In five years of marriage, my wife, Vivian, had cheated on me fifty-two times. I had endured it all in silence. Until the day I was laid up with an acute stomach ulcer. Vivian’s young assistant, Leo, had managed to piss off a major client, and to salvage the deal, she told me to go apologize, to smooth things over with drinks. I couldn’t believe it. “I’m sick, Viv,” I pleaded. “The doctor said I can’t drink. If I have even one…” She cut me off, her voice laced with impatience. “It’s just a few drinks, Brad. It’s not going to kill you.” Annoyed by my hesitation, she had someone force the liquor down my throat. The fiery spirit ripped through my stomach, triggering a massive hemorrhage. That day, while I fought for my life in the hospital, she abandoned me and our newborn son to spend the night with her assistant at a secluded villa in the countryside. When I finally woke up in that sterile white room, I looked at my mother-in-law. “Nelly,” I said, my voice a dry rasp, “you promised me. You said once she safely delivered the baby, you’d let me go. Can I leave now?” 1 My question hung in the air, and a storm of conflict and heartbreak washed over her face. “Brad, are you sure? You won’t give her even one more chance? She…” Before she could finish, Vivian’s face flashed across the television screen in the corner of the room. Another scandal. In the photo, she was draped in a man’s blazer, being carried out of a car by Leo, her assistant. She was nestled against his chest, her expression hazy, a feverish blush painting her cheeks. Though she was mostly covered, one photographer had caught a glimpse of her smooth, pale thigh, marred by the faint, tell-tale bruises of a lover’s passion. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d been doing in that car. “Vivian Sterling, CEO of Sterling Corp, photographed in an intimate moment with an unidentified man. Could wedding bells be on the horizon for the power couple?” the news anchor chirped. My mother-in-law stared at the screen, her chest heaving with rage. Her entire body trembled, consumed by a fury so pure it was terrifying. But when her eyes fell back on me, the anger melted away, replaced by an ocean of guilt and sorrow. Her eyes welled up. The words of protest died in her throat. After a long moment, she choked out, “Okay. I promise, Brad. I’ll handle the divorce.” Seeing her wipe away tears, a tight, painful knot formed in my own chest. But I couldn’t afford to be soft. Not anymore. “Thank you, Nelly.” Ever since Vivian had insisted on being induced just to get the pregnancy over with for her assistant’s sake, I hadn’t laid eyes on our premature son. All I knew was that he was a boy, four pounds and three ounces, fair-skinned, and that he looked like me. My mother-in-law, her voice thick with emotion, tried again, telling me the baby was perfectly healthy. He’d been brought home from the hospital yesterday. She urged me to go see him. I just shook my head. “No. It’s enough to know he’s healthy.” If I never saw him, I could never miss him. I knew myself. If I looked into his eyes just once, I’d never be able to leave. And I had to leave. I couldn’t stay in the Sterling family’s gilded cage a moment longer. Compared to a life on the run with me, rootless and uncertain, staying with them was the best thing for him. Lying in my hospital bed, I stared out the window, wondering where I could possibly go. I was abandoned at birth, raised in an orphanage. I had no family, no blood ties. No friends to lean on. I was a lone boat adrift on the ocean, with no harbor to call home. My mother-in-law’s heart ached for me, her anger at Vivian growing with every passing second. She pulled out her phone, dialing her daughter again and again, trying to get her to come to the hospital. But each time, she was met with the cold, robotic voice of an answering machine. Finally, on her last attempt, someone picked up. It was a man. “Mrs. Sterling, Vivian is in a meeting. Could you call back later…” Before he could finish, a soft, breathy moan echoed through the phone. My mother-in-law was no fool. She knew exactly what kind of “meeting” was happening. Her face turned ashen. “You tell Vivian,” she roared into the phone, “that if she still considers me her mother, she will get her ass to this hospital right now! Otherwise, she can consider herself an orphan!” She slammed the phone down, tears finally spilling from her eyes. She gripped my hand, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Brad. This is all my fault. I never should have forced you to stay with her. I never should have let you suffer so much…” 2 Our marriage had been Nelly’s creation from the start. She arranged for us to meet right after I graduated from college, telling Vivian that I, and only I, was worthy of being her husband. Vivian had screamed, fought, and thrown tantrums, but in the end, her mother’s will was iron. She agreed to the wedding. In the beginning, I thought I’d finally found the warm, loving home I’d always dreamed of. I was filled with such hope for our future. I threw myself into being the perfect husband, attending to her every need, making her the center of my universe. When my colleagues would go out for drinks after work, I’d always decline, worried she wouldn’t eat properly if she were home alone. After a while, they just stopped asking. My world had shrunk to contain only her, and I didn’t care. I thought if I gave her my whole heart, she would eventually give me hers in return. I was a fool. Not long after we were married, Vivian started staying out all night. I told myself it was work, that she was busy. I’d use my lunch breaks to cook nutritious meals and bring them to her office, just so she’d remember to take care of herself. Then one day, at a gala, a man in a bespoke suit swaggered over to me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Mr. Hayes,” he drawled, “your cooking is quite something. I guess a kept man has to be good at something, right? Must’ve taken a lot of practice.” That’s when I learned that the meals I’d poured my heart into were ending up in another man’s stomach. We had our first real fight that night. Or rather, I had a fight. I raged, I yelled, I let out all my pain and frustration. She just stood there, watching me with a calm, detached expression, as if I were some madman having a fit. When I had finally exhausted myself, she spoke, her voice cool and even. “Brad, have you ever considered that your ‘self-sacrifice’ is just you feeling sorry for yourself?” That one sentence shattered my world. All my efforts, all my love… it meant nothing to her. She was just a spectator in my life, watching my devotion with cold amusement before delivering her casual, devastating critique. How utterly pathetic. I didn’t know how to face her after that, how to face our future. So I retreated. I stopped trying. Soon after, the tabloid headlines started. Yesterday, she was at a fashion show with a male model. Today, lunch with a flight attendant. Tomorrow, checking into a hotel with a business partner. The news broke me. I wanted a divorce. But Nelly pleaded with me. “It’s all for show, Brad, it doesn’t mean anything. She loves you, she really does, she just doesn’t know how to show it. Please, for my sake, just try a little longer.” She had been my sponsor since I was five, the reason I’d had a safe and comfortable childhood in the orphanage. I owed her everything. So, for her, I stayed. Over time, the pain of her infidelities dulled into a familiar, hollow ache. I grew numb. Then, last year, Nelly found the bottle of sleeping pills I needed just to get through the night. That’s when she finally relented. “As soon as Vivian gives you a child,” she promised, her voice heavy with regret, “boy or girl, I will grant you your divorce.” For the sake of that freedom, I forced myself back to life, taking supplements, trying to get healthy. But Vivian wouldn’t let me near her. She started sleeping at her office just to avoid me. So, Nelly took matters into her own hands. She… arranged things. A drugged bottle of wine, a locked bedroom door. And it worked. Vivian got pregnant. She delivered the baby. I was finally going to be free. 3 It didn’t take long for Vivian to show up at the hospital, her face a mask of cold fury. When a nurse mentioned that my ulcer had caused severe internal bleeding, a flicker of shock crossed her features before she quickly composed herself. “He bled out and he’s still not dead?” she muttered. Her mother, who had just stepped back into the hallway, overheard her. Her face went pale with rage. “Vivian Sterling! Brad is in the hospital because of you, and that’s what you have to say? Are you even human?” Realizing she’d pushed her mother too far, Vivian quickly backpedaled. “I was just kidding.” I heard her too. But I wasn’t angry. She’d been wishing me dead for years. I’d told her once I would divorce her. She hadn’t believed me. So I’d stopped talking about it. Nelly ushered her into my room and then left, giving us space. Vivian stood by the door, keeping her distance, looking at me as if I were a stranger she’d been forced to visit. I didn’t care. The silence in the room was thick and heavy. Finally, she walked a little closer, her voice still sharp. “It’s your own fault for not taking care of yourself. You being in the hospital has nothing to do with me.” As she spoke, she watched my face, trying to gauge my reaction. I just offered a faint smile. “You’re right. It was my fault. I won’t put you in such a difficult position again.” My response seemed to displease her. She frowned. “Mom brought the baby home. You’re the ones who wanted him, so don’t expect me to raise him.” “Don’t worry,” I said, cutting her off gently. “Nelly has already hired a top-of-the-line maternity nurse. She’ll handle everything. You won’t have to lift a finger.” My placid acceptance was not what she expected. Her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. She was silent. I knew she was remembering what I’d told her when we first married: that if we ever had a child, I would give him the complete family I never had, shower him with the love of a father and a mother that was stolen from me. Now, I expected nothing from her. She opened her mouth to say something, but her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the caller ID, then back at me, before turning and stepping out of the room. Even through the door, I could hear the excited voice on the other end. “You had their damn kid, so you’re done. Forget it. I got tickets to your idol’s concert. Let’s go, right now…” She left to take the call and never came back. A moment later, an older man shuffled past my door, supported by his wife. “Honestly,” the woman scolded gently, “if you can’t handle your liquor, you shouldn’t drink. Is a little money worth more than your health? What would the kids and I do if something happened to you?” Her words were a complaint, but her voice was filled with love. Her husband just grinned sheepishly, nodding along. A wave of pure, unadulterated envy washed over me. To be loved like that. What would that feel like? Just then, my phone chimed on the nightstand. A notification. “You have received a payment of $50,000.” I picked it up. The transfer description simply read: Medical Expenses. I stared at it for a moment, then closed the app. I didn’t send it back. After all she’d put me through, I’d earned it. After a few more days in the hospital, Nelly arranged for me to be brought home to recover. She promised me that the day of the baby’s one-month party would be the day our divorce was finalized. With her word, the restless, wandering part of my soul finally found a place to rest. I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known in years. That night, I got a call from the head of my old orphanage. She’d found my birth parents. They had passed away a long time ago, but they’d left a letter for me, and a key. I had to go to the police station in their old hometown to retrieve it. I jotted down the address, and as I was tucking the note into my phone case, I heard the bedroom door open. Vivian. A thick cloud of alcohol followed her into the room. Before I could say a word, she collapsed onto the bed beside me. “You’re a clever one,” she slurred, her eyes closed. “My mother actually told me to try and make things work with you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393278”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

December 23rd. The day my girlfriend, Chloe, and I were supposed to get our marriage license. I waited at City Hall until the clerks started packing up for the holiday, but she never showed. Just as I was about to call, a message from her lit up my phone. “Hey honey, something came up. Can we do this another day?” Something came up? My eyes fell to the post she’d just made on her private social media account. “A lifetime with you, Mr. Cole.” The picture was a sweet, close-up shot of Chloe and her high school sweetheart, holding a freshly issued marriage certificate. My world turned to ash. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I threw the ring in the trash, canceled the wedding venue, and went home to pack, methodically erasing every trace of myself from the apartment we shared. Later, she called, sobbing and indignant. “You promised you’d love me no matter what I did! Why are you breaking your promise?” “Leaving without a word like this… does it mean you don’t love me anymore?” The day I left for good, she chased my car down the street, a frantic bride in a white wedding dress, crying and begging me to marry her. 1 The main hall of City Hall was a sea of festive red decorations. Couples were everywhere, clutching their new marriage certificates, hugging, kissing, and snapping photos to announce their new status to the world. I was lost in a daze, staring at the pictures on my phone, when my own documents—my ID and a photo of Chloe and me—slipped from my numb fingers and scattered on the floor. I bent to pick them up, but another hand got there first. A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. I looked up. It was a stranger, his own new bride smiling at his side. He handed me my things with a friendly grin. “Hey man, you here to tie the knot, too?” I nodded, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. Chloe was off living her happily ever after with Cole. Why would she be here with me? The man glanced around. “So… where’s your fiancée? It’s a zoo in here today. You don’t want to lose her. She might get mad and call the whole thing off.” He and his wife exchanged a look, their happiness a tangible thing. A pang of nostalgia hit me, sharp and painful. Chloe and I used to be just like that. At sixteen, Chloe’s skin was so pale it was almost translucent in the sun. When she looked at me, her eyes were filled with stars, and her voice was like a melody. “Lucas,” she’d said, “when I grow up, can I be your wife?” It felt like yesterday. But the image on my phone—the two of them, so blissfully happy—dragged me back to the brutal present. I shoved my phone into my pocket, forcing a grim smile. “Her? Oh, she’s getting married to someone else.” Without waiting to see the shock on his face, I turned and walked away, terrified I was about to fall apart. I collapsed into the driver’s seat of my car. The ceiling was a collage of photos of Chloe and me, and memories washed over me like a tidal wave. A month ago, at my birthday party, Chloe had appeared in a flowing white wedding dress, a bouquet in her hands, walking towards me through a crowd of our childhood friends. “Mr. Hayes,” she’d said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m twenty-seven now. Will you… will you finally marry me?” My eyes burned. I took the flowers from her, dropped to one knee, and pulled out the ring I’d been carrying for years. As I slid it onto her finger, my own voice shook. “Miss Collins… I… I will.” The joy of that moment, the culmination of eleven years of love, had been so overwhelming I couldn’t sleep that night. I remembered every anniversary, every birthday, planning for days in advance just to see her happy. I picked her up from work every single day, and we’d go to the supermarket together, choosing groceries, planning our meals. Her colleagues were green with envy. “Wow, Chloe, your boyfriend is perfect!” “You must have saved the galaxy in a past life to find a guy that thoughtful.” Whenever she heard that, she’d blush, and the look she gave me was pure, syrupy sweetness. “Mr. Hayes,” she’d whispered that night, her lips brushing against mine amidst the cheers of our friends, “here’s to the rest of our lives.” I thought our eleven-year marathon had finally reached its perfect finish line. I never imagined it would all turn to smoke. A profound sadness bloomed in my chest. I had to see her. This had to be some kind of mistake. A lifetime of shared memories couldn’t possibly lose to some ghost from a decade ago. I pulled up to our apartment and saw the door was ajar. Through the crack, I could see Chloe talking to her best friend, Zoe. “Zoe,” she said, her voice a strange mix of tears and triumph, “I did it. I married Cole.” A hammer blow slammed into my chest, stealing my breath. On the drive over, I’d clung to the fantasy that this was all some elaborate, cruel prank. But it was real. I was the one fooling myself. Inside, Zoe’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “Chloe, are you insane? Why in God’s name would you marry Cole?” Chloe’s reply was choked with sobs, yet strangely defiant. “He’s back, Zoe. He has terminal cancer. He only has three months to live. We were in love, back in high school. If my parents hadn’t interfered, I would have been with him all along. Lucas would have never even been in the picture.” “I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!” “So, yes, I am perfectly calm. I’m going to have a wedding with him. I’m going to be his wife. Because… I love him!” It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into my skin. The pain was so intense, so all-encompassing, that my whole body started to shake. Twenty-seven years of friendship. Eleven years of love. All of it erased by a fleeting, teenage crush. “Chloe!” Zoe’s voice was a raw, furious roar. “Even if you wanted to give him some peace, you could have done it secretly! Why did you have to broadcast it to the entire world?” “Don’t you see what a horrible person you’re being?” I thought, maybe, Chloe would finally see the enormity of her mistake. That she would break down, consumed by guilt. But what she said next ripped my heart to shreds. “Do it secretly? Are you kidding me? That would be an insult to the pure, true love Cole and I share! Our love transcends time and space! The whole world should be moved to tears by our story. What have I done that’s so wrong?” My fist clenched. I slammed it into the concrete wall beside me. Your love is pure and true. Your grand, tragic romance. Then what were our eleven years? What the hell was I? Zoe stamped her foot in frustration. “You love Cole?! What about Lucas? He’s the one who’s been with you your entire life! You’ve been together for eleven years!” “How could you do this to him?” I slowly raised my head, feeling as if I could see Chloe right through the door. Her voice was full of arrogant certainty. “How is this hurting him? I’m only marrying Cole. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him or have his children. My body, my heart… they’ll always be Lucas’s. I’m not cheating.” “Besides, Lucas swore he’d never marry anyone but me. A man can’t go back on his word, can he?” “So, even though I married Cole, I know he’ll still marry me. If he doesn’t, then he was lying when he said he loved me.” 2 I don’t know how I managed to leave that place. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and lit a cigarette. The sharp, minty scent of the capsule I’d crushed filled the small space. I closed my eyes and laughed, a bitter, broken sound. I don’t even like smoking. But the acrid smoke stung my eyes, giving me an excuse for the tears that streamed down my face. Chloe’s words echoed in my head. “I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!” “I’m going to be his wife. I love him!” Chloe and I were born in the same hospital, just hours apart. We were the definition of childhood sweethearts. Our fathers co-founded what is now the country’s largest electronics corporation. She was the one person I had always, unabashedly, adored. If the story had ended there, it would have been a perfect happy ending. But then, in high school, Cole appeared. He was a transfer student with bleached-blond hair and a swaggering, devil-may-care attitude. To Chloe, who had always been a rule-follower, he was an irresistible anomaly. He was the first boy to ever make her blush when he told her he liked her. Her grades plummeted. Just as she was about to fall completely under his spell, her father found out. He gave Cole’s family a substantial sum of money to send him abroad, and just like that, my story with Chloe was back on track. But who could have guessed that a ghost from a decade ago could reappear and shatter our eleven-year love story so completely? Three months ago, during a meteor shower, I had shouted at the heavens, “I, Lucas Hayes, will never marry anyone but Chloe Collins!” And she had shouted back, “I, Chloe Collins, will never marry anyone but Lucas Hayes!” That night, we made promises under a blanket of stars, pledging our lives to each other. I never thought the person I loved most in the world would be the one to drive a knife into my heart. Over and over again, like a slow, deliberate execution. I was down to my last cigarette. I got out of the car to walk to a convenience store just as a light rain began to fall. The street was full of couples in matching red outfits, holding hands and laughing as they ran for cover. They were soaked, but they were happy. I didn’t run. I had no home to run to anymore. My phone rang. Chloe. I rejected the call without a second thought. She called again. I rejected it again. Finally, I just turned the phone off. I didn’t know how to face her. Should I yell? Accuse her? The weight of twenty-seven years of memories paralyzed me. After what felt like an eternity, a soft voice broke through my stupor. “It’s raining so hard. You should find some shelter. You’ll catch a cold.” I flinched. The rain wasn’t hitting me anymore. I slowly looked up. Chloe was standing beside me, holding an umbrella over my head. I instinctively took a step back. I would rather feel the icy sting of the autumn rain than accept the warmth of her pity. She followed me, keeping the umbrella over me. Her eyes were red, full of a painful tenderness. She gently took the cigarette from my fingers and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “You should smoke less. It’s bad for you.” “What’s it to you? Who are you to me?” I moved away again. I took out another cigarette, but she snatched it away before I could light it. “Do you want me to die of a broken heart?” she whispered, taking off her own jacket and draping it over my shoulders. Our eyes met, and for a dizzying moment, I was lost. How I wished none of this had ever happened. “Have you eaten?” I shook my head, numb, still clinging to the ghost of her tenderness. Back at the apartment, she immediately ladled a bowl of hot soup and handed it to me. “Here, drink this. Warm yourself up before you get sick.” I didn’t take it. I just stared at the girl I had cherished my entire life, the girl I had devoted my past to. A storm of emotions churned inside me, and I could barely control it. After a long moment, I managed to steady my voice, my heart a frozen lake. “Chloe, let’s break up.” Her hand jerked. Hot soup splashed onto her skin. Before, I would have rushed to get a napkin, to soothe the burn. This time, I just sat there, motionless. Finally, her lips began to tremble. Her voice was a choked, tearful whisper. “Lucas, are you still mad about me and Cole getting the license today?” “Please don’t be mad, okay? He only has three months left. After three months, as long as we still love each other…” “Don’t say another word!” I wrenched my hand away, my face a cold mask. “Miss Collins, you are now legally married to another man. You are his wife. So please,” I said, my voice dripping with ice, “have some self-respect.” 3 “…Lucas.” A complex emotion flickered in Chloe’s eyes, and she swallowed whatever she was about to say. Her eyes grew redder, and fat tears began to roll down her cheeks like pearls. My entire life, I had done everything in my power to make her happy, to never let her shed a single tear. I believed that to love someone was to strive for their happiness, no matter the personal sacrifice. But now, I watched her cry without a flicker of emotion, my heart turned to stone. “Miss Collins, if you didn’t hear me clearly, I can repeat myself. We are over.” I turned and went to my room to pack my clothes. Chloe snatched the clothes from my hands and threw her arms around me, holding on so tightly it felt like she was trying to merge our bodies into one. Her voice was a hoarse, panicked whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Lucas, I’m so sorry.” I was so tired of hearing ‘sorry.’ I just wanted to be done right by. “Lucas, I’m begging you, please don’t leave me. You know I love you. I love you so, so much.” “Didn’t you promise my grandmother on her deathbed that you would take care of me for the rest of your life, that you would never leave me?” “Just wait for me for three months. After three months, I’ll be yours again, okay?” She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with tears, the picture of pitiable beauty. Without hesitation, I pried her hands off me. As her eyes widened in panic, I slowly shook my head. “Chloe, you say you love me, but you married Cole. So why should I wait for you?” “Is it because you’re so sure that I love you that you feel you can do whatever you want?” She froze, then shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, it’s not like that…” Just then, her phone rang. She saw Cole’s name on the screen and quickly wiped her tears, forcing a smile. “Hey, sweetie. What’s wrong? You don’t like the suit for the groom?” “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there to help you pick one out. For the wedding tomorrow, you’re going to be the most handsome groom in the world.” “I love you, Cole!” She hung up. She looked at me again, her eyes pleading. “Lucas, you used to always go along with whatever I wanted.” “Why have you become so fragile? You can’t handle even a little bit of hardship?” “Besides, even though I’m marrying him, I will never sleep with him. I’ll keep myself pure for you. After he’s gone, I’ll spend the next few decades with you, have your children. Isn’t that enough?” “Lucas, I love him, but I love you, too! Please don’t make this so hard for me, okay?” It was so absurd I almost laughed. She claimed it was hard, but she had made her choice without a moment’s hesitation, and now she was trying to justify it. I wanted a love that was exclusive. Even an emotional affair was a betrayal. It was just as dirty. “You have to come to the wedding tomorrow!” she said. “I want you to see me at my most beautiful.” “Our wedding can be just like this, okay?” Without waiting for my answer, she rushed out the door to find Cole. The moment the door closed, I took the photo of us from my wallet, flicked open a lighter, and held the flame to the corner. Eleven years of love, as fragile as this photograph. It went up in flames in an instant. I let go, watching our youth turn to ash, and let her fly free. Sitting on the floor, I lit another cigarette and looked at the anonymous text that had just come through on my phone. “Don’t forget to come to my wedding with Chloe, Lucas. Even though I’m dying, I still won.” It had to be Cole. The old me would have flown into a rage. Now, I just stared at the screen, my face blank, and typed a single word in reply. “Okay.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393277”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My wife gave my $600,000 mattress to her intern, Will. Will immediately posted a picture on his social media, a blatant, gloating display. “Thanks to Carol for looking out for me! No more sleepless nights. I’m going to sleep so soundly.” The moment I saw it, I sent a message directly to my wife. “Explain to me why my mattress has mysteriously appeared in another man’s bed.” Carol called me instantly, her tone breezy and dismissive. “It’s just a mattress, Nolan. Do you really have to be so petty?” “If you like it that much, I’ll have someone buy you a new one. Is that so hard?” I fought down the rage simmering in my gut, my voice dropping to an icy calm. “You have ten minutes. I want my property back. Now.” Half an hour later, Sterling Corporation’s stock had plummeted by ten points. If she wouldn’t listen to reason, I’d have to use a language she understood. 1 Sterling Corp’s stock was in a freefall, but the first people to call me were my parents-in-law. “Nolan, dear, have you and Carol had a disagreement?” “We’re so sorry on her behalf. Please, have mercy on us. Let the Sterling family off the hook this once.” I felt no sympathy, but I maintained a polite tone. “This is between me and Carol. Have her call me to explain.” “Otherwise, I’m not stopping.” They knew my temper. They knew further pleading was useless. “Find that wretched girl if you have to dig up the entire city!” I heard my father-in-law roar before hanging up. She didn’t respond to my messages, and I didn’t bother contacting her again. If she refused to do what I asked, someone else would make her. Sure enough, not five minutes later, my phone began to vibrate. I ignored it. I let it buzz again and again, letting the caller’s anxiety build with each unanswered ring. Finally, I answered. A furious shriek assaulted my eardrum. “Nolan Thorne! Are you insane? It’s a mattress! Are you really going to do all this over a damn mattress?” “I told you I’d buy you a new one! Did you have to orchestrate this attack on my family’s company?” “If my parents change their minds about me being the successor, you’ll lose out too!” She was threatening me. I hadn’t realized the sweet, pliable woman I thought I married had fangs she was willing to bare for another man. But she seemed to have forgotten why the Sterling family had chosen her as their heir in the first place. I toyed with the jade stone in my hand, its cool surface soothing my irritation. “That mattress was a bespoke, one-of-a-kind creation. There is only one in the entire world.” “Furthermore, you gave away my private property without my consent. To a man. Do you think that’s appropriate?” “You have ten minutes. Get my mattress back here, professionally cleaned, and in perfect condition.” “Or Sterling Corporation will lose a lot more.” There was a long silence on the other end, then a single word, bitten out through clenched teeth. “Fine.” In the past, whenever she was upset, I would have rushed to comfort her, cooked her favorite meal, bought her a limited-edition handbag just to see her smile. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. Ours was a marriage of convenience, a business alliance. I never expected undying love, but I did expect a baseline of mutual respect. Since she couldn’t even manage that, I saw no reason to indulge her any longer. The mattress was returned shortly after, meticulously cleaned. I didn’t coddle her. I walked to her closet, took several of her most expensive handbags, threw them in the trash, and sent her a picture. “Consider this a lesson.” She didn’t reply. She didn’t come home that night. It was a silent protest. And I couldn’t have cared less. 2 Thorne Industries provides the capital; Sterling Corp provides the proposal. In the conference room, as Will prattled on, I saw several of our shareholders begin to frown. I couldn’t believe Carol would entrust such a critical project entirely to this intern, only for him to make a complete mess of it. Our investors had only agreed to partner with Sterling Corp on this venture as a favor to me, to Thorne Industries. If this proposal failed, it wasn’t just Sterling Corp that would look incompetent. It would be a reflection on me. I stopped the meeting immediately and demanded that Sterling Corp replace the project lead. Not long after, Carol stormed into my office with Will in tow. She was radiating a fury I had never seen before. “Nolan Thorne, you are a manipulative, treacherous snake! How dare you sabotage Will like this!” “Do you have any idea how disgusting you look, using your power for petty revenge?” She didn’t even bother to get the facts, just pointed a finger at my nose and started screaming. I was baffled. We had only been married a year. How could she have changed so dramatically? Or was her past sweetness all just an act? Several of my secretaries rushed in, trying to block her and Will. “Please, ma’am, you can’t shout in here!” Carol, enraged, raised her hand to strike one of them, but a security guard intercepted her arm. “How dare you touch me! Do you have any idea who I am?” she shrieked. “I am the wife of the heir to Thorne Industries! Your future boss!” The guard glanced at me. I gave a subtle nod, and he released her. I had no intention of lowering myself to her level. I simply asked, my voice dangerously quiet, “You remember you’re my wife? From the way you’re acting, I thought you were a business rival.” “I suggest you ascertain whether Will is actually competent enough to lead this project before you come in here making accusations.” “Let’s talk about who’s mixing business with pleasure, shall we?” She was stunned into silence. A look of belated regret flickered across her face as she calmed down. I turned to Will. “Tell me your perspective on the Southern New City development project.” Will stammered, unable to produce a single coherent word. I then asked one of my secretaries the same question. As my secretary delivered a clear, concise, and insightful analysis, Carol’s face went from white to red, then to a mottled purple. It was quite a spectacle. Carol tried to save face. “Will is leading a project for the first time. He’s just nervous. He’s not usually like this. He’s very capable.” “Why don’t you give him another chance, for my sake?” I almost laughed. “If you insist on using him, then this partnership is suspended. Effective immediately.” The color drained from Carol’s face. She knew how important this deal was. The Sterling stock had already taken a massive hit because of her. If she lost the Thorne partnership on top of that, her position as heir would be untenable. As she hesitated, Will put on a pained expression, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Carol, it’s all my fault. I’m always being targeted. I’ve dragged you into this.” “I’ll just quit. It’s better that way. I won’t let you be put in a difficult position. Don’t worry about me.” Any lingering resentment Carol felt towards him evaporated, replaced by a wave of protective sympathy. I had no more time to waste on their melodrama. I had them escorted out. As she was leaving, Carol shot me a look of pure hatred, as if I were the one who had ruined everything. A sharp pain pierced my chest. For another man, she was truly ready to become my enemy. 3 Because of Will, I refused to cooperate with Sterling Corp. Left with no choice, Carol had to remove him as the project lead. But to make it up to him, she decided to buy him a gift. After browsing for some time, they ended up in the Vacheron Constantin boutique. Will stood transfixed before a custom, one-of-a-kind timepiece, his eyes gleaming with greed. “Carol, this watch is magnificent!” “The man who wears this must be incredibly distinguished. It’s probably not for me, though. Let’s forget it.” He said to forget it, but his feet were planted to the floor. “If you like it, it’s yours,” Carol said, puffing him up. “You are brilliant. You don’t need to be envious of anyone.” The sales associate glanced over, looking apologetic. “I’m terribly sorry, but that timepiece belongs to Mr. Thorne. It’s here for final adjustments. Perhaps you’d like to see something else.” “Nolan Thorne?” Will blurted out. “That would be me.” I hadn’t expected to run into them here. I had just come to pick up my watch. When Will saw me, he looked startled, and a flash of malice crossed his eyes before he quickly rearranged his face into a mask of pathetic humility. “Carol, how could a small fry like me ever compare to a man as distinguished as Mr. Thorne?” “No matter how hard I work, I’ll always be at the bottom, while Mr. Thorne was born in Rome.” “I’m not worthy of that watch. Let’s just go.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393276”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I am the dedicated stan photographer for the celebrity actress, Rosalind Jones. But more than that, I am her husband of four years, a secret hidden from the world. Her life was a whirlwind of scandals, but I knew it was all part of a carefully crafted persona, an expensive image her company had built for her. I never let it bother me. Until the day her first love, Caden, returned to the country. It was our fourth wedding anniversary, and for the first time, she stood me up. As I left our meeting spot, I tossed the diamond necklace I had bought for her into a trash can. I pulled out my phone and booked the next available flight. With my camera in hand, I flew away. At first, Rosalind thought I was just throwing a tantrum, angry that she’d missed our date. I sighed and forwarded her the photos a friend in the paparazzi had just sent me. In the picture, she and Caden were locked in a passionate kiss. In our home. A few minutes later, my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. I let out another long sigh. And sent one last message: “Let’s get a divorce.” 1 A fine mist was falling from the sky, the cold droplets trickling down my neck and making me shiver. I stood in the middle of the open-air plaza, not bothering to seek shelter from the rain. I was only worried she wouldn’t be able to find me. Half an hour ago, Rosalind had called to say something urgent had come up and she’d be late. Every year, no matter how busy we were, we spent our anniversary together. But now, as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of her. I couldn’t resist pulling out my phone. “Did you see the news? Rosalind has a new scandal with some hot young thing! She’s my idol, seriously. Never gets involved with anyone over twenty-five,” a girl nearby gushed to her friend, her face a mask of admiration and envy. I looked up from my phone and smiled grimly. In the entertainment world, Rosalind was known as the Unsinkable Rose, a flower that thrived in the ruins. She was audacious and beautiful, possessed of a reckless courage. She was always at the center of some new gossip, and it seemed every billionaire, top-tier idol, and rising star had at one point or another fallen for her charms. Her dating advice had become gospel for countless women. “Finding a man is like sending out résumés. If one doesn’t work out, move on to the next. Be bold, don’t be afraid. One of them is bound to stick.” “Be brave and express your love. Make the first move. If he doesn’t say no, keep going. If he seems uncomfortable, apologize immediately and then make one last, outrageous request: ‘Can I have a hug before I go?’” I thought back on it. The girl was right. None of Rosalind’s rumored flings had ever been over twenty-five. I fell silent. I just turned twenty-six this year. I searched for the latest scandal the girl had mentioned. A photo from the airport immediately popped up, showing two people locking eyes across a crowded terminal. One was Rosalind, stunning in a trench coat and red lipstick. The other was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a black windbreaker and sneakers. The young fans around them were snapping pictures, ecstatic about the fresh gossip. But they didn’t know what I knew. Rosalind had never looked at any of her rumored lovers with such a tender, surprised gaze. I knew this man. Rosalind had told me he was like a younger brother to her. But he had once sent me a message, claiming to be her first love. What their relationship truly was didn’t matter anymore. The look in her eyes said it all. I glanced at the time the article was published. So, her “urgent business” was picking Caden up from the airport. Then I noticed something else. Pinned to the collar of Caden’s jacket was a small, pink peach-shaped brooch. I froze. No wonder she had switched things up this morning, spritzing on a peach-scented perfume. It wasn’t a mistake made in a rush. She had completely forgotten that I was allergic to peaches. 2 I ripped off my damp mask and threw it into the nearby trash can, along with the gift box. Suddenly, I could breathe again. The world felt fresher. Just as I was about to leave, a small, fluffy dog nudged against my leg. I looked down. It was an adorable little thing, its round eyes staring up at me. It seemed to sense my mood, its gaze a mixture of comfort and affection. I knelt and stroked its curly fur, a genuine smile finally breaking through my gloom. This little dog didn’t understand my pain, but it offered a pure, uncomplicated comfort. It was more than I could say for the woman who was supposed to be my wife. “Grape Cooper?” It was named after my favorite fruit. Interesting. I let go of the name tag on its collar, my smile widening. “Grape! Oh, I’m so sorry!” A young woman wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a hat—dressed like she was about to rob a bank—bowed apologetically. She scooped up the dog and fled as if she were a thief. I stood there for a moment, stunned. My hand was still holding what she had pressed into it. I opened my palm. It was allergy medication. I stared after her retreating figure, a strange feeling blooming in my chest. I pulled out my phone, opened a travel app, and, without even looking at the destination, booked the next available flight. I have no family, no real friends. For all these years, Rosalind has been my only tie to this world. Now, even that was gone. I was finally, completely free. Before boarding the plane, I let Rosalind’s calls go to voicemail, one after another. I listened to each ring, a silent farewell to the past six years of my life. When the last call ended, I blocked her number and deleted all her contact information. 3 It was only after she had dropped Caden off at his hotel that Rosalind remembered Julian. Today was their wedding anniversary. They were supposed to celebrate together. But Caden had called her unexpectedly, telling her he was on his way back to the country. He had been a rising star a few years ago, but at a crossroads in his career, he had chosen to go abroad to study. His years overseas had not been kind to him. Netizens mocked him for turning his back on his home country, jeering: Guess the foreign dream didn’t work out, huh? Rosalind had been worried about him. She decided to go to the airport to meet him. With her star power, she figured, no one would dare say anything nasty to his face. With everything going on, her anniversary plans with Julian had completely slipped her mind. She pulled out her phone, which she’d been too busy to check earlier. There wasn’t a single missed call from him. She glanced at the puddles on the street. She knew she was in the wrong, so she decided to be the bigger person and call him. The call went straight to voicemail. Rosalind frowned for a moment, then her expression cleared. “Miss Jones, where to now?” the driver asked. “Times Square.” No matter how late she was, as long as she showed up, Julian would never stay mad. That was the lesson of the past six years. Julian loved her, adored her. The weather was bad, and it was late, but it didn’t matter. Rosalind checked her reflection in a small mirror, fluffing her hair with a confident smile. If he was angry, she’d hug him. If that didn’t work, she’d kiss him. Julian always forgave her. She bought a cup of hot ginger tea on the way. The weather was unusually cold today, and she shivered as soon as she stepped out of the car. A flicker of concern for Julian sparked within her. She set the tea aside and checked the time. She hadn’t realized it was almost eleven o’clock. She’d thought it was seven or eight at the latest. A sudden, uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She told the driver to hurry. Her calls to Julian still went unanswered. She frowned. He was really taking it too far this time. So she stood him up. Did he have to make her worry like this, deliberately avoiding her calls? When they arrived, the normally bustling Times Square was deserted and quiet. Rosalind jumped out of the car, her eyes scanning the empty plaza. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Her face darkened instantly. Julian hadn’t waited for her. In six years, that had never happened before. A sanitation worker walked over to a nearby trash can and began rummaging through it. Suddenly, the woman let out an excited cry. Rosalind looked over and saw her holding up a delicate diamond necklace. It was very familiar. It was the anniversary gift she had seen when she snooped through Julian’s phone a few weeks ago. He had actually thrown it away. A cold, mirthless smile touched Rosalind’s lips. She decided then and there that this time, it wouldn’t be her coaxing and coddling him. This time, he would be the one begging her for forgiveness. 4 On the plane, I opened my camera out of boredom. It was still filled with the photos I had taken of Rosalind at her shoot this morning. Flicking through them one by one, I had to admit, she had a face that could captivate any man. With that face, she had conquered the entertainment industry. And with her carefully crafted “man-eater” persona, she had tapped into the rebellious desires of countless young women, turning them into her most fervent fans. In this business, a female fanbase was everything. Rosalind’s value skyrocketed. I suddenly remembered when she had first entered the industry. She had a gambling-addicted father who, after racking up massive debts, had killed himself, unable to face the pressure. But his death didn’t erase his debts. Rosalind, his only remaining family, became the target of his creditors. When a woman has nothing but her beauty, that beauty becomes a dangerous poison. The creditors, the directors, they all saw her as prey. I never doubted that Rosalind would eventually become a huge star. But whether she would get there through clean means or by wading through murky waters, I didn’t know. She was my girlfriend. I had to protect her. So, I used all my talent to shoot a special series of photos for her. That stunning portfolio went viral online, and soon, clients were lining up to hire her as a model. Naturally, with her unique ability to attract fans with a single glance, she was signed by the country’s top entertainment agency. She became an actress. Later, she had told me, in that sweet, coquettish way of hers, that she loved herself most through the lens of my camera. So, I turned down all the lucrative job offers that came my way and became her exclusive photographer. Looking now at the photos I had taken—in freezing winters and scorching summers, pushed to the edge of rowdy crowds just to get the perfect shot—I felt like a fool. 5 As I deleted the last photo of her from my camera, the plane began its descent. The signal returned, and several new messages popped up on my phone. I was surprised. I had blocked Rosalind. Who else would be messaging me? I opened the messages. “This is Caden. Rosalind said you might have left because of me, so she asked me to explain.” “Rosalind and I are just like brother and sister.” “She was just worried something might happen to me when I got back today, that’s why she was late for your date.” “She went to find you as soon as she remembered, but you were already gone. She’s really angry. You should come back and calm her down.” “She’s at my place, throwing a fit and smashing things.” “Julian, you’re being really immature. If it were me, I would never let her get this upset.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393275”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For every surge of love my husband felt for me, the System answered with a jolt of electricity. He’d been shocked nine hundred and ninety million times, and still, he never regretted a moment of our love. I was just about to tell him I was finally pregnant with our child when they came for me. I was taken by a terrorist cell, thrown into a dark room, and handed over to ten of their men. In my deepest despair, I heard a voice in my head—a link I didn’t know was open. It was my husband, Liam, speaking with the System. “Host, how could you make a deal with these animals? How could you let them treat your wife this way?” Liam’s voice was a shard of ice. “Grace has plot armor. A hundred men couldn’t kill her. But Fay can die. Once Grace has taken Fay’s bullet, I’ll make it up to her.” The words sliced through me, and my heart bled out on the floor of my soul. As the men lunged, I simply gave up. “Damn, this one’s a real prize,” one of them grunted, and the small, suffocating room was suddenly packed with bodies. Long nails had been driven through my wrists and ankles, pinning me to the bed. The slightest tremor sent fire racing up my limbs, but now the whole frame was shaking violently. The stench of unwashed men and stale sweat flooded my senses, a choking cloud of grunts and heavy, ragged breaths. Through the haze of pain, I heard Liam’s voice again, crackling in my mind. “How many?” The System’s synthesized voice wavered. “That was the eighth, Host. Grace’s condition is… unstable. Perhaps you should tell them to stop.” “No,” Liam snapped, his voice a bomb detonating in my ear. “In the book, Fay was violated ten times. If Grace is to take her place, she will suffer all of it. Not one less.” His words plunged me into an abyss of ice. Two months ago, a terrifying virus had torn through a war-torn nation in the Middle East. The infection rate was staggering, the mortality rate near-total; no one survived past the third day. As an infectious disease specialist, I was sent to provide medical aid. Liam had insisted on coming with me, claiming he couldn’t bear the thought of me being in danger. I’d actually believed he was worried about me. Now I knew the truth. He’d been planning this for two months. Another man entered. I was numb, a spectator to my own violation. Suddenly, a sharp, clenching pain ripped through my lower abdomen, a new agony that eclipsed everything else. Before I could even process it, the man on top of me cursed. “The hell? What is this?” Another leaned over. “It’s… a baby.” “God have mercy. She’s pregnant.” The room fell silent. The man scrambled off me. Even these beasts, it seemed, had a line they wouldn’t cross. My mind went blank. The words ‘the baby’ echoed in the sudden quiet, and tears began to stream from my eyes, hot and silent. As a doctor, of course, I knew. How could I not? Liam and I had been married for three years. He wanted me every night. Whenever I was too exhausted, he’d wrap his arms around my waist and plead softly, telling me how he’d grown up an orphan, how his greatest dream was to have a wife and a child of his own. He had the wife; now, he only had one dream left. For him, I had meticulously prepared my body, nurturing it into the perfect state to conceive. Three months ago, it had happened. But I never got the chance to tell him. “Host, that was nine. No one else will touch her,” the System’s voice cut through my daze. The connection was still open. “Why?” Liam demanded. The System’s mechanical tone was now tinged with something like pity. “Because during the ninth… Grace… she…” “Don’t tell me the details!” Liam roared. “I can’t bear it!” “I can only say her condition is critical.” Liam was silent. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought he might feel a flicker of remorse. Then his voice, colder than ever, shattered my heart for the last time. “If no man will touch her, then find me a dog.” The System’s internal fans whirred, a sound like a sharp intake of breath. “Host, this is too much. Grace has done nothing wrong. Why must she suffer this for Fay?” “You think she’s the only one suffering? My heart is being torn apart,” Liam’s voice was thick with a pain that felt like a performance. “But what choice do I have? If Fay doesn’t survive, I cease to exist in this world.” “One last time,” he whispered, his voice a ghost fading in my mind. “After this last violation, they’ll inject her with the virus, and then I can go in and save her.” The door creaked open. A massive, snarling dog was led inside. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the final wave of despair. Everything unfolded just as Liam had planned. When the weight was finally gone, the room returned to a fragile quiet. I forced my broken body to move, to look at the tiny, blood-streaked form on the filthy sheets. I crawled toward it, a shattered thing reaching for the only piece of my soul that was left. My child. This was my child. A tidal wave of grief crashed over me, threatening to drown me completely. Just then, a man entered holding a syringe. The needle pierced my skin, and as the fluid flooded my veins, a chilling cold spread through me. I knew what it was. I had been studying it for three months. It was the pure, concentrated viral strain, likely drawn from a corpse. At this concentration, I would be dead in 24 hours without the cure. The cure I had just finished developing. The cure we hadn’t announced to the world yet. I had always assumed the terrorists wanted me for the cure. Now I saw how naive I’d been. This was all Liam. All for Fay. He had told me, long ago, that he came to this world to save Fay. Only if she lived could he stay. That’s why, after we were married, he was always helping her, always trying to alter her fate. I’d fought with him over it, so many times. And every time, he’d hold me and sigh. “Grace, darling, I don’t have feelings for her. I’m just doing what I have to for us.” I never imagined he could do something like this. He hadn’t just helped her. He’d fed me to the wolves in her place. The pain in my chest was so immense it turned to numbness. The moment the injection was done, the door was kicked open. In the next second, I was swept into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of Liam’s cologne filled the air—a scent that once meant safety, but now only smelled of my own personal monster. He was trembling. “Grace, I’m here,” he choked out. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry they put you through this.” I let him hold me, my eyes fixed on the empty space ahead, my heart a frozen stone of hatred. It took all my strength to make my voice sound remotely normal. “Liam,” I said, my voice a raw whisper. “You have the System. What took you so long to find me?” His body went rigid. “The System glitched. It’s all my fault, Grace. But listen to me, I don’t care what they did to you. You’re not dirty to me. I’ll get you healed. We’re going to the hospital right now.” He draped his suit jacket over my ravaged body, lifted me into his arms, and growled an order over his shoulder. “Leave no one alive.” At the hospital, my colleagues rushed to my side. Even these seasoned professionals, accustomed to the horrors of this place, drew sharp breaths when they saw the state I was in. They pulled more than twenty long, rusted nails from my flesh. After surgery, I was moved to a private room. I have a high tolerance for anesthetics, so I wasn’t asleep. But I couldn’t bear to look at Liam, so I kept my eyes closed. I heard a nurse recount the details of my injuries to him. Liam’s voice was thick with manufactured pain as he stroked my face. “Grace, my love. I’ll never let you suffer like this again.” Before, those words would have made me weep with relief. Now, they just made me sick. Soon, the door opened again. A voice I never wanted to hear again chirped, “Liam, I’m here.” Fay. “Give her the injection now,” Liam said to her, his tone urgent. “The jet is ready. You can be back home in two hours.” “Liam,” Fay purred, grabbing his hand. “Come back with me.” “I need to stay here and take care of Grace.” “But I’ll be scared,” she whined. “It’s so chaotic here.” Liam hesitated for only a second before agreeing. He never said no to Fay. He always told me he had no feelings for her, yet he never refused her anything, always speaking to her with that gentle tone he reserved just for her… and for me. I used to tell myself it was just part of his ‘mission.’ I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Liam stepped out to finalize the flight plans, leaving Fay and me alone. She walked to my bedside and jabbed a finger directly into one of my surgical wounds. “Stop pretending,” she hissed. My eyes snapped open. Fay smirked, her voice dripping with scorn. “Look at the state of you. I heard ten men had their fun with you. Honestly, I’m surprised you still have the nerve to be alive.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Even so, Liam won’t divorce me to marry you.” I knew she was in love with him, desperate to be his wife. As expected, her face twisted in fury. “So what? He’s disgusted by you now. Do you know why he sent me in here?” she leaned in close. “He knows you’re resistant to normal sedatives. He had me bring a special sleeping drug, something to knock you out cold. That way, when my team announces that we developed the cure, you won’t be able to say a word.” “What?” I was stunned. That cure was the culmination of two months of sleepless work by my twenty-person team. It was a world-changing breakthrough. It was supposed to be the achievement that would launch the careers of so many brilliant, unknown doctors on my staff. How could Liam just give it to her? “You can’t steal our work!” I tried to push myself up, but Fay had already pulled a syringe from her purse. She plunged it into my IV line without another word. “From now on, Grace, everything that was yours is mine,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Including Liam.” Fay’s drug didn’t work as intended. Less than an hour later, I woke up, burning with a fever. Liam and Fay were gone. My colleague, Maya, was by my side. “They’ve already left for the airport,” she told me. I nodded, then managed a weak smile at her full-body protective gear. “What’s with the getup? Is the virus making a comeback?” Maya bit her lip, her expression grim. “Dr. Grace… we just got your test results. You’ve been infected.” I knew. I had assumed they’d given me the cure immediately upon my arrival. It seemed Liam had ‘forgotten.’ “The terrorists injected me,” I said, my voice steady. “Just give me a dose of the cure now. There’s still time.” Her face fell. “There’s no cure left in the hospital.” After our last patient had been cleared, the entire stock had been packaged and shipped to the next outbreak zone. There wasn’t a single dose left. The world went white. Without the cure, I was going to die. But there was a sliver of hope. Someone found a flight leaving in an hour for the city where the cure was. A few colleagues bundled me into a car. At the airport, however, officials took one look at my condition and refused to let me board. They wouldn’t take the risk. As despair began to set in, Maya spotted Liam. She knew he had a private jet. She ran to him, quickly explaining the situation, begging him to fly me to the neighboring city for the life-saving injection. Liam glanced over at me, his face an unreadable mask. “I’m taking Fay home now. I don’t have time.” Maya was stunned. “But… her life is on the line! Without the cure, she will die! Liam, she’s your wife!” He scowled. “Stop the drama. I had Fay give her the cure at the hospital.” He looked past the crowd, his eyes meeting mine. “Grace, I know you’re jealous, but this isn’t the time for games. I’ll come back for you after I get Fay home. Just wait for me.” With that, he turned and walked toward his jet with Fay in tow. His retreating back was a blade in my heart. He thought this was a game. He thought I was faking. But I wasn’t. I was really going to die. A primal need for survival forced my mouth open. “Liam!” I screamed his name. He turned back. “Please,” I sobbed, tears blurring his distant figure. “Please, just take me with you. I want to live. I don’t want to die.” For a second, I saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. He took two involuntary steps toward me. Then, Fay shrieked and collapsed to the ground. Liam’s body moved before his brain could. In a flash, he had scooped her into his arms and was sprinting up the stairs of the jet. The last words I heard from him were, “You won’t die, Grace! I promise I’ll be back!” I don’t want you to come back. I want to live. Please, I want to live. The plane took off, and with it, my last sliver of hope vanished into the sky.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393274”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the eve of my wedding, I discovered the invitations were printed with my fiancé Matthew’s name and that of his personal assistant. When I confronted the assistant, she burst into tears, claiming she’d accidentally typed her own name instead of mine. Matthew called moments later. “Flora, she made a mistake on a name. Are you really going to make such a big deal out of it?” He berated me for being narrow-minded and pathologically jealous, unable to tolerate even a junior employee. Five minutes later, the assistant, Vivian, posted a new photo to her social media: the same invitation, but this time paired with an intimate selfie of her and Matthew. The caption read: “My boss said even if I tore a hole in the sky, he’d be there to patch it up for me.” Before, if an employee had provoked me like this, I would have forced Matthew to fire her. But this time, I truly didn’t care anymore. 1 I threw every last one of the invitations bearing Vivian’s name into the trash and walked to my usual salon. The stylist hovered, scissors in hand, asking again and again if I was sure I wanted to cut it all off. I’d spent four years growing my hair down to my waist, all because Matthew once said he’d marry me when it reached that length. Well, my hair was finally long enough, and he was, in fact, about to make good on his promise. But I didn’t want the hair anymore. And I didn’t want Matthew anymore, either. Just as I was about to nod, my phone buzzed. A video call from Matthew. “Where are you?” he asked the second I picked up. I didn’t answer. He caught sight of the scissors in the stylist’s hand over my shoulder, and his brow furrowed in displeasure. “You’re cutting your hair?” I nodded. A laugh escaped him, as if he’d just stumbled upon something hilarious. “You look awful with short hair. After all that time growing it out, why would you do something so stupid?” Years ago, when my hair was short, he’d constantly tease me for not being feminine enough. I used to argue with him endlessly, trying to prove that femininity wasn’t defined by the length of one’s hair. But now, I didn’t say a word. I just looked at the stylist behind me and said, “Do it.” When Matthew saw the scissors rise, he knew I was serious. The smile vanished from his face. “Flora, are you really going to cut off all your hair just because Vivian made a typo on the invitations? What is wrong with you?” When I remained silent, he must have realized his tone was too harsh. He softened his voice, reining in his temper. “Flora, you grew your hair for years, all for this one day. The wedding is next month. Don’t cut it, okay?” I didn’t say yes, and I didn’t say no. “I’m coming to get you,” he continued. “I booked a table at that new restaurant, the one you wanted to try.” It was his classic move. He’d yell at me, then smooth things over with a meal at a trendy new place. It had become our unspoken ritual over the years. He appeared outside the salon a short while later. When he saw my hair was still long, a faint smile touched his lips. The moment I got in the car, I was hit by a wave of perfume so strong it made me sneeze. I’m sensitive to scents and never wear any myself. Matthew’s car had always been fragrance-free. This one was different—a heady, predatory scent that clung to the air. “Who was in the passenger seat today?” Matthew’s smile instantly vanished. “Vivian’s car broke down. I just gave her a lift.” I rubbed my nose. “Hm. Her perfume is… nice.” The rest of the drive was silent. When we pulled up to the restaurant, Matthew didn’t move to get out. He turned to me, his brow knitted. “Why didn’t you blow up at her? Aren’t you supposed to hate her?” I raised an eyebrow. My usual script would involve confronting her, making her cry, and then demanding Matthew fire her. But this time, I didn’t want to. There was no need. “Let’s just go eat. I’m tired and I want to get home early.” I got out of the car and walked into the restaurant without him. He followed a moment later. Once we were seated, Matthew’s smile returned. He told me conspiratorially that he had a surprise for me, then got up and walked away. I watched him go, a sudden thought striking me: he was so childish. He had barely left when his phone, left on the table, started ringing. It was Vivian. She called twice, but Matthew didn’t return. On the third ring, I answered it. The second I did, Vivian’s voice, thick with tears, burst through the speaker. “Matthew, you have to come save me! I’m trapped in the basement!” Just then, Matthew returned, carrying a cake adorned with fresh flowers. The joyous expression on his face froze. He rushed over, carelessly dropping the cake in front of me. The perfect floral arrangement collapsed, and a single, cream-covered rose tumbled to the floor. He snatched the phone from my hand, glanced at the screen, and his face contorted with rage. “Flora, who told you you could answer my phone? Don’t forget, we’re not married yet. You’re not my wife!” 2 After the call, Matthew’s expression was grim. “Vivian’s in trouble. I have to go. I’ll be back soon, just wait for me here.” He rushed out. I stared at the mangled cake, a bitter smile twisting my lips. How could he not see through such a clumsy ploy? If you’re trapped in a basement, wouldn’t you call 911? But no, a person in mortal danger just keeps calling her boss. It was almost funny. I waited until the restaurant was about to close, but Matthew never came back. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to ask the waiter to bring my order out earlier. Otherwise, I would have been waiting on an empty stomach. Just as I was getting up to leave, Matthew hurried back in. He glanced at the half-eaten dishes on the table, his tone laced with disapproval. “Flora, you didn’t wait for me? You ate by yourself?” In ten years together, this was the first time I hadn’t waited for him. It used to be that I wouldn’t even order until he arrived. After we moved in together, I’d cook dinner and wait for him to sit down before I took a single bite. I offered an apology that held no apology at all. “Sorry. I figured you were with Vivian and wouldn’t be coming back, so I went ahead.” Matthew’s face darkened. He slammed the object he was holding onto the table with a loud thud. “I was picking up the new invitation samples!” I glanced down. The cover design was indeed new. Matthew stared at me, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and expectation, waiting for me to open it. I knew he must have checked it. This time, the bride’s name would be mine. But I no longer had any interest in looking. “You’re not going to open it?” he asked, incredulous. I shook my head, my expression cool. Just as I finished my meal, I saw a new post from Vivian. It was a photo of the newly designed invitation. The groom’s name, Matthew, was clearly visible, but the bride’s name had been deliberately blurred out. All you could make out was the first letter of his last name, followed by a hazy, repetitive pattern. The caption: “I love the new version. Do you?” I urged Matthew to leave. The restaurant was well past closing time, and we were the only ones left. But he stood there stubbornly, holding the invitation out to me. He was waiting for me to open it, to gush over it, to soothe his ego. I didn’t want to see it. I raised a hand to block it. He must have thought I was reaching for it, because he let go. The invitation fell onto the cake, smearing it with cream. He froze for a second, then his embarrassment morphed into rage. He slammed his fist into the remains of the cake. “Flora, how long are you going to drag this out over something so small? I’ve already given you an out. What more do you want?” “I just want to go home and rest.” My calm tone only seemed to infuriate him further. “We can go home after you look at the invitation! Why won’t you look at it? I picked this design for you out of thousands! You can’t even be bothered to glance at it?” “Flora, have I been too good to you? Is that why you’re acting so spoiled? Everyone says you’re not good enough for me anymore, that I’ve outgrown you. But I ignored all of them and insisted on marrying you. What more could you possibly be unhappy about?” I looked down, a bitter smile on my face. There it was again. Every time we fought, he’d use that line to force me to back down. He and everyone around him believed he was doing me a favor by marrying me, that I should be eternally grateful and cater to his every whim. But this time, I refused to compromise. “If you don’t want to marry me, then don’t.” 3 Without another glance at him, I stood up and walked out. In the past, he would have let me go, then spent the night out with his friends, not coming home until I begged him to. But this time, I’d only taken two steps before a hand grabbed my arm. Not only had Matthew followed me, but he was insisting we go home together. I stared into his handsome eyes. “Who said I was going home?” His brow furrowed instantly, and he dropped my arm. “You said you wanted to rest. It’s late. Where else would you go if not home?” His rapid-fire questions made me laugh out loud. In this city, it was true, I had nowhere else to go. For ten years, my entire world had revolved around him. I sighed and pulled out my phone. “I just booked a mystery trip. The flight leaves tonight.” As I stepped out of the restaurant, the car I’d called was waiting. With nothing but my phone and the clothes on my back, I began a journey, alone. It was the first time in ten years. When I landed and turned my phone back on, dozens of messages flooded in. Only one was from Matthew, a short, terse sentence: “Happy now?” The rest were from Vivian, a string of apologies culminating in a tearful voice message. “Flora, I’m so, so sorry. Matthew said if you don’t forgive me, he’s going to fire me! I can’t lose this job. You know my family’s situation. Flora, are you really going to be so cruel? Are you going to watch me get fired, watch my mom get kicked out of the hospital because we can’t pay, and my little brother drop out of school?” I looked up at the sky, so different from the one in my old city. I turned my phone off, silencing all the noise. In the past, no matter how big our fights were, I was always reachable. Matthew could ignore my calls and texts, but I always answered his within seconds. This was the first time I hadn’t replied to him. I knew he’d be furious, but I turned my phone off anyway. I traveled for a week. Away from Matthew, I discovered how freeing the world could be. I posted pictures from every new place I visited. Matthew liked every single post, but never commented. After a week, my trip ended. As I exited the gate at the airport, I saw him waiting. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers, a conspicuous sight in the crowd. The ride home was silent. When we arrived, I found the apartment had been completely transformed, decorated in festive reds and golds. A stack of wedding invitations sat on the coffee table. But these weren’t printed; they were hand-drawn. Matthew had some artistic talent and had even won awards for his work in college. He looked at me, beaming, waiting for praise. I pretended not to notice, went to my room, and began packing my personal belongings, looking for the right moment to make things clear. I had just lain down to rest when I heard the keypad on the front door beep, followed by a cheerful voice. “Matthew, I forgot my sleep mask!” Vivian breezed into my bedroom, heading straight for the nightstand. Our eyes met, and she quickly looked away. And there, standing in the bedroom doorway, was Matthew, wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping wet.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393273”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my brother-in-law died, we adopted his daughter. My niece, naturally sensitive, always felt we treated her worse than our own son. She spread rumors that we’d only taken her in to get our hands on her father’s inheritance. My husband, blinded by familial love, never held it against her. My son and I bent over backward to accommodate her. But our kindness only fed her audacity. She conspired with outsiders to burn our whole family alive and seize our assets. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we adopted her. Watching her put on a show, wailing about how she couldn’t bear to leave her home, I turned and walked away. “Good,” I said. “Because I don’t want you, either.” 1 Before I died, I watched my husband get bludgeoned to death. My niece, Chloe, said that since Mark was her uncle, she’d grant him a quick end. My son, Richard, and I weren’t so lucky. Chloe ordered a group of thugs to hold Richard down, systematically crushing his dignity. I knelt on the floor, my pleas useless. I tried to lunge at her, to take her down with me, but my neck and limbs were bound by iron chains. I was helpless. I could only watch as the people I loved were tortured to death. And my sweet, adopted niece stood by, giggling at the show. Her voice was laced with venom as she accused me. “When I was little, you wouldn’t even buy me a new dress. No money? Then you shouldn’t have adopted me.” “You bought your son a house for his wedding. Where did that money come from? You must have stolen my dad’s inheritance.” “People who favor boys over girls all deserve to die!” she shrieked. “You can argue your case in hell!” My mouth was full of blood. I couldn’t form a single word of defense. My last memory was of the fire, an all-consuming inferno that turned everything to ash. The hatred was a living thing inside me. I never should have let my compassion get the better of me. I never should have adopted Chloe. I nurtured a viper that destroyed my family’s happiness. I never expected to open my eyes again, back on the very day we took her in. 2 A small girl was curled into a ball in the corner, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. A chill crept up from the soles of my feet. Chloe. The events of the past few weeks came rushing back in a disorienting flood. My brother-in-law had died in a car accident not long ago. When his wife heard the news, she grabbed their newborn son, took what little money they had left, and ran. My husband, Mark, his eyes red-rimmed, had tugged at my sleeve. He adored his younger brother and wanted to step up, to hold their shattered family together. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before. After the funeral, Chloe was the only one left. Our in-laws had passed away years ago. Chloe’s maternal relatives hadn’t even shown up for the funeral, making it clear they wanted nothing to do with her. If we didn’t take her, young Chloe would be sent to an orphanage. Mark, remembering the years he and his brother had depended on each other, swore an oath to raise Chloe as his own. In my last life, I had readily agreed. I never imagined I was inviting a wolf into our home. According to our previous discussion, this was my cue to step forward and officially agree to the adoption. The other relatives would then offer their performative praise. “Chloe is crying so hard, it seems she doesn’t want to come live with us. In that case, let’s just forget it.” I watched coolly as the little girl’s eyes widened in disbelief. A cold smile touched my lips. So, you want to play a part? Her father’s household had been a bastion of misogyny. Chloe had been forced to do chores from the moment she could walk, and she hated it. And now she was pretending she couldn’t bear to leave? As if our home were some kind of dungeon. The relatives exchanged uneasy glances. Those who knew the real story were just enjoying the drama. Chloe’s face flushed with shame. My husband, Mark, was too embarrassed to contradict me. He tugged at my collar so hard it choked me. I swatted his hand away impatiently. “We just bought a house in town,” I said, my voice cold. “Taking on another child will be a serious financial strain. How about this? You can all pitch in.” Who would want to pay to raise someone else’s child? They were all working-class people, living paycheck to paycheck. They had no extra money. They were happy to be the good guys, to morally pressure us, but not to actually do anything. My blunt words stripped away their masks of decency. They glared at me with righteous condemnation. My son, Richard, old enough to read the room, blushed beet-red and said nothing. Mark couldn’t take it anymore. “Honey,” he whispered, mortified. “We already agreed on this!” “She’s just a little girl. It’s just one more plate at the table. I’ll work more overtime, I’ll earn more. I promise it won’t affect your and Richard’s quality of life.” His words opened the floodgates. The very people who wouldn’t lift a finger to help now chimed in to persuade me. “A daughter is so sweet! You have a son, so you’ll have one of each. It’s a perfect set! So many people would kill for that kind of blessing!” “If it’s such a blessing, why don’t you take it?” I shot back. The woman who’d spoken also had only a son. It’s easy to talk when you have no skin in the game. Seeing I was resolute, the others backed off, not wanting to get drawn in. Just then, Chloe finally stopped crying. She stood before me, nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. “Auntie,” she mumbled, her lower lip trembling, “I want to come live with you. I won’t cost much. I can do chores. I won’t take any of my cousin’s things…” Her little speech softened the hearts of everyone in the room. Everyone but me. I knew her true face. “I don’t want to adopt you,” I said, my voice hard. “Can you understand plain English?” “I don’t want anyone sharing my son’s affection. I didn’t even have a second child for that reason. Richard is about to start middle school. I don’t have the extra energy.” “Since no one else wants to take her, let’s just send her to the orphanage.” Mark saw the unyielding look in my eyes and buried his head in his hands, squatting in despair. Chloe’s face was pale. She stood there, speechless. After more bickering, no one stepped up. In the end, Chloe was sent to the orphanage. 3 The gossip spread like wildfire. From that day on, I was the cold-blooded monster in the eyes of our friends and family. The woman who couldn’t even tolerate a little girl. If Chloe had been a normal child, I honestly would have done it without hesitation. My last life was proof of that. But being soft on others is being cruel to yourself. I honored the bonds of family, and in return, I lost my entire family. Wasn’t that enough? It was more than enough. And besides, in this life, Chloe hadn’t done anything to me yet. By not holding her future crimes against her, I was already being generous. I couldn’t tell anyone about my premonitions, so I had to endure the rumors in silence. Let them talk. As long as I could protect my family, I was willing to bear it. I thought the matter was settled. Mark could visit her on holidays if he wanted. Then, two months later, I came home from work, happy, carrying a burger and a new toy for my son. In my past life, Chloe’s possessiveness had consumed so much of my attention. My son had become quiet and withdrawn from my neglect. In this life, I was determined to make it up to him. But when I opened the door, I saw Chloe, sprawled on the sofa as if she owned the place. My son was sitting beside her, diligently doing his homework while she poked him in the head. “What are you doing?!” The words shot out of me. Everyone in the room jumped. Chloe immediately shrank back, a picture of pathetic misery. Mark emerged from the kitchen, holding a spatula, a sheepish grin on his face. Not wanting to scare Richard, I calmed myself, gave him his things, and sent him to his room. Then I dragged Mark into the kitchen. “Are you insane? We agreed to send her to the orphanage. What is this?” “Anna, you have no idea how pitiful she is…” Mark said, wiping his face, his voice choked with emotion. From his tale, I pieced together Chloe’s life at the orphanage. The food was bland and scarce. The teachers were mean and always yelling. The older kids made her wash their feet and threatened to make her drink the dirty water if she didn’t do it right… I almost laughed out loud. It sounded wonderful. Mark shot me a strange look and sighed, saying he just couldn’t bear to watch her suffer. “She’s so young! She doesn’t understand anything. To have no parents and be bullied on top of that… as her uncle, I just couldn’t stand by…” “So you got soft and brought her home? We all agreed! And what about our son? Have you even considered his feelings?” I tried to reason with him, to convince him to take her back. I wasn’t made of stone. The orphanage I’d chosen for her was a good one. It was strict, but it had no history of bullying. The director was an acquaintance of my family, a kind woman. And besides, Chloe was no pushover. In my last life, I’d never once seen her get the short end of the stick. You couldn’t just take a child’s word for it. Children don’t just talk. They lie. But this time, Mark had made up his mind. “Honey, please! Just until she’s eighteen, okay?” “Mom, she’s so pitiful. Let her stay! I can buy fewer clothes, eat fewer snacks.” Richard had appeared at the doorway. He was pleading for Chloe. And the culprit herself was hiding behind him, looking like a frightened little mouse. I could ignore Mark. But Richard was my bottom line. I didn’t want to disappoint him. After a long internal struggle, I agreed to let Chloe stay. At least if she was here, I could keep an eye on her. If I let her go, with her vindictive nature, there was no telling what she might do to get revenge. Even so, I warned Mark in advance: the first sign of trouble, and she was out. The three of them jumped for joy. I suppressed my revulsion and laid out the terms to Chloe. “You can stay, but we need to get a few things straight first.” Chloe, her eyes shining with unconcealed delight, nodded blankly. 4 Since we were officially adopting Chloe, there were things to be done. I went to the orphanage myself to handle the paperwork, asked the director about Chloe’s behavior, and got copies of some security footage. The director was diplomatic, but her frustration was clear. Chloe had been determined to leave. She made no effort to get along with the other children and seemed to deliberately provoke them. The moment a teacher tried to reprimand her, she would burst into tears, causing chaos. The orphanage was more than happy to be rid of this hot potato, though they were too polite to say so. As I was leaving, a teacher pulled me aside and warned me discreetly. Chloe was a selfish child, she said. I shouldn’t waste my kindness. Someone had said the same thing to me in my last life. I had dismissed it, thinking, she’s just a child, what harm could she do? Hearing it again now, I froze for a second, then thanked her profusely. I didn’t tell Mark about this warning. He was too careless and wouldn’t believe it unless he saw it with his own eyes. When I returned from the orphanage, we held a grand adoption banquet. Chloe, shedding the worn, dirty clothes she usually wore, was dressed in a princess gown. She held her head high, trying to look as if she belonged in it. I saw it all but said nothing. The banquet began, and Mark, on behalf of our family, gave a welcoming speech. “Chloe, from now on, you are my daughter, just like Richard. Whatever he has, you will have too.” “Think of this as your own home. Your auntie has a sharp tongue but a soft heart, hehe.” His face was flushed, his voice full of drunken cheer. He’d been taking a lot of flak from the relatives for not adopting his brother’s daughter. He’d been bottling it up, and today, he could finally let it all out. The relatives who had previously criticized us now wore satisfied smiles, nodding proudly as if they were the ones making the sacrifice. Just as the atmosphere reached its peak, I spoke, my voice cutting through the warmth. “Chloe’s father passed away suddenly. Her mother ran off with the rest of the money, leaving a mountain of debt. After selling the house to pay it off, there was only twenty thousand left…” “Today, with all of you as witnesses, this money will be given entirely to Chloe. We won’t touch a single cent.” Chloe’s face turned red with excitement. I didn’t give her a card. I gave her cash, stack by stack, so everyone could see it clearly, to prevent any accusations later. This move caught Mark completely off guard. He leaned over and whispered his disapproval. “Why are you talking about money? Chloe is still so young. How is she supposed to feel comfortable in our home now?” “Even with family, finances should be clear,” I retorted, rolling my eyes and pushing his face away. “What needs to be said, needs to be said.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393272”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In my past life, my sister and my fiancée joined forces with my best friend to destroy my company. As I collapsed in the pouring rain, bankrupt and broken, they stood by his side, laughing without restraint. “Look at you, Landon,” they sneered. “You’re like a pathetic stray dog.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the project bidding conference, three years in the past. Back then, when my company was just a startup, my sister and fiancée had warned me not to leverage our family connections. It wouldn’t be fair to the others, they said. Then, they turned around and handed the project to my best friend on a silver platter, all for the price of a smile. Reborn, I watched them manipulate things behind the scenes, just as they had before, to gift my project to him. And in that moment, the last vestiges of hope in my heart died. When they found out I was leaving the country, they set off a night’s worth of fireworks to celebrate finally being rid of me, the burden. But three years later, at the Aethel Group’s bidding conference, I walked onto the stage as the CEO’s husband. And as I began to speak, I saw their eyes turn red. 1 I never expected the first familiar face I’d see after returning to Sterling City would be my former best friend, Cole Evans. “Cole Evans, CEO of Zenith Corp. At eighteen, he entered Sterling City’s top university with outstanding grades. After graduating, he built his company from scratch, becoming one of the business world’s rising stars in just three short years…” On the first floor of the Sterling Grand Tower, a screen between the two elevator banks looped a highlight reel of his achievements. Three years had changed him. The timid, insecure boy from the countryside was gone, replaced by a man exuding a certain aristocratic air in his custom-tailored suit. Money, it seems, can truly mold a man. Today was the Aethel Group’s project bidding conference. The lobby was already swarming with reporters. I tried to ignore him, to mind my own business, but he approached me. “Landon? Is that really you? I almost didn’t recognize you.” “You suddenly left for overseas three years ago. I thought you were never coming back!” Cole’s voice was loud, loud enough for the reporters gathered in the distance to hear every word. I could feel their inquisitive gazes landing on me. “…Holt family… heir…” “…Ziegler engagement… Ivy…” “…Proposing… win her back… no…” Fragmented whispers, deliberately lowered, drifted into my ears. I glanced at Cole. He feigned ignorance, continuing, “Why didn’t you give a heads-up you were coming back? Could it be that you heard…” He cut himself off, feigning a slip of the tongue. “Landon, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His panicked apology was a masterclass in misdirection, expertly guiding the onlookers to the wrong conclusion. A bold reporter was already shouting a question. “Mr. Evans, we hear that both Sierra Holt, the chief designer at Holt Jewels, and Ivy Ziegler, the Ziegler family heiress, are planning to propose to you. Is this true?” “Mr. Evans, if Miss Holt and Miss Ziegler both propose, who will you choose?” Cole dodged the question. “Ah… those are just online rumors for now. I hope everyone can be rational. Besides, Sierra and Ivy are both wonderful people. We’re just very good friends.” The elevator arrived. He gave a slight bow. “My apologies, but I have to give a speech at the Aethel Group’s conference. I need to go up and prepare.” He then turned to me with a friendly smile. “Landon, are you heading up?” I hesitated for only a second, and that was all it took. The reporters, getting no answers from Cole, turned their sights on me. “Mr. Holt, we heard you were pursuing Miss Ziegler before you went abroad. Did you come back because you heard she was planning to propose to Mr. Evans?” “We hear Miss Holt is your sister. Mr. Holt, would you be okay with Mr. Evans becoming your brother-in-law?” “If Miss Ziegler really does propose to Mr. Evans, what will you do? Will you try to stop it, or will you offer your blessing?” Their eyes were like those of starving wolves, their quickened breaths filled with greed and urgency. Reporters rarely care about the truth; they only care about the story. I knew if I didn’t respond, the internet would be flooded with speculation about my return within the hour. An image of a certain someone who got jealous easily flashed through my mind. I waved a dismissive hand at Cole. “In that case, I’ll go on ahead.” Just before the elevator doors closed, Cole’s lips curved into a sneer that only I could see. I looked away, turning to face the reporters. I was about to pull out my invitation when a sharp voice cut through the air. “Landon Holt, who let you come here?” “Are you planning to steal Cole’s project again, just like you did three years ago?” The cameras swiveled. My ex-fiancée, Ivy Ziegler, was striding toward me, her long legs accentuated by a tight miniskirt, her face a mask of fury. 2 “Three years ago, and now again.” “Landon, will you ever stop?” I frowned at Ivy’s accusation. “What are you talking about?” The woman who had once promised me a lifetime together now looked at me with pure disgust. “Everyone in Sterling City knows Aethel Group wants to work with Cole on this. Why else would you suddenly come back from overseas if not to steal his project?” Aethel Group wanted to work with Cole? That was news to me. My eyes flickered with surprise, which Ivy mistook for guilt. The disgust in her eyes was now tinged with contempt. “Do you think you can still use the Holt family name to bully Cole whenever you want?” “Aethel Group isn’t some small-time local company. They don’t care about your family background. If you don’t want to humiliate yourself, you should leave. Now.” I pulled out my invitation and waved it in her face. “Sorry, but I was invited to this conference. You have no right to tell me to leave.” “Don’t push your luck…” Ivy was about to threaten me when the reporters’ whispers seemed to spark a realization. Her expression shifted to one of utter disdain. “Landon, I told you, our engagement is over. Can you please stop harassing me? Whatever happens between me and Cole, it has nothing to do with you. We are never getting back together.” “You’re overthinking it. I’m only here for the conference. I’m married now. I’m not interested in who you end up with.” I didn’t lower my voice. The explanation was less for Ivy and more for the reporters. The crowd quieted, but Ivy just scoffed. “Landon, is this really necessary? Do you think lying about being married will make me anxious? Let me tell you, playing hard to get won’t work. I couldn’t care less if you’re married or not.” “I know.” I nodded and stepped into the newly arrived elevator. As long as the press didn’t print lies, I didn’t care what Ivy believed. Just as the doors were closing, she slipped in beside me. The doors shut, sealing us in the small space. “Alright, what will it take for you to leave?” she asked, her face grim. A ghost of a smile played on my lips. “You have that little faith in Cole?” “How could you possibly compare to him?” she sneered. “After Cole signs with Aethel, I’m going to propose to him, right here. I’m afraid he’ll get the wrong idea if you’re around.” I replied with four, emotionless words. “Congratulations.” “Can you just stop this? I know you’re jealous, but you can’t force feelings. This act is not good for either of us.” Her voice was tired, with a hint of condescension, as if she were doing me a favor. “Look, if you leave right now, I’ll personally see to it that Ziegler Corp gives you two projects.” I shook my head coolly. “I don’t need them.” Her tone soured. “I just don’t want Cole to be upset. You should take the offer while you can. Otherwise, you might end up with nothing.” I didn’t respond to anything else she said. By the time the elevator doors opened, her face was flushed with anger. She stormed out, tossing a final command to the woman waiting by the door before stalking off on her high heels. “Control your brother.” I looked at the woman—my own sister, Sierra—and cursed my luck. I had planned to ignore her, but as I stepped out of the elevator, she grabbed my arm. Sierra dragged me to a secluded corner, her eyes cold. “What are you doing here?” “Bidding,” I said flatly. “Nonsense. Go home, now,” she snapped. “Are you planning to steal Cole’s project again, just like three years ago?” 3 Sierra’s words were almost identical to Ivy’s. I looked up at the person who was supposed to be my closest living relative and felt a bitter irony. That project three years ago was a joint venture between the Holt and Ziegler corporations. It wasn’t large, but for a startup, it was a golden opportunity. Thinking I had an inside track, I went to Sierra to ask for it. She shot me down immediately. When Ivy heard, she came and gave me an earful. They said it wasn’t fair to the small, self-made companies. I didn’t understand. Business is about resource integration. I had the ability to complete the project, and I had the connections. Why couldn’t I use them? Later, I found out why. It was for Cole, who was also competing for the same project. One moment, Sierra and Ivy were warning me off; the next, they were dispatching their own professional teams to help Cole perfect his proposal. When I was on the verge of winning by a single vote, they personally joined the review panel and cast their votes for him, handing him the victory. When I confronted them, they were full of self-righteous justifications. “Can’t you have some empathy? You have the Holt and Ziegler corporations to fall back on, but Cole has no choice but to succeed. Since we’re in a position to help, of course we should.” In my past life, I hadn’t accepted it. I exposed them publicly, causing Cole to lose the bid. I continued to oppose him at every turn. To get back at me for him, Sierra and Ivy joined forces to attack my company, driving me to bankruptcy even before Cole. As I was cornered by debt collectors, with nowhere to turn, the two people who should have been my closest allies stood by Cole’s side, mocking my pathetic state. I lost consciousness in the pouring rain. When I woke up, I was back at that bidding conference, three years earlier. Watching Sierra and Ivy join the panel at the last minute to cheat for Cole, just like before, my heart died completely. I liquidated my company. The night they threw a celebration party for Cole, I boarded a plane and left the country alone. In three years, they never contacted me once. Yet the moment I returned, they were on guard, terrified I would harm their precious darling. Even with the memories of two lifetimes, a dull ache spread through my chest. I looked at Sierra with reddened eyes and repeated the same words she’d used on me three years ago, before that first conference. “I’m not participating in this bid as a member of the Holt family. You have no right to make me leave.” I shook her off and turned to go. But two bodyguards suddenly appeared and blocked my path. I turned back to Sierra. Her expression was placid. “If Cole wins this project, his company can go public at least two years ahead of schedule. I can’t let you ruin his chance.” If a company’s representative doesn’t show up, they automatically forfeit the bid. She had supported Cole for three years, yet she still had no faith in his abilities. She still had to resort to cheating to help him. And this was the man who had caused my two closest relatives to betray me, time and time again. I wanted to laugh, but it felt too tragic. I wanted to ask Sierra what she even saw in him, but the thought was tasteless. A lifetime of death stood between us. There was no possibility of reconciliation. “Sierra, do you really think these two can stop me?” Her brow furrowed. “What did you call me?” “Hah.” I gave a short, sharp laugh and turned toward the bodyguards. “Stop him,” Sierra commanded. The two muscular guards lunged at me. As their hands reached for my shoulders, I lunged forward, arching my back as my hands shot out, fingertips aimed for their exposed armpits. They quickly changed their tactic, pressing down, but I drew my hands back to my chest, straightened my back, and used the momentum to lean forward, driving my elbows into their chests. Thump, thump! The guards staggered back. I moved behind them, and before they could regain their footing, I struck each of them in the back, creating distance as they stumbled. Our positions were now reversed. As the two guards steadied themselves and prepared to charge again, I took a step back, positioning myself in full view of a security camera. “Stop!” Sierra quickly called them off, her expression a complex mix of emotions. “When did you become so strong?” I gave her a silent look and walked toward the conference hall. Yes, when? Life abroad was much more dangerous than at home. I was getting robbed several times a month, far more than the average person. If I hadn’t learned to defend myself, I would have been dead long ago.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393271”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Twenty-two years. That’s how long we’d been inseparable, my childhood sweetheart and I. And finally, I was getting what I’d always dreamed of: a proposal from Ethan. Our friends, ecstatic, threw us a party, goading us to interlock arms for a celebratory toast. I shyly raised my glass, moving closer to Ethan. But the man who had only ever been gentle with me suddenly shoved me away. Hard. I crashed to the floor, the shards of my champagne flute slicing into my palm. Ethan just stared down at me, his eyes cold as he spat, “Have you no shame?” Later, on my way home from the hospital, I walked in on a scene that seared itself into my memory. There was Ethan, pinning his old flame, Lila, against the mattress of what was supposed to be our marital bed, his voice a low, desperate murmur. “Come back to me. Just say you’ll come back, and you’ll be the only one I marry.” Watching them, so intimately entwined, a bitter regret washed over me. I had made a terrible mistake. To save myself from another, deeper humiliation, I decided to run. I would disappear on our wedding day. But after I left, the man who had so casually offered my place to another woman lost his mind, tearing the world apart to find me. “Candi, that overseas training program you mentioned… is the spot still open?” I stood under the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight, my voice tight as I fought to keep my emotions in check over the phone with my boss. Candi paused, confused. “It is. Why are you asking? I thought you were getting married.” The breath I’d been holding finally escaped me. “Not anymore. Is the spot still mine if I want it?” “Of course! You’re the best I’ve ever mentored. I’d be thrilled to have you,” she said, her voice filled with a warmth that almost broke me. The moment I hung up, the dam burst. Sobs wracked my body, each one a tremor of pain. The conversation I’d overheard in our—in his—apartment played on a loop in my head, a slow, torturous dissection of my heart. After a long while, my emotions subsided, leaving me aware of the dress I was wearing. It was a size too small, a beautiful gown that now felt like a cage, squeezing the air from my lungs. I found a late-night clothing shop and changed out of it. It had been custom-made for me by Ethan. I’d loved it, despite the fact it never quite fit. As the sales clerk watched with a regretful look, I shoved the gown into a nearby trash can. It was astonishing, the sense of liberation that came from shedding something that didn’t fit, something I had endured for far too long. Just as I stepped out of the shop, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from the security camera I’d installed in the apartment to keep an eye on the renovations. A camera had been disconnected. After a moment’s hesitation, I reconnected it. The feed flickered back to life, and there was Lila, sauntering around the bedroom in the lingerie Ethan had bought for me. The very set I’d been too shy to ever wear. It looked, I had to admit, perfect on her. Her fingers trailed mockingly over the wedding photos of Ethan and me that lined the wall. The camera quality was sharp enough to capture the derisive smirk on her face. “If I hadn’t come back, would you really have married her?” she purred. Ethan didn’t answer. Instead, he began pulling the photos from the wall, tossing them carelessly into a corner of the closet. Lila smiled, settling back onto the bed. Her bare foot traced a line up Ethan’s calf. “You staged this whole grand proposal just to get my attention, didn’t you? If you’re going to keep playing the strong, silent type, I might just leave again.” “Don’t you dare,” Ethan growled, the fire in him finally erupting. He pushed her back into the mattress, his gaze fierce and possessive. Lila just giggled, her arms snaking around his neck to pull him down. “I knew you could never forget me.” Her voice was a triumphant whisper. “Tell me, is Anna genuinely that naive, or is she just playing dumb? The clothes you bought her were all my style, in my size. The wedding ring has my initials engraved on it. Even the design of this apartment is the one I told you I dreamed of. And she never suspected a thing.” Ethan said nothing more. He just kissed her, and they fell into a desperate, tangled embrace. Boom. A firework exploded across the sky. But my own world had gone silent, a deafening roar in my ears. All this time, I thought he was just careless, forgetful about my size. My hand trembled as I pulled the ring from my finger. Using my phone’s light, I searched its smooth surface. And there, on the inner band, were the tiny letters: L.S. In that instant, all the strength drained from my body. I couldn’t even hold onto the ring. It slipped from my grasp, falling through a sewer grate with a series of metallic clinks. Each tiny sound was a hammer blow against my heart. No wonder he’d acted so strangely at the karaoke bar when Lila showed up. No wonder he hadn’t cared that he’d hurt me. I was just a stand-in. A placeholder until the real star of his life decided to return. What a joke. I was the one who had been by his side for twenty-two years. I was the one who had supported him tirelessly for the eight years it took to build his company from nothing. And in the end, I was nothing more than a substitute for the one person in the world I despised. Their kiss ended, and Lila stroked his cheek. “Ethan, my love,” she murmured. “On your wedding day… will you run away with me?” “You mean…” Ethan’s eyes lit up. He gently brushed his finger over her nose, and they shared a conspiratorial smile. I shut off the screen and started to laugh. A ragged, broken sound that made passersby turn and stare. My heart felt like it had been crushed under a great weight, an agony so profound it was paralyzing. The cruelest part wasn’t being Lila’s replacement. It was knowing the man I loved had been plotting to humiliate me all along. Ethan, you are truly ruthless. 2 I sat on a roadside bench for a long time, until Ethan and Lila finally emerged from the building. When he saw me, Ethan’s arm, which had been wrapped around Lila, instantly dropped. “You’re back? Why are you sitting out here? It’s filthy.” His face was a mask of disgust, and he didn’t seem to notice my swollen, red-rimmed eyes. My gaze drifted to Lila, and he instinctively moved to shield her, a protective gesture that was painfully familiar. It was the same way he used to shield me from Lila when we were kids. Now, our roles were reversed. A bitter smile touched my lips. Before I could speak, Ethan launched into a hurried explanation. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Lila had a bit too much to drink, so I just brought her back to rest for a while. She felt bad about it and insisted on leaving as soon as it got dark. I was just worried about her going home alone, so I offered to walk her.” The man who never bothered to explain himself to me was suddenly a fountain of excuses, all for Lila. He felt like a stranger, not the person I’d spent twenty-two years of my life with. I took a deep breath, my voice laced with a sarcasm I couldn’t hide. “If she really had any sense of propriety, she wouldn’t have gone home with another woman’s fiancé. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s the middle of the night.” Caught in his lie, Ethan’s face flushed with anger. “Anna, Lila is your sister, for God’s sake. What are you trying to imply?” Her sister? My eyelashes fluttered. He dared to call the person who had stolen everything from me my sister. Had he forgotten what Lila did? Because of her mother, I was swapped at birth and spent seven years being abused by strangers. When my real parents finally found me, Lila’s lies and manipulations turned them against me, ensuring I never felt a shred of their love. She and her mother took everything, but that wasn’t enough. They were the reason my hand was permanently damaged, shattering my dream of becoming an artist. I would never forgive Lila. And I would certainly never call her my sister. “She is not my sister,” I retorted, my voice shaking with rage. “She’s the daughter of a kidnapper, a monster.” My defiance was met with a sharp slap across the face. “Anna, that’s enough! Apologize to Lila. Now.” “No.” I stared into his eyes, my nails digging so deep into my bandaged palm that the wound reopened, staining the gauze red. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. The boy who used to get teary-eyed if I so much as scraped my knee had just struck me. For Lila. From behind Ethan, Lila shot me a triumphant smirk before her expression melted into one of fragile vulnerability. She tugged on his sleeve. “It’s okay, Ethan. It’s my fault. I never should have come here. Please, don’t fight because of me.” Ethan’s hand closed over hers, and his gaze on me turned to ice. “Anna, what happened back then was her mother’s doing. It had nothing to do with Lila. It’s been years. Why are you still holding onto it with such petty resentment?” I almost laughed. “That’s rich, coming from you, Ethan. You saw the scars all over my body. You saw this hand,” I held it up, “the hand that can no longer hold a paintbrush. And you call this being petty?” His face tightened, his public defense of her shattered. “Just look at yourself,” he snarled, his voice stripped of all its former warmth. “So bitter and sharp-tongued. It’s no wonder your own parents can’t stand you.” With a final, forceful push, he shoved me aside and walked away, his arm once again protectively around Lila. I stumbled back, my spine hitting a lamppost with a sickening thud. The pain left me doubled over, gasping for air. It was the third time he had laid a hand on me in a single day. When we were ten, Lila had used her own body to frame me, making my parents think I was a violent, hateful child. I had cried for days, and a ten-year-old Ethan had been the one to comfort me. His childish voice still echoed in my memory. ‘You’re wonderful, Anna. If they can’t see that, they’re blind. I see it. I’ll always, always choose you.’ I didn’t know then that his words would take root in my heart, growing there for two decades. And now, he was telling me that no one could ever love me. That “no one” included him. The words that had once been my salvation had transformed into a volley of poisoned arrows, all aimed directly at my heart. 3 I dragged my exhausted body back to the new apartment. A text from Candi came through with my flight information. It was scheduled for ten days from now—the morning of my wedding. My eyes fell on the little decorative robot on the counter, its face a cheerful, smiling screen. The large numbers on it displayed the countdown to our wedding. Now, it was a countdown to my escape. How fitting. It felt like destiny. Ethan came home to find me re-wrapping the bandage on my hand. His eyes flickered with something—maybe guilt?—when he saw the injury. He sighed, sinking to his knees in front of me. He gently unwrapped the gauze and began dabbing the cut with antiseptic. “You know, the reason I’m nice to Lila is for your sake,” he began, his voice low and reasonable. “It’s been so many years, and you still can’t get over the hurdle with your parents. We’re about to get married, and you have no family to attend, hardly any friends. You can’t even scrape together a group of bridesmaids.” I pursed my lips, saying nothing. He knew my story better than anyone. He knew every cut, every bruise, every betrayal. He had seen my parents choose Lila over and over until my heart was shattered. He had supported me when I finally cut them off. I wasn’t without friends; he knew that. They were just married, with families of their own. We were the ones who had waited, because he wanted to establish his career first. I had waited for him, my twenties slipping away without a single word of complaint. And now, he was the one bringing it up, the one who found me lacking. The boy who once held me and whispered, ‘You only need me,’ had been swept away by the river of time. A sharp sting on my hand made me flinch, and I tried to pull away. He held on tight, giving me a look of gentle rebuke before bringing my hand to his lips and blowing softly on the cut. “Such a big girl, and you still can’t handle a little pain. What would you ever do without me?” I watched his performance of feigned tenderness and started to question everything. Were all those years of warmth and care just a role he was playing, a part he’d become lost in? And was I the only one who had truly believed the script? “I was going to ask earlier,” he said, “why did you change? Where’s the evening gown?” “It was ruined. I threw it out.” I had no desire to talk, but he seemed oblivious, chattering more than he had in years. After tossing the used cotton swab, he put away the first-aid kit, lecturing me as he went. “I apologized to Lila on your behalf for tonight. From now on, you need to think before you speak. Stop dragging up the past.” I watched his back as he walked away and let out a soft, hollow laugh. “Ethan, there is no ‘from now on’ for us.” “What?” He turned, a flicker of awareness in his eyes, but I had already looked down, busying myself with my phone. Back in the bedroom, the half-empty wall was a stark reminder of what had happened. The lingerie lay discarded on the bed. I picked it up and tossed it under the frame. Even so, the bed felt contaminated, filthy. The thought of them tangled on these sheets, their desperate, passionate embrace… A wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I retched, right there on the bed. Ethan emerged from the bathroom and saw the mess, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “What’s wrong with you? Normal people find a trash can or a toilet when they feel sick. You just puke on the bed?” Seeing the ghastly pallor of my face, he softened his tone. “Well, looks like we’ll have to sleep somewhere else tonight.” He opened the closet to find a fresh set of sheets, accidentally knocking over the picture frames he’d stashed in the corner. They crashed to the floor, glass shattering everywhere. Guiltily, he bent to pick them up. “A couple of the photos fell down earlier,” he explained, avoiding my eyes. “I was afraid they’d break, so I took them all down. Guess I ended up breaking one anyway. You should secure the nails better when you hang them back up.” I gave a noncommittal hum and took the clean sheets from him, heading for the guest room. Ethan rubbed his nose, sighed, and resignedly began to clean up the mess. 4 I woke in the guest room to the sun high in the sky. Ethan hadn’t come to find me last night, and for the first time in a long time, I had slept soundly. Stretching, I walked into the living room and saw a plate of breakfast on the table with a note beside it. Anna, I’m off to work. Don’t forget to eat. Be good! The same old tenderness, the same old care. Except now, it didn’t fill me with happiness. With my new perspective, the gesture felt tainted, part of a larger deception. I scraped the food and the note into the trash can without a second thought. Just after I finished my own breakfast, the robot assistant chirped a schedule reminder. I’d completely forgotten. Today was the day we were supposed to go to the wedding planner to choose my gown and finalize the decor. Apparently, Ethan had forgotten too. I dismissed the notification and spent the next two hours on my phone, methodically canceling every order for our wedding decor. I packed up everything that had already been delivered and arranged for it to be returned. What couldn’t be returned, I threw away. Piece by piece, I erased myself from this apartment, just as I was erasing my love for Ethan from my heart. Soon, there was no trace I had ever lived in this house that was never truly mine. I was holding a beautiful, expensive photo album, about to burn it, when his call came. “Anna, we were supposed to try on wedding dresses and look at venues today. Why didn’t you remind me?” “I forgot, too,” I said flatly. There was a long silence on his end. He clearly hadn’t expected that answer. Finally, he told me to get ready and that he was waiting downstairs. When I finally ambled down, I saw Lila was in the car with him. She was in the passenger seat, and she smiled at me as if nothing was wrong. I quietly opened the back door and slid in. Both of them flinched. Ethan’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror several times before he started making excuses. “I thought, since Lila has such great taste, we could ask for her help. It’ll make things go faster. And, uh, she gets carsick, so I let her sit up front.” I nodded and turned to look out the window. In a few days, I would be on a plane to another country, for who knew how long. I might as well enjoy one last look at this city. A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. Ethan was squeezing Lila’s hand. She squeezed back, and they engaged in a silent, playful tug-of-war. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep until we arrived. At the wedding planner’s office, as the designer pulled up the venue mockups, Lila plopped herself right down in the chair next to the computer. Ethan stood beside her, leaning in close. They murmured to each other, pointing at the screen, looking for all the world like a happy couple planning their future. I sat on a sofa across the room, feeling no desire to fight for my place. It was only after they had made all the decisions that Ethan seemed to remember I was there. He saw me on the sofa, looking completely detached, and his mood soured. “Why are you sitting so far away? Come over here and help.” I glanced at the screen. “I’ve seen it,” I said with a serene smile. “What you two picked out… it’s perfect.” Something in my tone must have set Lila off. She bit her lip, her face crumpling into a mask of hurt. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have come.” With that, she bolted from the office. Ethan started to chase after her, but he stopped as he passed me. “I went to all this trouble to get Lila to help you, and this is how you act? What is your problem?” he hissed. “Fine. You can pick everything out yourself now.” I couldn’t take the injustice anymore. I shot up and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him up short. He stumbled, nearly crashing into the glass door. I met his furious gaze with a calm of my own. “What exactly,” I asked, “is it that I’m doing wrong?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just shook my hand off and stormed out after her. The designer looked at me with pity. “Ma’am,” she asked gently, “would you like to choose a different theme? And for the dress… you don’t need them. You should pick what you like.” I gave her a grateful smile. “No, what they chose is fine. As for the dress… let him decide.” When I got home, I picked up the beautiful photo album again. This time, without a flicker of hesitation, I tossed it into the fireplace.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393270”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Mason’s mistress was pregnant, her belly as round as mine. She draped herself across his lap, fingers tracing her stomach. “They say Mrs. Vance was the best rider before her pregnancy.” Her eyes gleamed cruel. “Make her ride for me. If she performs well…” Leaning in, she whispered: “Tonight, I’m yours.” Mason’s gaze locked onto me. Silence. I clutched my belly, pleading: “Mason, no! I’ll lose the baby!” Laughter erupted. Mason sneered: “You’ve miscarried before. You can get pregnant again. Ride now—if you can’t entertain Kiki, you won’t leave these grounds tonight.” Dragged to the stables, I was thrown onto a spooked horse. Each gallop tore through my womb. Glancing back: Mason and his mistress were already kissing, surrounded by cheers. Wind howled. A bitter smile curled my lips. Mason, this is the end. 1 The sharp sting of antiseptic filled my senses as I drifted back to consciousness. The hospital room was quiet, except for Mason lounging on the sofa, Kiki nestled in his arms. Not a single other member of the Vance family was present. He saw my eyes flutter open and asked lazily, “Woke up, did you?” My face was ashen. My gaze fell to my now-flat stomach. Mason was silent for a beat, then clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Tch. So you actually lost it. What a shame. It was so big, too.” I managed a numb twitch of my lips. Yes. Seven months. Last night, he’d summoned me to the equestrian club. All because of a whim from Kiki. I don’t know how many laps I was forced to ride; I only remember the searing pain in my lungs with every breath. Finally, when Mason and Kiki had had their fun, he buttoned his shirt and tossed two words down to me like a scrap of charity: “That’s enough.” I stumbled off the horse, pale and barely breathing. A hot, sticky wetness bloomed between my legs, and a fresh wave of pain engulfed me. Dazed, I looked toward Mason, who was the center of his adoring crowd. I took two staggering steps before my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the grass, reaching a hand out to him. “Mason… call an ambulance…” My voice was a choked whisper. Sweat beaded on my forehead. One of his friends noticed my state and sauntered over. “Seriously? It was just a couple of laps. Are you really going to be so dramatic?” “I have to admit, Jules, she’s a pretty convincing actress. I almost believed her.” “Hey, you know, she looks exactly like she did when she swore up and down that she didn’t cause your grandmother’s death! Elara, your acting skills haven’t slipped a bit over the years!” Mason, with Kiki tucked under his arm, walked over and looked down at me, his brow furrowed. He must have forgotten what I looked like the last time I miscarried, because he, too, seemed to believe it was all a performance. Kiki stepped forward, her eyes filled with revulsion as she pointed at the spreading stain on my dress. “Oh my god, did you just pee your pants?!” she shrieked, her voice deliberately loud, drawing everyone’s attention. A crushing wave of shame washed over me, so intense I could barely breathe. Instinctively, I reached for Mason again. “Jules, help me. My stomach… it hurts so much.” He slapped my hand away. “Pathetic,” he sneered. With those two words, he turned and led the laughing crowd away, leaving me there. Not even the club staff spared me a glance. I was alone on the grass, my cries for help fading into the night. I must have passed out. The next thing I knew, I was here. A familiar ache settled behind my eyes. I had lost another child. Kiki snuggled against Mason’s shoulder, her hand stroking her own pregnant belly. “It’s just bad luck, I guess. So fragile. Just a little ride and the baby’s gone. What a jinx. I’ve had so much more… exercise with Mason in bed, enough to work up a sweat every time, and my baby is just fine.” Mason chuckled and pressed a kiss to her lips. “How could she ever compare to you? Even if that little bastard of hers had survived, it would have grown up to be nothing more than a servant for our child.” I had heard words like this more times than I could count. Each time, they were a fresh stab to the heart. I used to fight back, my voice shaking with disbelief. “That’s your child, too! How can you say that?!” And each time, he would just stare at me with those cold, empty eyes, his silence a more potent weapon than any shout, driving me slowly mad. But now, I felt nothing. Just a vast, cold numbness. Perhaps it was the weakness from the blood loss, but the cool breeze drifting through the open window felt like ice on my skin. “Mason,” I said, my voice hoarse and distant. “Could you please close the window? I’m cold. The doctor said I need to be careful not to get a chill during my recovery.” It was the same warning the doctor had given me after every miscarriage. Mason’s face hardened, his words as sharp as a winter wind. “You had a miscarriage, not a baby. What recovery do you need? Are you trying to use this as another excuse to slack off and not go back to the estate to wait on my mother?” He stood up, his patience clearly gone after a mere half-hour. Before leaving, he deliberately walked over and threw open every single window in the room. “Hah. Can’t get a chill?” he mocked. “Let’s just see what happens if you do.” I listened in silence, just as I had for the past five years, bearing the full weight of his hatred. But I was so tired. I didn’t want to carry the burden of his grandmother’s death anymore. I didn’t want to be the Vance family’s punching bag. Not for one more day. Five years ago, it was a fairytale. Cinderella and the Prince. Mason and I were deeply in love, and he brought me home to the Vance Estate. The Vances were a dynasty, their marriages strategic alliances for generations. But Mason refused. He wanted me. No one in his family liked me. Except for his grandmother. The matriarch was over ninety, her body failing her. The formidable woman who once ruled the family empire was now confined to a wheelchair. She was the only one who supported us. She adored me and would often ask Mason to bring me to the estate just to keep her company. She had raised Mason herself and loved telling me stories about his childhood. But sometimes, as she spoke, a deep sadness would descend upon her. Through her fragmented memories, I learned she’d had a love of her own, long ago, before her own arranged marriage. A love she was forced to give up. Eventually, she lost the ability to speak. But even then, she fought against the entire family to give Mason her blessing to marry me. Just before the wedding preparations began, Mason and I took her for a walk in the park. On a downward slope, she scribbled on a notepad that she was thirsty. Mason ran off to buy water, leaving me to watch over her. In that brief moment, her eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost from her past. She became incredibly agitated. I held onto the wheelchair, looking around, but I saw no one. “Elara!” Mason’s voice called from behind me. I turned. In that single, fleeting second, the wheelchair rolled away, gathering speed as it careened down the slope. My carelessness had caused a tragedy. After the funeral, Mason still married me. Not out of love, but out of hate. “Elara, you will be trapped in this family forever,” he had vowed. “You will spend the rest of your life in this hell, atoning for what you did.” It wasn’t just him. The entire Vance family directed their grief and rage at me. During that time, Mason met Kiki, an escort from a high-end club. A sordid affair bloomed into a passionate, public romance. And me? I was trapped in the mire of the Vance family, drowning in guilt, losing four children in a relentless cycle of tragedy. And now, a fifth. “Mrs. Vance,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but firm. “As your physician, I have to tell you something. Normally, after a miscarriage, we advise waiting two years before trying to conceive again. But you’ve had four in five years. It has caused significant damage to your body, to your uterus. In the future… it will be very difficult for you to conceive again.” His words were diplomatic, but I understood their true meaning. I nodded calmly, saying nothing. “Should I inform Mr. Vance?” This was a private hospital, owned by the Vance family’s corporation. Though my relationship with the family was a disaster, we maintained a facade of civility in public. People knew I was the unloved wife, but they still afforded me the respect of my title. I gave a bitter smile. “No. Don’t tell him.” As if on cue, my phone rang. It was Mason. His voice was lazy, laced with that familiar, casual cruelty. “Are you dead yet? If not, get over to the villa. Kiki and I are out of condoms. I don’t like the other brands. You know the one I prefer, right? Bring them to me. I’ll text you the address.” He hung up before I could reply. A moment later, the address appeared on my screen. In the past, driven by guilt and a desperate need for atonement, I would have swallowed the humiliation and done exactly as he commanded, just to lessen his hatred for me, even by a fraction. But now, my face was a mask of indifference. I calmly opened a delivery app and ordered a courier. My best friend, Chloe, set a container of soup on the bedside table and tucked the blanket around me, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Elara, do you really have to stay with him? This is the fourth time you’ve miscarried! What more does he want? Does he want to torture you until there’s nothing left?!” I reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “From now on, he can’t hurt me anymore.” Mason was furious that I didn’t deliver the condoms myself. He cut off my credit cards and had the hospital discharge me. After packing my few belongings, I went back to the Vance Estate. The servants shot me looks of open contempt. “Look, the jinx is back. See? Her belly is flat again. Pathetic.” “Right? How many times is that now? She can never carry a baby to term. I can’t believe she still has the nerve to show her face here. If it were me, I’d hide away and never come out.” “Well, that’s why we’re just servants. We don’t have skin as thick as hers. How else do you think she became a wealthy man’s wife?” I walked past them, my heart a placid lake. Their words no longer had the power to wound me. My timing was terrible. Mason was there with Kiki, visiting his mother. The moment Mrs. Vance saw me, she slammed her teacup down, her voice sharp and piercing. “Elara! Get over here and kneel before the matriarch’s memorial tablet!” I had been heading upstairs, but I stopped. When it came to the grandmother, I would always feel a pang of guilt. I turned and walked to the small, ornate altar. Mrs. Vance was so angry she didn’t even give me a cushion. The cold, hard floor sent jolts of pain through my knees. I hadn’t even begun to heal, and when the ruler she kept for this purpose struck my back, a sharp, pulling pain shot through my lower abdomen. “Hmph. Tell me, how many times is this now?” she shrieked. “If I kept a breeding dog, it would have given me several litters by now! And you? You’re worse than a dog!” “It would be better if you couldn’t get pregnant at all! At least then we’d have some peace and quiet!” “Look at you! You’re a disgrace to the memory of the matriarch! If she were still alive and saw that you couldn’t even hatch a single egg in five years, she would have forced Mason to divorce you herself! But no, you have the audacity to stay here, clinging to the title of Mrs. Vance!” Her words were a torrent of insults, each one a not-so-subtle reminder that I should know my place and get out of their lives. I looked up at the man responsible for it all. My first pregnancy was a month after our wedding. A month of his brutal, angry lovemaking had left me torn and bleeding, forcing me into the hospital. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed, thinking a child might soften his heart. I was wrong. He had just looked at me and laughed, a sound that chilled me to the bone. “You?” he’d said. “You think you’re worthy of carrying my child?” He forced the bitter abortion pills into my mouth himself. Within half an hour, I was wracked with cramps, and I lost my first child. The second time, he had just started his affair with Kiki. She mentioned she wanted to see me drink, so he ordered ten bottles of the most expensive champagne and forced them down my throat in a private club room. Two bottles in, I started bleeding. The third time, I was late delivering some of their “toys.” As punishment, his mother made me kneel outside the villa for a day and a night. That evening, for a thrill, Mason carried Kiki outside and they made love right in front of me. The exhaustion, the grief, the humiliation… it was too much. I lost my third child. That time, it had been twins. The shock sent me into cardiac arrest. I barely survived. And now, the horse. This baby I had carried the longest. Seven months. I had truly believed this one would make it. But no. And there Mason sat, watching his mother beat me, looking completely indifferent, as if the children I’d lost had nothing to do with him. Beside him, Kiki smirked, her eyes full of triumph and scorn. When Mrs. Vance was finally tired of hitting me, she threw the ruler down and sank onto the sofa with a sigh. “I never should have given in to the matriarch’s pressure and allowed this marriage! Now look what’s happened. I’ve brought a curse, a jinx, into this family!” I gave a weak, bitter smile. I bowed my head and knocked it three times on the floor before the memorial tablet. I had suffered too much in this house. The grandmother’s death, Mason’s betrayal, the loss of five children… “In that case,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, “let’s do as you wish. Mason and I will get a divorce. That way, the Vance family can finally be rid of me.” Mason froze, his head snapping in my direction. A moment later, a soft, mocking laugh cut through the tense silence. “Hah.” “You think you have the right to mention divorce?” Before I could react, he had me by the neck, slamming me down onto the offering table in front of the tablet. His grip was viselike, as if he meant to kill me. “You haven’t paid for your sins yet, and you think you can just walk away? You kill someone and then just get to leave? Elara, the world doesn’t work like that!” He threw me aside. The force of it sent me stumbling back into a large decorative planter. A sharp pain exploded in the back of my head, and then something warm and wet trickled down my neck. The world went black.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393269”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel