didn’t bring food, we’d meet up at a small restaurant near his office just to have a change of scenery. But every time I came, I ran into Paul. He was indeed a strict boss, with high expectations for his team. But Ian said Paul was fair; though he demanded overtime from his staff, he worked even longer hours himself. Most importantly, Paul was brilliant at his job. He commanded respect. I could hear the admiration in Ian’s voice when he talked about him, but I’d heard that tone from so many people before that it didn’t seem strange. At first, I was a nervous wreck, terrified of what I’d do if Paul recognized me. But eventually, my heart settled into a placid calm. Even when Ian called out my name right in front of him, Paul’s expression never changed. He really had forgotten me completely. I breathed a sigh of relief. After a while, when Paul started to recognize my face from my frequent visits, I could even manage a natural smile in his direction. He was a distant kind of boss, not one to joke around with employees, so he would just give me a detached nod whenever he saw me. I thought this was for the best. Since Ian worked under him, the simpler our connections were, the better. 3 The day the overtime marathon finally ended, Ian called me, ecstatic, saying he wanted to come home for dinner. I left work early and went to his place with a bag full of groceries. I love to cook, and I love seeing the look of happiness on the faces of people I care about when they eat my food. Ian was hopeless in the kitchen, so he always took on the dishwashing duties. I heard the key in the lock and walked out of the kitchen, spatula in hand, just in time to see Ian step inside carrying a fruit basket. Before I could greet him, I saw Paul standing right behind him. The cheerful “You’re home!” died in my throat. I stood frozen for a few seconds. Ian, oblivious to my strange reaction, was busy finding slippers for Paul. “Director, you can wear these. They’re brand new, I haven’t even worn them yet.” They were the matching couple’s slippers I’d bought last month. The women’s pair was on my feet right now. I curled my toes uncomfortably. But Ian didn’t know, and I couldn’t tell him I didn’t like him giving our couple’s slippers to someone else. He was a guest, after all, and Ian’s boss at that. Of course, he had to be treated with care. Paul saw me and greeted me naturally. “Hello. Sorry to impose.” Ian grinned. “I ran into the Director just as I was leaving work. He asked if I wanted to grab dinner, so I invited him over to our place. “Director, I’m not just bragging, my Nina’s cooking is top-notch! You’ll know once you try it.” A corner of Paul’s mouth twitched. “I don’t need to try it to know. Every time your girlfriend brings you one of her special deliveries, I can smell it all the way from my office.” I forced a smile. “Director, are there any foods you don’t eat?” “Nothing in particular,” Paul said. “I can eat anything.” He was lying. He didn’t eat ginger, scallions, or cilantro. And he couldn’t handle spicy food. But Ian loved spicy food. Of course, I could have pretended I didn’t know. But Paul was Ian’s boss. If he was unhappy with the meal tonight, would he make things difficult for Ian at work? I bit my lip, hesitating for a moment, then changed the planned Szechuan spicy fish to a milder pickled fish soup. I added only a few dried chilies to the braised pork ribs for a hint of flavor. I stir-fried some shredded potatoes and made a simple tofu soup, with a separate bowl of spicy chili dip on the side. It was enough for the three of us. When the food was on the table, Ian excitedly pulled out a bottle of red wine he’d been saving, saying he wanted to thank Paul for all his help recently. I wanted to stop him. Ian was a one-drink lightweight. But the wine was already breathing, and saying something now would just pour cold water on his enthusiasm. So, I ate in silence. Paul wasn’t a man of many words. The conversation at the table was mostly driven by Ian. Suddenly, I felt a touch on the back of my foot. I froze, my gaze instinctively dropping, but all I could see was the floral tablecloth. Was it an accident? I quietly pulled my foot back. 4 In the end, Ian got drunk. He was slumped over the table, his cheeks flushed a deep red. I poured him a glass of honey water, coaxing him to drink it, then shot Paul an apologetic smile. When Paul wasn’t smiling, his eyes were cold and distant. He took out a pack of cigarettes and looked at me, a silent question asking if I minded. I could only say that I didn’t. He sat to the side, smoke curling around him, and watched as I helped Ian up and settled him on the sofa. I bustled about, covering Ian with a small blanket, then clearing the dishes from the table. Paul made no move to leave, and I didn’t feel it was my place to ask him to. But with Ian asleep, the two of us standing there was uncomfortably awkward. I had to wrack my brain to find things to do. I washed the dishes, wiped the table, and when I was truly out of tasks, I cut up an apple into little rabbit shapes for Paul. Paul speared a piece with his fork, studying it for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Nina.” It was the first time he had said my name since we’d met again. “Are you like this with every boyfriend?” “Like what?” “Working yourself to the bone, giving everything they ask for.” He paused, then delivered his verdict. “Like a maid.” He thought for a moment, then corrected himself. “No, that’s not right. Not just boyfriends. You’re a free maid to your friends, too.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393784”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Bella shattered the necklace Damian sent. “I don’t want your charity!” she spat. “I’m not some gold digger.” As pearls and diamonds scattered, I knelt to gather them. Damian nudged my hand. “Convince her to wear it,” he ordered, “and I’ll pay your father’s bills.” Bella glared. “Pathetic, Liz. Groveling for his world?” But I had no choice. I held out the broken pearls. She closed her eyes, refusing. I failed. Yet Damian paid anyway. From then on, we were tied to him—but his preference for Bella was clear. He adored her fire; I was just the gold digger tagging along. Years later, when Bella returned, Damian held me close. “Your sister’s back,” he murmured. “I know,” I replied evenly. “I wish you both happiness.” 1 Damian rewarded my words with a kiss, his lips pressing against mine with a sense of satisfied ownership. “Good girl,” he whispered. He leaned back against the headboard, a distant, hazy look in his eyes. “If only Bella was this… obedient.” A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. I didn’t answer, just quietly slipped out of bed and began gathering my things. Suddenly, his hand shot out, his grip on my wrist like a steel band. It was so tight, it hurt. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he demanded. “What am I supposed to say?” I asked softly. He let out a short, sharp laugh and released me, slumping back against the pillows. “Before Bella left for Europe, she told me to take good care of you.” My world tilted. The pain in my chest, once a dull ache, sharpened into a blade. So that was it. The only reason I was allowed to stay by his side was as an act of charity, a favor to Bella. Of course. In Damian’s eyes, I had always been just a pale imitation of my sister. “Bella is always like that,” Damian’s voice was laced with a wistful longing, an undeniable tenderness that was never meant for me. “She’s kind to everyone but me. She saves all her cruelty for me.” I tried to slip away to the bathroom, but he caught my hand again. “Stay. Just a little longer.” Moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, carving his handsome profile out of the darkness. For a moment, I was thrown back to the first time I ever saw him. Bella had just accidentally spilled a scalding cup of coffee on his hand. A large, angry red splotch had immediately bloomed on his skin, but he had just smiled. “It’s nothing. As long as you’re not hurt.” “Hmph. I wasn’t going to apologize anyway,” Bella had retorted, tossing her hair. “You rich people are all the same. You think you own the world.” I’d been terrified, ready to apologize for her, for everything. But Damian’s interest had only deepened. “You hate me?” “Yes. I hate spoiled, useless trust-fund babies like you more than anything.” She’d punctuated her sentence with a little stomp of her foot. And Damian had laughed. A real, genuine laugh. I was hiding behind Bella then, a shadow to her sun, watching the undisguised amusement and indulgence in his eyes. And a single thought had echoed in my naive heart: He’s… he’s such a good person. Later, I learned he had fallen for her at first sight. And when he told that story, he never even remembered I had been there at all. The memory shattered. I looked at Damian, who was now lighting a cigarette. “I’ve arranged for your father’s follow-up treatments,” he said, the words curling out with the smoke. “Thank you,” I nodded. “Don’t be so formal.” He took another drag, his eyes settling on my face through the gray haze. “If you want to thank someone, thank your sister. I’m only taking care of your family because of her.” … In the bathroom, the sound of the shower drowned out the choking sobs I was trying to swallow. I let the cold water cascade over me, from head to toe, hoping it would numb the ache inside. When I came out, I was surprised to see he was still there. Damian was leaning against the doorframe, scrolling through his phone. “I’m picking Bella up from the airport tomorrow. Clear my schedule.” “Okay.” He suddenly walked over, took the towel from my hands, and started to dry my hair. His movements were clumsy, awkward, and he kept snagging the tangles, pulling at my scalp until it stung. I closed my eyes and endured it. He must have noticed my wince, because his touch finally softened. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ve… never done this before. I just wanted to practice. For when I do it for Bella.” “It’s okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just be a little gentler. You don’t want to make Bella angry.” He grunted in agreement, and his motions did become much lighter. The next day at the airport, I was by Damian’s side at the crack of dawn. Bella emerged from the arrivals gate in a stunning red dress, a vision of vibrant, sun-kissed beauty. Every head in the terminal turned to watch her. Including Damian’s. He was a blur of motion, rushing forward to take her suitcase. “You must be exhausted,” he said, his voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it. Bella just gave a noncommittal hum, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on me. A flicker of amusement played on her lips. “Liz. You came too?” “It’s been a long time, Bella.” I stepped forward, my smile perfectly polite, perfectly distant. On the drive back, Bella sat in the passenger seat. Damian kept turning to her, their easy laughter filling the car. He had never been so talkative with me. Their conversation drifted from the weather in Paris to silly family anecdotes, a seamless tapestry of shared history and effortless intimacy. I sat in the back, a ghost in the machine, completely invisible. 2 When we got home, Bella gestured for me to grab her luggage and follow her. I obeyed. The moment we were inside her opulent, princess-like bedroom, she spun around and slapped me. The crack of her hand against my cheek echoed in the silent room. “Liz, you are absolutely shameless.” Her voice was dripping with contempt. “While I was abroad, bettering myself, you were here selling your body. God, you’re just like your mother. A cheap whore.” Bella was the daughter of my father’s first wife. A year after their divorce, my father met my mother. They dated, fell in love, and got married. But in Bella’s eyes, my mother would always be the other woman, the homewrecker. It didn’t matter that my own mother, in a desperate attempt to win her over, treated Bella better than she treated me. It was never enough for Bella. She loved to humiliate my mother and me in public, calling Mom a mistress and me the mistress’s daughter. From a young age, those whispers followed me, becoming a brand of shame I couldn’t escape. All the bullying I endured at school could be traced back to Bella. When my father tried to intervene, Bella would simply say: “Dad, nobody else gets bullied. It’s only her. Doesn’t that tell you she’s the one with the problem?” The stinging heat on my cheek pulled me back to the present. “What, cat got your tongue?” Bella sneered, looking down at me. I remained silent. I’d learned my place over the years. I couldn’t afford to upset Bella. Because if Bella was unhappy, Damian would be unhappy. And if Damian was unhappy, my father’s medical funding would disappear. Bella wouldn’t care if he lived or died. Seeing my bowed head, she let out a scornful laugh and sauntered over to her walk-in closet. She pulled out a silk dress and tossed it at me. “Here. Go iron this for me. And make sure it’s perfect. I hate wrinkles.” “Okay,” I whispered, and left the room. In the hallway, I passed the housekeeper. He gave me a look filled with pity and resignation before quickly averting his eyes. After all, who would respect a shameless gold digger? While I was ironing the dress, a blast of steam caught my wrist. A painful red blister rose on my skin almost instantly. I stared at the angry mark and was suddenly reminded of a night Damian had been drunk. He’d mistaken me for Bella, murmuring her name over and over again. “Bella, don’t go… don’t leave me…” His grip had been just as painful then, but I hadn’t pushed him away. Sometimes, a person’s heart is so starved, it will cling to even the most hollow imitation of love. Just then, Damian appeared in the doorway. His gaze fell instantly to my reddened wrist. “What happened to your hand?” “I burned myself by accident,” I answered honestly. He rushed over, his face etched with worry. He took my wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examined the angry blister. My breath caught in my throat. “Who told you to iron this?” His voice was tight, suppressed. “Bella did.” I always told the truth. A small, bitter smile touched his lips as he let go of my hand. “She’s still the same, always ordering people around.” I didn’t say anything else. He turned to leave, then paused. “That new project you’re managing… give it to your sister.” My eyes shot open, wide with disbelief. By the time I could process his words, he was already gone. Why? The project I had poured my soul into for six months—the early mornings, the late nights, the endless work—he was just giving it away? But I knew. I had no right to refuse. In Damian’s world, Bella and I were the moon and the mud. And I was the mud. That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, sleep a million miles away. I got up, needing some air, and found Damian in the living room. He was sitting on the sofa in the dark, smoking, the moonlight tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re still awake?” He saw me and instinctively stubbed out his cigarette. “I was just getting some water.” He nodded silently. But as I turned to leave, he spoke again, more to himself than to me. “I looked forward to her return for so long. But now that she’s back… I don’t know. It feels… ordinary.” My heart skipped a beat. I thought I must have misheard him. Damian looked up at me, his eyes filled with a raw, conflicted struggle. “If I… If I told you I couldn’t bear to let you go… would you think I was insane?” 3 We both pretended that late-night conversation never happened. Bella started working at Friedlander Corp. She was immediately appointed as my direct supervisor. I spent the morning walking her through the company’s procedures, but she just watched me with growing impatience. “This is boring. Let’s just stop here.” “But, there’s still—” I tried to explain, but she cut me off. “Don’t I have you for that? As my subordinate, isn’t it your job to handle these things for me?” Bella gave me a dismissive look, then a cruel smile bloomed on her face. “Then again, the only thing you’re really good at is pleasing men in bed.” The office went silent. Around us, my colleagues froze, their eyes wide, some covering their mouths in shock. But Bella wasn’t finished. She stepped closer, her high heels clicking on the floor, her posture radiating superiority. “What? Did you forget to tell your coworkers that your mother was a cheap mistress who broke up a marriage? You two are cut from the same cloth.” “My mother was not a mistress,” I retorted, meeting her gaze. She covered her mouth with a manicured hand, letting out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. “Oh, listen to you. Still denying it? Of course. People like you have no shame.” … The scandal spread through the company like wildfire. After work, Damian summoned me to his office. His friends were there, a pack of smirking hyenas, their eyes raking over me with amusement. I thought Damian might issue a statement, put a stop to the rumors. Instead, all he said was, “You shouldn’t have made your sister angry.” I bit my lip, fighting back the tears that burned behind my eyes. He continued, his voice devoid of warmth. “Bella has been very good to you. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t have even had the money for college. Liz, you need to learn to be grateful.” I looked up, my eyes red-rimmed. Yes, I knew. If it weren’t for Bella, we wouldn’t have received Damian’s support. My father would have died long ago, unable to afford his treatments. I would have dropped out of school, trapped in poverty. Damian’s lecture was a clear warning: do not resent your sister. As I left his office, I could hear the raucous laughter from inside. “Damn, Damian, you’re cold. She’s a pretty little thing, you know. You sure you want to be that harsh?” “Yeah, man. What if you actually scare her away for good?” “Say what you will about Liz, she might be a spineless gold digger compared to her sister, but she’s always been completely devoted to you.” Damian’s voice, careless and cutting, drifted out. “She can’t hold a candle to Bella. It’s the difference between the moon in the sky and the mud on the ground. If she didn’t look so much like Bella, why would I ever have kept her around?” Another wave of laughter followed. I quickened my pace, desperate to escape. In the end, Damian gave the project to Bella. All she did was sign her name on the final page, yet she received all the credit. She became an overnight sensation in the industry. When people talked about her, the brilliant rising star, they inevitably mentioned me. “Those two sisters… one is a fearless, ambitious powerhouse, and the other is just a parasitic vine, clinging to whatever branch she can.” “Liz is just riding her sister’s coattails, and she’s not even grateful for it.” The rumors were like thorns, wrapping around my neck, tightening their grip until I could barely breathe. At the celebration banquet, Bella was the center of attention, surrounded by admirers. She held her champagne flute high, her smile radiant. Someone raised their glass in a toast. “Ms. Linwood, you are truly a force to be reckoned with! Our CEO is a lucky man to have such a capable partner by his side.” Damian smiled in response, but his eyes, almost unconsciously, drifted across the room and met mine. I offered him a small, empty smile and turned to leave. I didn’t see the deep furrow that creased his brow as I walked away. I moved through the party like a ghost. Bella was a natural-born star; even stolen glory looked magnificent on her, and she spoke of her “achievements” with righteous conviction. As for me, I didn’t even have the right to defend myself. With her newfound fame, the elders of the Friedlander family softened their stance. They announced that if Bella’s performance remained strong through the next quarter, they would officially welcome her into the family. When Bella heard the news, she put on a grand display of insulted, haughty pride. “And you think I should be happy about this? What makes you so special? You were just born lucky, that’s all.” “I will not grovel and scheme just to marry into your family.” “Everything I do—my education, my work—I do it for myself. It has nothing to do with any of you.” Her speech left the Friedlander elders speechless, their faces turning shades of purple. Damian quickly stepped in to smooth things over, his eyes shining with adoration for Bella. “That’s just how Bella is,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “She’s real. She’s not fake. Don’t take it to heart, Grandpa.” I stood to the side, watching the whole absurd spectacle unfold.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393783”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Amber totaled my Porsche at 125 mph, killing a family of three—then gave my name to police. “Idiots who couldn’t look both ways!” she spat. “I’m a Chase heir—who’d dare touch me?” Last life, she’d borrowed my car “to visit parents.” Instead, she ran over a young family—twice. When their relatives came demanding justice, she sneered: “Three cheap lives want my attention?” That mob butchered me in my living room. My fortune went to Amber. My grieving father drove off a cliff after her online smear campaign. Now I’ve rewound to that day—when she steals my car, my name, and three lives. 1 I remember bleeding out from a dozen stab wounds. Before the world went dark, I heard my sister-in-law’s triumphant laugh. “Oh, Wendy,” she’d cooed, “I’m just as smart as you, just as pretty. Why did you get to marry Leo? The handsome one, the successful one? Well, now you’re both dead, and all that money… it’s finally mine.” Her laughter was the last thing I heard as I died, my eyes wide open with rage. Perhaps fate itself pitied the injustice I’d suffered, because I was given a second chance. I’m reborn. It’s the day the victims’ family comes for me. The clamor of taxi drivers hawking for fares outside the airport terminal fills the air. A surge of adrenaline, cold and sharp, courses through me. I clutch my phone, waiting. Three seconds later, just as I predicted, it rings. It’s Amber. “Wendy! Oh my god, you won’t believe what happened! Someone sideswiped the car while it was parked!” The same lie she told me last time. Back then, thinking of her husband, Mark, working his back-breaking construction job and Amber having no income, I told her not to worry about the repairs. “Amber, do you need to pay them? It’s my car, I’ll cover it.” I repeat the same line, a perfect echo of my past self. “Yes, yes! I didn’t want to file an insurance claim without you here… It’s just… a few ten thousand dollars. You’re not mad, are you? When will you be home?” “Of course not. I’m almost home now. I’ll wire you the money right away.” “Wait! No, don’t send it to me—” I hang up before she can finish. Last time, she had me wire the money directly to the victims’ family. That wire transfer was the nail in my coffin, the ultimate proof of my “guilt.” Her asking when I’d be home was to time the mob’s arrival perfectly. But I am no longer the naive, trusting Wendy Chase. If she wants to play a game, I’ll play to win. The debt for my own brutal murder, and for my father being shattered to pieces at the bottom of a ravine… I will collect on every last drop. 2 After my husband, Leo, died in an accident two years into our marriage, I stayed with his mother to care for her, to honor his memory. I had just returned from a business trip that day when Amber called. She said Mark was away, and she needed a car. We were family, and we’d always gotten along, so I agreed without a second thought. I never imagined she would push the Porsche to 125 mph on a city street. She didn’t even slow down in a crowded pedestrian area. That’s when she hit them. The young family, about to step onto the crosswalk. The impact launched the infant from its mother’s arms. Amber didn’t call for help. She put the car in reverse and ran them over again, just to be sure. Her cruelty enraged the bystanders. But she, hiding behind my name, just screamed at them. “Three blind idiots threw themselves at my car! Just bought this thing, and now it’s tainted with bad luck!” When a witness yelled at her to call an ambulance, she scoffed. “I’m the Chase heiress. Who do you think you’re talking to? You call them. If they’re not dead yet, whoever calls pays the medical bills! Besides, there are no cameras here.” With that, she sped off, leaving a shattered family to die on the pavement. She then called me, fed me the lie about a fender-bender, and tricked me into wiring “compensation” money to the grieving family. The family intended to lay their loved ones to rest before seeking justice. But Amber couldn’t wait. She put on a pair of oversized sunglasses, a festive pink Chanel-style tweed dress, and crashed their wake with a few hired bodyguards. “Three cheap lives, and I, Wendy Chase, had to come see for myself. I’ve sent you the funeral money. Don’t bother me about this again.” The family tried to stop her, but her bodyguards cleared a path. So, when I returned home, their rage found its target. They stormed the house, deaf to my pleas and explanations, and stabbed me dozens of times. I bled out on the floor, not a single inch of my body left unscathed. My father was devastated. He knew I could never do such a thing and began his own investigation. When Amber found out, she hired a PR team to fan the flames online. An army of trolls, fueled by class hatred, launched a coordinated smear campaign, flooding the IRS with bogus tips about our company. My father, exhausted, juggling the investigation and the corporate crisis, drove off a cliff. Only after I died did I learn it was all Amber’s plot. She was jealous that Leo was a better businessman than Mark. She was jealous of the life of luxury I lived. She forgot that I was born into that life. I was the Chase heiress. My good fortune had nothing to do with the man I married. The thought that she destroyed my father and me for such petty reasons makes me want to tear her apart with my bare hands. But that would be too easy. The agony I suffered in my last life? She’s going to experience every second of it. I have fifty minutes until they arrive. Not enough time to hire security. As I frantically wonder how to protect myself, a street vendor outside the airport catches my eye. 3 Amber is calling me again and again, saying the family is waiting for me for dinner. I calmly walk over to a street cart and buy a roasted sweet potato, deliberately overpaying. As expected, the vendor chases after me. “Miss, you paid too much! And you left your airline ticket!” “It’s fine, I don’t have any small change,” I say, smiling. “As for the ticket, it’s from my trip. It’s useless now.” I remember this man. He was the one who delivered the final, fatal stab in my last life. He is the victim’s older brother, Raymond. He has the solid build of a military man. The fact that he chased me down for a few extra dollars tells me he’s a decent person at his core. Showing him my round-trip ticket is my alibi. It proves I haven’t been in Southport for days. “Here’s your change,” he says, pressing the money into my hand. “I’m closing up now. I’ve got urgent business in the Northwood district.” I feign a delighted surprise. “What a coincidence! I live there too. Look, it’s impossible to get a cab right now, and my family’s waiting. How about I pay you two hundred bucks for a ride?” Raymond hesitates for a moment. “Alright, get in. But we have to hurry. I’ve got life-or-death business to attend to.” My life, his death. He’s not wrong. On the way, Amber bombards me with texts. My father calls too, worried. I tell him I’m fine and to stay home. This time, I won’t let him risk anything for me. As we pull up, I can see on my phone’s security feed that the iron gate to my in-laws’ house has been forced open. A group of large, angry men are storming the yard. “Which one of you is the Chase heiress? Get your ass out here!” Amber, dressed down in frumpy clothes with a bare face, sees them, and the smug smile vanishes from her face. She clearly didn’t expect me to be late. The leader of the group grabs her. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Amber collapses to the ground, shaking her head frantically. When we get to the gate, Raymond sees me standing next to him and freezes. “Miss… you live here?” “I do. Thanks for the ride.” As I move to enter, he grabs my arm. “Hey, maybe you should… take a walk around the block or something. Inside, it’s…” “Amber! What’s going on?” I cut him off, rushing into the yard. Neighbors are already gathering outside the fence of the three-story house, their eyes glued to the drama unfolding in the yard. Amber scrambles to her feet and grabs my hand. “She’s the one! That’s Wendy Chase! Wendy, how could you do something so monstrous? We can’t protect you from this!” A wave of murmurs ripples through the onlookers. “So it was Leo’s wife who hit that family!” “She always seemed so quiet and gentle. Who knew she was so vicious? That baby was only a month old… and she ran them over again and again!” Their words ignite the family’s grief-fueled rage. The man in front of me, the victim’s other brother, shoves me to the ground. “You bitch! So it was you! The expensive clothes, the attitude… it all fits!” The memory of my last life floods back, and I start to tremble. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it! Sir, please, let’s talk about this! Are you sure it was me?” The man, Kane, snarls. “What, not so tough now, are you? Weren’t you so high and mighty when you were screaming about being the Chase heiress? Scared now?” I shake my head, turning to Amber. “Amber, you’ve been using my car for the past few days, haven’t you?” “Shut up! It was you, and you know it!” Kane raises a knife over my head. Raymond lunges from behind, wrapping his arms around his brother. “Kane, wait! I think something’s wrong here! This woman just got off a plane. She came here with me. I saw her ticket—she hasn’t even been in Southport! I don’t think it was her!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393782”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day before my wedding, my twin sister and I were kidnapped. Damian and my parents paid the ransom—but only for her. While Anna stepped into my wedding dress, my womb was carved out on a backstreet. I became Byrd Heights’ laughingstock: the barren woman. Damian Byrd married me when everyone abandoned me. For three years, he cherished me—until I found the video. There he was, scalpel in hand, murmuring to Anna: “Annelise is your perfect match.” The footage showed him cutting into me—without anesthesia—as I screamed. 1 Watching the screen, the phantom agony of being torn apart ripped through me anew. I clamped a hand over my mouth, tears streaming down my face as the truth crashed over me, threatening to pull me into darkness. The kidnapping… it was all orchestrated by him. By Damian. For Anna. But if he’d already taken what he wanted, why the charade? Why the loving husband act, the years of tender care that made me believe this monster was my only salvation? My heart fractured. Just then, a new message popped up on Damian’s still-open chat window. It was a voice note from a colleague at the hospital. “Damian, listen to me. The amount of blood you’ve drawn from Annelise this month is dangerously high. You can’t keep doing this.” A second message followed immediately. “First, you took her womb. Now you’re draining her dry, month after month. She’s getting weaker, man. I don’t get it. I thought you married her to atone, to make things right. Why are you hurting her even more?” Damian’s typed reply appeared on the right. “I only married Annelise to keep her close—a convenient blood bag to help Anna’s body accept the transplant.” He sent another message, a bitter, self-mocking confession. “And if I couldn’t marry the woman I truly wanted, at least I could have someone with her face. In a way, I got my wish. I wake up next to Anna every single day.” A final, chilling text. “Stop worrying. Anna is due any day now, and she’ll need the blood. I’m dropping off another few bags from Annelise tomorrow.” His colleague frantically replied. “Are you insane?! You just drew blood two days ago! Do you even care if your wife lives or dies!?” But Damian didn’t answer. My tears had run dry, leaving a hollow ache in their wake. So that was the real reason. Not just to rob me of my future as a mother, but to drain the very life from my veins, all for Anna. My god, Damian. You truly love my sister to death. The sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. I scrambled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face until the redness faded, trying to compose myself. I walked out, feigning calm. But Damian missed nothing. His eyes instantly found the lingering flush around mine. “Annie,” he said, his voice thick with concern. He swept me off my feet and carried me to the sofa, his large hand resting on my lower abdomen, massaging the scarred skin with practiced gentleness. “Baby, were you crying? Is the pain back?” He leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “You have to tell me when it hurts. Don’t suffer alone. It kills me to see you in pain.” Kills you? I wanted to laugh. You’re the one holding the knife. I couldn’t stand to look at his hypocritical face. With a gesture, he summoned a team of private chefs who filed in carrying baskets brimming with iron-rich foods. This was his monthly ritual. After every “check-up” where he drew my blood, he would arrange this lavish, restorative feast. I used to think it was a sign of his devotion. Now I knew the truth. He was just fattening the lamb for slaughter. Keeping me healthy enough to produce more blood for Anna’s every need. A bitter smile touched my lips. “I don’t want to eat this anymore.” I looked at him, my voice trembling slightly. “And all these check-ups… the tests always come back normal. Damian, can we please stop with the blood draws?” A frown creased his brow. He cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheek in a gesture I once found intoxicating. “Baby, your body is fragile after what you went through. We can’t take any risks. We have a whole lifetime ahead of us. You have no idea how much you mean to me. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words, once a balm to my soul, now felt like poison, each syllable a reminder of the lie I was living. As he was about to feed me the first spoonful, his phone rang. He answered, his entire demeanor shifting. His eyes lit up. “Baby, something’s come up at the hospital. I have to go,” he said, his voice buzzing with excitement. “Be a good girl and eat everything. I’ll be checking when I get back.” I nodded numbly. The moment he was gone, I scraped the entire feast into the trash. I went to his study to copy the video file, but my phone buzzed with a notification. A new post from Anna. The caption read: What’s it like having a childhood sweetheart who would do anything for you? Thank you, Damian, for booking the entire hospital wing for me and hiring the most exclusive postnatal care agency in the country. It’s so wonderful having you by my side for every important moment.~ The photo showed Damian, tears in his eyes, cradling Anna’s newborn child. Around the baby’s neck was the Byrd family heirloom, a priceless diamond locket. My hand trembled, and I accidentally clicked open another hidden folder on the desktop. A legal document filled the screen. A lifelong trust agreement. I, Damian Byrd, do willingly bequeath ninety percent of my personal assets, managed in a rolling annual trust, to Anna Thorne and her descendants. I wiped away a fresh tear, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. So this is what it looked like when Damian truly loved someone. Even when she bore another man’s child, he would lay his entire fortune at her feet. Fine. If that’s what he wants, I’ll give it to him. I will disappear from his life so completely it will be as if I never existed. 2 After printing a copy of the divorce papers and arranging for a “special service” for the following day, I went straight to the hospital where Anna had given birth. Her room was crowded with friends and relatives, all cooing over the baby. Anna, radiant and smug, was being spoon-fed broth by Damian himself. The moment he saw me, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He rushed over, pulling me aside. “Annie, don’t misunderstand,” he whispered urgently. “Anna’s husband is stuck overseas, and she’s practically my sister. We grew up together.” He lowered his voice even more. “I know you haven’t forgiven your parents and don’t want anything to do with them, but Anna and the baby… they’re innocent in all this.” Innocent. He knew better than anyone that was a lie. I was about to tell him about the divorce, but Anna suddenly shrieked from the bed. Clutching her baby, she scrambled to her knees on the floor, bowing her head toward me in a grotesque display of fear. “Annelise! I know what my parents and I did was wrong! I’m so sorry! But please, I’m begging you, don’t hurt my child!” she wailed. “Curse me, do whatever you want to me, but he’s just a baby! He can’t take it!” Confused, I looked at her as she shakily held up her phone. On the screen was a chat history between us. My profile picture was next to a stream of gruesome, bloody images of infants and drawings of voodoo dolls, sent to her consistently throughout her pregnancy. But I hadn’t spoken a single word to her since the day my family abandoned me. “You monster!” my father roared, lunging forward and slapping me hard across the face. My mother’s eyes burned with pure hatred. The room erupted. “I knew it! A broken woman like her is bound to be psychologically twisted! How could she be so evil to her own pregnant sister?” “Exactly! A creature like that deserved to have her womb cut out! Damian Byrd must have the worst luck in the world, getting stuck with a venomous, barren shrew!” My head snapped toward Damian, my last hope. For three years, he had been my shield, the only one who stood between me and the world’s cruelty. But this time, he didn’t defend me. His hand clamped around my wrist, his voice laced with cold fury. “Annelise! How could you do something so vile?” he seethed. “Do you want to drag everyone down into your misery? Is that it?” He tightened his grip. “Apologize to Anna. Now. Stop making innocent people suffer because of you.” Of course. I had forgotten. When forced to choose between me and Anna, he would always choose her. I lifted my chin, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “I will not apologize for something I didn’t do.” I stared directly into his eyes. “You call her innocent? Damian, I’m asking you. Is she innocent? Are any of you innocent?” 3 Damian’s expression faltered, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before it was gone. He shook his head, as if dismissing a troubling thought. “Annelise, stop being delusional,” he said, his voice hardening. “You’re making me wonder if marrying you out of pity was the biggest mistake of my life.” I laughed, a dry, broken sound, and blinked back the tears. Don’t worry, Damian. You won’t have to wonder for much longer. Soon, we won’t be husband and wife at all. Without his protection, the crowd of relatives descended on me, their curses and shoves pushing me out of the room. I stumbled to the restroom to clean myself up, my reflection a pathetic, disheveled mess. A moment later, the door swung open. It was Anna, arms crossed, a triumphant smirk on her face. The terrified victim was gone, replaced by a gloating predator. “My dear sister,” she cooed, “how does it feel? To be despised by everyone all over again? It must be a familiar sensation for you.” She tilted her head. “Oh, that look in your eyes. Let me guess. You finally know, don’t you? You know it was our darling Damian who cut you open and gave your womb to me.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And you didn’t really think you could show up here and make Mom and Dad feel guilty, did you? Silly girl. The kidnapping was their idea, planned with Damian from the start. They were so heartbroken that I couldn’t have children. Someone had to make a sacrifice. And who better than you, dear sister?” She patted her flat stomach. “And I really must thank you. Without your perfectly functional womb, my darling little boy wouldn’t be so healthy and strong.” Tears of disbelief streamed down my face. The deepest trauma of my life wasn’t a random act of violence. It was a conspiracy. A betrayal by everyone I had ever loved. “How could you?” I choked out. “Aren’t you afraid of retribution? That you’ll pay for this?” Anna scoffed, pulling a small bottle filled with red liquid from behind her back. She uncorked it and poured the contents all over her legs. “Pay for it?” she laughed. “Annelise, the only reason Damian keeps you around is for your blood. You think you have any other value? You are destined to live your entire life in my shadow, having everything you ever wanted snatched away by me. You should really stick around and watch. See just how far he’s willing to go for me.” Before I could process her words, she collapsed to the floor in the puddle of red liquid and screamed. “Damian! Help me! Please, help me!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393781”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 “Captain, I request to join the undercover op.” Anya’s voice was steady in the quiet room. After a long silence, Cranston replied gravely, “You’re still injured. And your fiancé—” “This is my decision,” Anya interrupted. “I’m breaking up with him anyway. You know I’m the best for this job.” Another pause, then a heavy sigh. “Take two weeks to… prepare. Then wait for the call.” The unspoken meaning was clear—final arrangements. But Anya had no one left to answer to. After hanging up, Anya’s gaze fell on two framed photos on her nightstand. The most important people in her life. The first was of her parents. The second, of her fiancé. Her parents, both decorated officers, had died in the line of duty when she was ten, leaving her an orphan. She later learned their only regrets were not being able to watch her grow up, and never receiving the Medal of Valor. The day she buried their ashes, she stood before their gravestones and made a vow. She would carry their torch. She would earn that medal for them. At twenty-two, she graduated from the academy at the top of her class and joined the major crimes unit. That was the year she met Liam. To the world, he was a brilliant, aloof attorney, famously immune to feminine charms. But with her, it was different. He said it was love at first sight. He did everything to get her number, took her on dates, showered her with thoughtful gifts and surprises. She fell for him, hard. Once they were official, he became even more devoted. He’d drive over in the middle of the night with her favorite food when she was on the night shift. He was a nervous wreck every time she was on a dangerous assignment. When she told him about her dream of earning the medal, he’d hold her and smile, telling her she would undoubtedly achieve it. Anya truly believed she had found the man she would spend her life with. Until their fifth anniversary. Liam gave her a beautiful dress and told her to meet him at a remote, secluded location. She waited for hours. He never showed. Instead, a masked man with a knife did. She was chloroformed and dragged into a van. When she woke up, she was in a damp basement. The man stroked her face, his words sending a chill down her spine. “The resemblance is uncanny. No wonder he’s so obsessed with you. But what’s the use? You’re not her. You’re just the bait.” It was then that Anya learned Liam’s secret. He had a childhood sweetheart, a famous actress named Monica Reed. The cool, detached lawyer was a different person around her; he had loved and protected her his entire life. On the very day he had planned a grand romantic gesture to confess his feelings, Monica was kidnapped by an obsessed fan. When they finally found her, she was covered in blood, barely conscious. She had been in a coma ever since. The kidnapper escaped and had remained at large for years. Liam was destroyed. From that day on, his life had only two purposes. First, to wait for Monica to wake up. Second, to hunt down her attacker. When he saw Anya, he was captivated. She looked so much like Monica. So he pursued her, using her face as a vessel for his longing for another woman. And he began to plot. To use her face to lure the monster out of hiding. He waited five years. When he finally got a lead, he orchestrated the whole thing. For seven hours, Anya was tortured, pushed to the brink of a mental and physical breakdown. She was rescued moments before her captor could deliver the final, fatal blow. Liam got what he wanted. The man was caught. But the price was Anya’s right hand. It was permanently damaged, the nerves shredded beyond repair. It took her a long time to process everything—being a substitute, her hand being crippled. The woman who came out the other side was a hollowed-out version of her former self. Her faith in love was dead. Worse, her faith in everything else was gone, too. She could never be a field officer again. Her dream of earning the Medal of Valor was shattered. Then, yesterday, a colleague visiting her mentioned a new, high-stakes operation to take down a massive crime syndicate. They needed three undercover agents. Two spots were filled, but the third was so dangerous they couldn’t find a volunteer. She decided in an instant. She would be the third. She knew she would be chosen. She fit all the criteria. Especially with her injured hand. Who would suspect a crippled ex-cop? For her country, and for her dream. She would go without hesitation, without regret. As for Liam, they were finished. She was letting him go. Anya quietly packed up her belongings in the apartment. By the time she was done, it was eleven. She heard footsteps outside the door. Liam was home. He walked in, a smile on his face, but it vanished when he saw the packed boxes. “Anya? What’s all this?” 2 She couldn’t tell anyone about the mission. “I quit,” she said, her voice flat. Liam was stunned. “But they were going to move you to a desk job, weren’t they?” Anya turned to look at him. “I told you, Liam. My dream was the medal. It was being on the front lines.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of blame. But her words twisted his heart into a knot. A film of sweat coated his palms. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, a flash of regret in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.” Anya just shook her head and zipped up the last box. “It’s not your fault.” His guilt only deepened. He had deceived her, and because of him, her career was over. He fumbled for words. “Quitting… quitting is good. You can rest. I’ll take care of you.” Take care of me? Anya looked at him, a complex mix of emotions swirling inside her. He never understood her. She said nothing, just went to wash up for the night. Later, in the darkness of the bedroom, Liam wrapped his arms around her from behind, his warm breath on her neck. He tried to kiss her. Anya stiffened, using her elbow to create a space between them, and shifted to the far edge of the bed. “Anya…?” Liam’s voice was laced with surprise at the rejection. “Sorry, my hand is bothering me tonight. I just want to sleep.” “Oh. Okay. Goodnight, then.” Three days later, it was Anya’s birthday. Liam took the day off and cooked a feast. Wearing a paper party hat, she stared at the table laden with spicy dishes, her mind drifting. Liam loved to cook for her, but he always loaded every dish with chili peppers. She had told him countless times she couldn’t handle spicy food, but he always said it was the only style he knew how to cook. To not disappoint him, she had learned to eat it, enduring stomach aches and heartburn, all for him. Now she knew the truth. It was someone else who loved spicy food. He was just reliving memories of another woman through her. She didn’t want to force herself anymore. She didn’t pick up her chopsticks. Liam noticed. “What’s wrong?” Anya rolled up her sleeve, revealing the jagged scar on her wrist. She reached for the cake. “At my last check-up, the doctor said I need to eat bland food for a while.” A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He stood up to clear the plates, saying he would cook something else. Anya stopped him as she opened the cake box. “Don’t bother. I’m not hungry. I’ll eat later.” Liam hesitated, then simply helped her put the candles on the cake and lit them. She closed her eyes, her hands clasped together, and made a wish. “This year, my wish is to finally earn the Medal of Valor.” The last few words made Liam’s brow furrow in confusion. She had quit, hadn’t she? How could she earn the medal now? He was about to ask when his phone vibrated. He saw the caller ID—Dr. Evans—and a jolt went through him. He answered without a second thought. “Mr. Thorne, Monica is awake!” The words were like a thunderclap. He shot up from his chair, not even bothering with his coat or shoes, and sprinted for the door. He left without a word. Anya opened her eyes to the sight of his frantic, retreating back. She didn’t know what had happened, but after a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed his coat and ran after him. By the time she got downstairs, Liam was already peeling out of the driveway, driving like a man possessed. The sheer recklessness of it terrified her. Her professional instincts kicked in. Fearing he would cause an accident, she hailed a cab and followed him. He sped all the way to the hospital on the west side of town and rushed to the third floor. She followed, breathless, and stopped outside a hospital room. Through the window, she saw Liam, holding someone in his arms, his face streaked with tears. She had never seen him so emotional; his job had taught him to be perpetually composed. When the person in his arms looked up, her face tear-stained and lovely, Anya froze. The kidnapper had told her she looked just like Monica Reed, especially in profile. It was as if they were cast from the same mold. Today, seeing her for the first time, Anya knew it was true. After the initial shock, a wave of understanding washed over her. She finally knew why he had been so frantic. The woman he had waited five years for was finally awake. 3 Listening to them inside, crying, whispering of their longing and five years of regret, Anya looked down at the coat in her hands and gave a self-deprecating smile. She took a deep breath, suppressed the rising tide of emotion, and turned away from the hospital. When she got home, the birthday candles had burned all the way down, leaving a black, charred mess on the white frosting. She took a trash bag and scraped the entire feast, cake and all, into it. Then she went to her room, turned off the lights, and quietly spent the rest of her 27th birthday in the dark. For the next week, Liam vanished. Anya didn’t try to contact him. She spent her days at home, slowly clearing out her things, making countless trips downstairs to the dumpster without complaint. After emptying the last cabinet, she surveyed the now-barren apartment and wheeled a small cart downstairs. With her injured hand, it took a great deal of effort to toss the last bag into the bin. As she was rubbing her sore wrist, she looked up and saw Liam. He looked troubled, his mind elsewhere. She had thought he would be happy now that Monica was awake. She couldn’t understand his gloomy expression. He noticed her gaze and quickened his pace. “What are you doing down here? What are you throwing out?” “Just some trash.” He glanced at the overflowing bin and frowned. “You’re injured. Why didn’t you just leave it for me to take care of when I got back?” Anya managed a small smile, her hand resting on the cart. “The cart makes it easy. Besides, you weren’t here. The trash was starting to smell.” Her words reminded him that he had disappeared on her birthday without a word. Panic flickered in his eyes, and he quickly invented an excuse. “Anya, I’m sorry. A client called with an emergency. She was out of town, and I was worried something would happen, so I had to leave on a business trip. I’m sorry for making you worry.” It was a clumsy, last-minute lie, but Anya didn’t call him on it. She even gave him an out. “So you’re back. Is everything resolved?” Liam was taken aback by how easily she seemed to believe him. The truth was, he had been at the hospital the entire time, by Monica’s side. He knew the pain of loss, and now that he had her back, he didn’t want to waste a single second. He had forgotten everything else—his parents, his girlfriend, his work. This morning, Monica, having heard from friends about everything he had done for her while she was in a coma, was deeply moved and finally broke the silence between them. “Liam, I know you have feelings for me. And… I’ve liked you for a long time, too. Will you be my boyfriend?” He had waited nearly twenty years to hear those words. But when he finally did, he didn’t feel the joy he had expected. Instead, another name popped into his head. Anya. The past five years with her replayed in his mind like a filmstrip: her kiss on New Year’s Eve, the scarf she had knitted for him, the umbrella she brought to his office during a typhoon… Every frame was etched with her name. The final image was of her being carried out on a stretcher, her hands a bloody mess. A sharp pain, like a knife twisting in his heart, pierced him. He knew that because of his selfishness, Anya’s life, her dreams, were utterly destroyed. Guilt, remorse, and another unnameable emotion overwhelmed him. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes. After what felt like an eternity, he finally composed himself and answered Monica, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I need some time to think.” Monica was shocked by his rejection. Everyone around them knew how much he adored her. Liam, not knowing how to face her, made an excuse and left the hospital. Now, seeing Anya again, his heart was in even more turmoil. Every lie he told felt like a stone weighing him down, crushing the air from his lungs. He hesitated for a long time before finally telling a sliver of the truth. “It’ll be a while longer.” From the look in his eyes, Anya guessed that he and Monica had talked. The woman he was waiting for was awake. And she herself had finally let go. She didn’t want to continue this charade. In a light, joking tone, she tested the waters with the words she truly meant. “Liam… what if we broke up?” 4 The word “breakup” made the color drain from Liam’s face. He pulled her into a tight embrace, his voice rising in alarm. “Break up? I don’t agree! Anya, why? Why would you suddenly say that?” His panicked reaction surprised her. The love of his life was awake. He should be thrilled that she was offering him an out. Why did he look so terrified of losing her? She didn’t want to read too much into it. The only explanation was that while he loved Monica, his guilt over crippling her was so immense that he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her now. It seemed a direct breakup wouldn’t work. He would never agree. And with her mission being top secret, she couldn’t risk alarming him. She would have to disappear quietly. She forced a smile, smoothly backtracking. “You just looked so unhappy, I thought I’d make a joke to lighten the mood. Don’t take it seriously.” Liam stared at her face, searching for any sign of a lie. Seeing none, he finally relaxed, taking the cart from her and leading her upstairs. “Don’t ever make a joke like that again. I promised I’d take care of you for life.” Anya glanced at him, memories flooding her mind. In the beginning, after learning the truth, the pain had been unbearable. She had questioned if she was unlovable, if fate was playing a cruel trick on her. She had pushed everyone away and cried for days. But in the end, the rational mind of a detective had won out over despair. She had asked herself again and again: as an officer, wasn’t it her duty to catch criminals and protect people? The answer was yes. Her hand was ruined, but the perpetrator was caught. No one else would be harmed by him. In a way, she hadn’t just saved Liam’s love interest; she had saved Monica Reed, an innocent victim who had lost five years of her life. The capture of her attacker was a form of justice for her, too. Once she realized this, Anya let go of her resentment. So now, hearing Liam’s promise again, she gently pulled her hand away and looked at him, her expression serious. “I don’t need you to take care of me. From the day I took my oath, I was prepared to bleed, to be injured. I dedicated my life to my country. As long as justice is served, any sacrifice is worth it.” “I may not be able to work the front lines anymore, but I will find another way to serve. What’s done is done. We should both look forward. There are new stories waiting for us.” These were her heartfelt words, the last sentence carrying a hidden meaning. But Liam, drowning in his guilt, didn’t catch it. Her solemnity only deepened his self-loathing. He didn’t know what to say, so he tried to atone with actions. For the next week, he barely left the house, dedicating himself to caring for Anya. He did all the chores, tried to make her laugh, took her to her physical therapy appointments, and showered her with gifts he called belated birthday presents. For a fleeting moment, seeing his gentle, attentive care, Anya almost believed the past few months had been a bad dream. No kidnapping, no undercover mission, no Monica Reed. A world where she could fulfill her vow and grow old with the man she loved. But then she would see the scar on her hand, or catch him sneaking onto the balcony to take a call, and the illusion would shatter.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393780”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Five years after I broke up with Martin Sheals, he became a titan of the business world. And I became one of the city’s most infamous socialites. To secure a partnership with Sheals Industries, my father served me up to him on a silver platter. Martin just sneered. “So this is the life you were so desperate for when you left me, Elara.” He humiliated me without restraint, conspired with others to toy with my emotions, and methodically crushed every last one of my hopes. Then, when he finally learned the truth behind our breakup, he came back, begging me to take him back. But by then, I had already let him go. 1 Marcus Blake had finally tracked down the hotel where Martin was entertaining clients, and he dragged me there with him. His face was slick with a sycophantic smile as he pushed me to offer Martin a toast. “Elara, darling, make sure you take good care of Mr. Sheals tonight.” I raised my glass, my hand trembling slightly, and met Martin’s mocking gaze. I had tried to steel myself for this, but seeing the man I still loved look at me with such open contempt after all these years was suffocating. A greasy, middle-aged executive sitting next to him decided to make things difficult. “Come on, beautiful, one glass is nothing,” he slurred. “If you really want to show Mr. Sheals how sincere you are, you’ll drink this entire bottle.” He was one of Marcus’s biggest rivals, and since he couldn’t attack Marcus directly, he aimed his venom at me. The problem was, I couldn’t drink. A glass or two was fine, but any more and I’d break out in a painful, full-body rash. The men at the table started hooting and hollering. My face flushed, then drained of all color. Marcus was more than happy to let them make a spectacle of me; it livened up the party. My dignity, my safety—none of it mattered as much as his business interests. I instinctively glanced at Martin. He just sat there, a faint, detached smile on his lips. He didn’t look at me, didn’t say a word to stop them. He was an observer at a zoo, watching the monkeys perform. I lowered my eyes, a wave of self-loathing washing over me. I was the one who had ended things five years ago, screaming that I never wanted to see him again. Seeing me humiliated like this? He was probably enjoying it. I picked up the bottle of whiskey. The greasy executive, emboldened by Martin’s indifference, bellowed with laughter. “Look at this one! She knows how to please a man! Hey, Sheals, if you’re not interested, maybe you can let the rest of us have some fun with her tonight!” Martin nonchalantly twirled the signet ring on his finger, his smile never wavering. “Be my guest, Mr. Davies.” As if I were nothing more than a trinket to be passed around. A sharp, searing pain pulsed through my chest. I couldn’t help but remember a time when he had held me in his hands like I was the most precious thing in the world. Five years hadn’t been long enough to numb me to the chasm between then and now. Half a bottle of bitter liquor later, my head was spinning. The air was thick with jeers and vulgar jokes. Someone finally noticed something was wrong. “Hey, Blake, is your girl allergic to alcohol or something?” The moment the words were out, Martin’s eyes, sharp as daggers, shot toward me. My cheeks were on fire, itching and burning. The rash must have already spread across my face. I quickly bowed my head, trying to hide my pathetic state. Suddenly, Martin let out a cold laugh and slammed his glass down on the table. “Really, Blake? You bring someone who can’t even drink to my dinner? Are you trying to cause a scene and ruin my reputation, or are you just looking for a payout?” My spine went rigid. The heat on my face was no longer just from the allergy; it was from pure, unadulterated shame. “Mr. Sheals, my deepest apologies! How about I get someone else for you, someone who can handle her liquor?” Marcus said, scrambling to his feet and yanking me up to apologize. He looked one step away from forcing me to my knees. “No need. The party’s over,” Martin said, standing up abruptly. “And you should probably get your… asset… to a hospital.” He walked out without a second glance. The room fell silent. With the main guest gone, the dinner dissolved. I hadn’t managed to say a single meaningful word to him, hadn’t even brushed against the sleeve of his suit. For that failure, Marcus was furious. While I was still lying in a hospital bed, he threw a card at me. On it was the address to Martin’s private villa. “I don’t care how you do it, but you will get that contract with Sheals Industries,” he snarled. “Or I swear, I’ll cut off your mother’s medical treatments.” 2 I stared at his retreating back, a profound chill seeping into my bones. No one would believe it if I told them. The man who treated me like a bargaining chip, a piece of property to be traded for profit, was my own father. Before he married my mother, he was the picture of a gentle partner. After, when he realized she couldn’t adLunn his career, he took out all his professional frustrations on his wife and daughter. My mother, terrified he would one day kill me, finally gathered the courage to leave, taking me with her and leaving everything behind. But fate is a cruel mistress. Years later, my mother fell gravely ill. I had no choice but to go back to him, to beg him to save her life. It just so happened that his company, Blake Enterprises, was facing a crisis. He agreed to send my mother to a top clinic in Germany for treatment. The price was that I had to stay with him, to be his pawn, to charm and appease whichever powerful man he deemed useful. I never imagined he would then hide my mother away, using her as leverage to control my every move. I clutched the card, the address burning into my palm. Martin’s last words to me from our breakup echoed in my ears: “You’ll regret this.” And now, here I was, about to crawl back to him, to smile and beg. I could already imagine the scorn, the humiliation he would heap upon me. But the private investigator I’d hired still hadn’t found my mother. If I wanted her to be safe, I had to swallow my pathetic pride. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to do something like this anyway. That’s what I told myself. But as I stood before the imposing gates of Martin’s villa, the urge to turn and run was overwhelming. As I hesitated, the gate swung open silently. I took a deep breath and walked in. The house was quiet. Just as I was about to call out, someone grabbed me from behind, slamming me down onto the sofa. Martin was on me like a man possessed, his hands tearing at my dress. Hot, frantic kisses landed on my ear, my neck, my shoulder. His hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my screams, leaving me to flail in a blind panic. I struggled so fiercely that he finally stopped, letting out an annoyed “Tsk.” He loomed over me, watching with cold amusement as I scrambled to pull my tattered clothes together. “My apologies,” he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. “Wrong person. I thought you were my fiancée.” 3 Fiancée? My hands froze. My heart, which was just beginning to recover from the assault, took another direct hit. “You’re… you’re getting married?” I stammered. “What do you think?” he shot back with a derisive laugh. I hung my head, hiding the devastation on my face. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I had actually thought… that he still had feelings for me. I forced my lips into a smile, trying to keep it from looking as broken as I felt. “Congratulations.” I don’t know what I said wrong, but his expression instantly darkened. “Did you come all this way just to spout nonsense?” I wrestled with the storm of emotions inside me and finally found my voice. “Mr. Sheals, could you please consider the partnership with Blake Enterprises?” “The losses from partnering with Blake outweigh the benefits,” he stated flatly. “I’m not running a charity. Or are you suggesting you can make up for those losses?” How could I? I had nothing. But I needed this deal to keep Marcus placated. “As long as you partner with the Blakes, I’ll do anything you ask.” “Anything?” he purred, leaning in. “Would you be willing to be my secret lover?” My head snapped up. His eyes were locked on mine, deadly serious. There was no hint of a joke. But… “But you have a fiancée. Even if you want revenge on me, you shouldn’t degrade yourself like this.” Martin burst out laughing, as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Elara, what is there about you that’s even worth my revenge? You really think too highly of yourself.” His words were like a slap. Heat flooded my face, and a bitter ache spread through my chest. I turned my head away, as if not seeing the unfamiliar cruelty in his eyes could make it disappear. After a long, heavy silence, I finally whispered, “Mr. Sheals, I can’t…” At my refusal, he smiled again. He moved closer, his breath ghosting across my cheek. “Marcus sent you to me because he assumed I still had some lingering feelings for you, didn’t he? So why are you playing the saint now?” He had guessed my humiliation exactly. I flinched away from his piercing gaze. Suddenly, we heard the beeping of the front door’s keypad. My mind jolted, and I shoved him away with all my might. The woman who walked in was Martin’s fiancée, Sasha Pierce. She had a chic, short haircut that framed a face with a striking, almost boyish confidence rarely seen in women. Her every move was graceful and self-assured. She and my timid, shrinking self were polar opposites. I had no idea how Martin could have “mistaken” me for her. I hadn’t expected to meet her. I stood awkwardly, not knowing where to put my hands. After a brief introduction, Sasha slung an arm around my shoulder, a strange, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her eyes roamed over my face. “Well, well. I had no idea this dog Martin had such a beautiful friend.” She paused. “But… why is your lipstick smudged?” My entire body went rigid. In that one second, I planned out exactly which ocean I wanted my ashes scattered in. I frantically tried to cover my mouth, my eyes darting to Martin, who looked completely unconcerned. I realized my reaction was a dead giveaway, but thankfully, Sasha didn’t press the issue. I mumbled a lame excuse and fled to the bathroom. The moment I saw my reflection, I wanted to dissolve into thin air. Anyone seeing my swollen, bruised lips would know exactly what had just happened. And I had pathetically tried to act like nothing was wrong in front of his fiancée. I couldn’t stay a moment longer. Exhausted and guilt-ridden, I came out of the bathroom and quickly said my goodbyes. But Sasha grabbed my hand, her face alight with excitement. “It’s settled then! We’re all going camping on the mountain peak tonight to watch the sunset!” Before I could even refuse, I was bundled into a car, utterly bewildered, on my way to a mountain I’d never seen. Sasha chattered excitedly the entire way. I stole a glance at the driver’s seat. Martin’s face was a cold, hard mask. If he hated me so much, why was he bringing me along? I soon found out. He wasn’t going to miss a single opportunity to humiliate me. 4 After a bumpy ride, we reached the summit. It was only then that I realized their friends were already there. The moment our car stopped, a group of wealthy heirs and heiresses, deep in their revelry, swarmed over to greet us. Someone teased Martin, saying he must be a god descending from the heavens to deign to go camping. Martin just smiled, wrapping an arm around Sasha’s shoulders. “Can’t be helped,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “Sasha loves it.” The group cheered and whooped, only then noticing me standing awkwardly by the car. I had a certain reputation in these circles: the shameless social climber from the Blake family. It wasn’t a flattering title. These rich kids probably never imagined I’d have any connection to the great Martin Sheals. Subtle, knowing glances were exchanged. Martin made no move to introduce me. The atmosphere turned awkward. Someone finally tried to smooth things over, asking Martin who I was. He glanced back at me, his expression flat. “No one important.” Martin’s attitude dictated how I was treated. To curry favor with him, someone immediately took a jab at me. “Wow, some people have no shame. Throwing themselves at an engaged man.” “Is it really that surprising? She latches on to whoever has money and power.” I dug my nails into my palms and pretended I didn’t hear them. A lanky, thuggish-looking guy came over to toast me. I still had a patch of rash on my leg that hadn’t healed. I politely declined. The man took it as a personal insult. His face turned crimson. He shoved the wine bottle right at my lips. “You can drink with everyone else, but not me? Who does a whore like you think you are, playing hard to get?” The clearing fell silent. In my peripheral vision, I saw Martin take a leisurely sip of his wine. Everyone was waiting to see me made a fool of. He was no exception. I cursed myself internally. What was I hoping for? If he had so much as frowned, none of them would have dared to be so bold. But I still needed something from him. If he wanted to torture me, I had to endure it. I tried to control my shaking hands as I reached for the bottle. Suddenly, a foot shot out, kicking the man to the ground. Sasha stood in front of me, her face cold as she scanned the crowd with disdain. “Whoever brought this piece of trash can get the hell out with him.” Someone was standing up for me. It was a novel experience. A pang of emotion hit me, and my nose started to sting. I let Sasha lead me, dazed, to a tent. It wasn’t her fault, but she apologized sincerely. “I’m so sorry, Elara. A friend of mine brought him. Martin and I had no idea he was that kind of scum.” I had already composed myself. I thanked her gratefully and told her it was okay. Sasha sighed. “You’re just too soft, that’s why people walk all over you. Next time you run into someone like that, you have to…” She started shadowboxing the air, making me laugh out loud. The exhaustion must have been written all over my face. After making sure I was really okay, Sasha ignored my protests, pushed me into a sleeping bag, and zipped it up. She even patted the top of it gently, the way my mother used to when I was a child. It was a little funny, but a wave of warmth spread through me. Ever since returning to Marcus’s world, I had been surrounded by nothing but deceit and manipulation. I hadn’t felt this kind of simple kindness in a very long time. Even though my chronic insomnia made it impossible for me to sleep in a strange place, I closed my eyes to humor her. And I made a silent vow. For what she did for me today, I would never, ever do anything to hurt her. 5 Remarkably, I slept soundly until it was dark. I had just stretched luxuriously when a dark shadow in the corner of the tent nearly made me scream. The figure lunged, covering my mouth. The smell of alcohol filled the air. Martin’s voice was a low, hoarse whisper in my ear. “Be quiet. Everyone’s right outside.” I could hear the faint sounds of the party. I nodded frantically. Martin finally removed his hand but kept me pinned in his arms. Even in the pitch-black tent, I could feel his gaze, sharp enough to pierce my skin. I lowered my head, uncomfortable. My slight, squirming movements seemed to annoy him. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him, and the arm around my waist tightened. The vast difference in strength between a man and a woman was starkly, terrifyingly clear. This wasn’t even a kiss. It was a punishment. All I felt was the stinging pain of his teeth against my lips. He moved to my neck, my collarbone. The buttons of my blouse popped open. Silent tears finally streamed down my face. I pressed my hands uselessly against my chest, my voice trembling as I begged. “Martin, don’t do this… please…” His hot palm paused on the small of my back. His lips brushed against mine as he whispered, his voice a soft, seductive poison. “I can let you go.” “You know what you have to do.” He was obviously talking about becoming his mistress. My breath hitched. The image of Sasha smiling and tucking me into bed flashed in my mind. I pressed my lips together and shook my head, my vision blurred with tears. The corner of Martin’s mouth tightened. The faint smile vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl. He sat up, letting out a sharp, derisive laugh. He wiped a tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb. “Elara Lunn,” he said, his voice laced with cold confidence. “I’ll wait for you to come crawling to me.” The next week and a half passed in a state of nervous tension, but the incident at the campsite didn’t seem to have any major repercussions. I began to relax. Martin’s threat must have just been an empty one. Still, I started deliberately avoiding him, which meant the partnership with Sheals Industries was now impossible. Ironically, Sasha and I became friends. Seeing me stressed and scrambling to find a replacement for the Sheals deal, she was incredibly thoughtful and offered to introduce me to some of her contacts. Thanks to her, I finally secured a new partnership. Blake Enterprises was in a slump, and the Sheals deal had a long timeline. This new project was a much-needed lifeline for Marcus. He begrudgingly accepted it and, as a reward, gave me my mother’s latest medical report. Seeing the photo of her gentle, smiling face, I breathed a sigh of relief. This crisis, at least, was over. I thought my entanglement with Martin would end there, that we could both go our separate ways. But then, we ran into each other at a private restaurant. I was in the middle of a pleasant conversation with the head of the new project, a Mr. Norris. Suddenly, Martin strode out of a private room. In his position, everyone in the city wanted a piece of him. Mr. Norris shot up from his seat, greeting him with effusive warmth. Martin was polite but distant. I tried to make myself as small as possible, but his sharp gaze still found me. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Miss Lunn. You’re every bit as resourceful as they say.” I knew what people said about me. I knew it wasn’t a compliment. I froze. By the time I snapped out of it, all I could see was his cold, retreating back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393779”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel