I’m in a relationship with the boy who made my life a living hell. Three years ago, I begged Edmund Carter to leave me alone. He ground his heel into my hand and called me garbage. Three years later, he was on his knees, crying and pleading for me to stay. I gave him the same look he gave me then, and said the same word back to him. 01 Pinned against the wall by the school’s most vicious bully, I sent a final text to the boy I’d fallen for online. A moment later, the bully’s phone chimed. Edmund Carter pulled out his phone, and the cold fury in his eyes melted away, replaced by an impossible tenderness. [Be good, Emily. I’m busy. Wait for me.] The second he sent the message, my phone vibrated silently in my pocket. It was the custom notification I’d set for him. For my Edmund. My head snapped up, my mind reeling. There he was, standing under the halo of a streetlight, the perfect line of his jaw and his sharp, handsome features identical to the boy I knew as Edmund. But the way he held a cigarette between his lips, the dark, violent aura clinging to him—that was a world away from the bright, smiling boy in the photos he sent me. For a dizzying second, I couldn’t tell who he was: my sweet, gentle online boyfriend, Edmund, or Tiffany’s monster of a boyfriend, Edmund Carter. “Edmund, that’s the bitch who ruined my bag!” Tiffany shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at me, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “She’s just jealous because she’s poor and can’t afford nice things. Fucking trash.” “I didn’t…” I hadn’t touched her bag. A few days ago, Tiffany had slapped me for no reason. When she’d swung again, I dodged. She stumbled and fell, scuffing her brand new, thirty-thousand-dollar handbag. She’d screamed at me to pay for it. When I told her I couldn’t, she’d sneered and said I should just wait, that her boyfriend, Edmund Carter, would take care of me. I knew who Edmund Carter was. Everyone did. He was from a wealthy, powerful family. The whispers said he had ties to the criminal underworld, that he was a ruthless, cold-blooded fighter who wasn’t afraid of anything. They called him a demon. I just never imagined that my sweet, kind “Edmund” and the demon of Westwood High were the same person. He straightened up, walking toward me one slow step at a time. The warm yellow light of the streetlamp washed over him, but his eyes were chips of ice. His tall frame cast a suffocating shadow over me. I curled my fingers into fists as he spoke, his voice cold and dismissive. “Two choices. Pay up, or get on your knees and apologize.” The detached contempt in his voice was so alien, so unlike the tender, loving boy from my phone. My stomach twisted. In a moment of sheer, suicidal insanity, I looked him in the eye. “Do you believe me if I say I didn’t do it?” Edmund stared at me for a long moment, then let out a short, derisive laugh. “You really don’t know what’s good for you.” He turned away, his voice laced with annoyance. “Teach her a lesson.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. My ears went numb. His lackeys forced me to my knees. They slapped me, hard, again and again. They tore at my clothes, kicked me in the stomach. The pain was so intense I couldn’t even scream. Through it all, Edmund just leaned against the wall, a detached observer, his eyes glued to his phone screen with a soft, gentle smile, as if he were waiting for a message from someone he loved. I curled into a ball, enduring the relentless kicks and punches, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. The consequences of being beaten by several grown boys were severe. It took me forever to even get up. Two of my teeth were knocked loose, and the blood I spat out stained the collar of my shirt crimson. I lay there on the pavement like a dead fish for three hours before I could summon the strength to crawl home. I couldn’t tell my parents. They were simple, hardworking people from a small town, and even with both of them working tirelessly, we were barely scraping by in this city. That was the root of it, wasn’t it? I was being bullied because I was from the countryside. “Hick.” “Poor, pathetic trash.” “We could sell you and still not make enough to cover it.” Their words were daggers in my heart. It was then that I learned that being poor meant you didn’t get to have dignity. You just got ground into the mud. “Hiss—” I patched myself up in secret. God, it hurt. My phone kept buzzing with that special notification. Message after message from my sweet Edmund. [Emily baby, you home yet?] [You should be home by now, why aren’t you texting me back?~] [Did I do something to make you mad?] The same affectionate, gentle tone, but now it sent a wave of nausea through me. I typed out replies, again and again, deleting them each time. Finally, I just sent one thing. [You were just at the library tonight?] He paused for a second, then replied quickly. 02 [Yep, studied hard today!] As if to prove it, he sent a photo of himself in the library. In the picture, the boy wore a crisp white shirt, his eyes crinkling with a sunny smile. He stood by a bookshelf, looking studious and handsome, the very picture of a perfect gentleman. It was all a beautiful, disgusting lie. I was grateful I’d never sent him a photo of myself. Grateful he hadn’t recognized me. It was the only reason I had the chance to see the real him. I couldn’t afford to miss class and fall behind, so I didn’t dare stay home. After the first period, Tiffany dragged me into the girls’ bathroom. She and her friends cornered me by the sinks. “Emily, I can’t believe you still have the nerve to show your face. Tsk, tsk. I guess they didn’t hit you hard enough last night.” “Haha, maybe she’s just thick-skinned. She’s so ugly and gross, if she wasn’t shameless she would’ve killed herself by now!” “No wonder her name is Emily. Sounds like ‘lowly.’ Lowly and tough as a pig!” Her friends chimed in with a chorus of insults as one of them scooped up a bucket of filthy toilet water and dumped it over my head. The stench and the cold, wet feeling of it soaking through my clothes made me want to vomit. “Tsk, tsk, Emily. You really are as ugly and filthy as a pig,” Tiffany sneered. She grabbed my hair, slapped me twice across the face, then washed her hands as if she’d touched something dirty before sauntering out. I slid down the tiled wall and collapsed onto the floor, burying my face in my knees, fighting to hold back the tears. Tiffany locked me in there for the entire morning. I wasn’t let out until the lunch bell rang. I thought that would be the end of it for the day. But she wasn’t finished. For the rest of the week, my desk was constantly vandalized, my homework would mysteriously disappear. After a few times, the teachers stopped believing me. Tiffany was a ghost haunting my every step, taking pleasure in my humiliation. That evening, I stayed late at the library, hoping to avoid her on my way home. It was no use. She was waiting for me at the entrance with her crew. She knocked my thermos out of my hands. It clattered to the ground, and the coffee I’d brought to help me stay awake splashed all over my legs. My new white pants were instantly stained. I glared at her, furious. As I opened my mouth to speak, I caught Edmund Carter’s warning gaze from where he stood beside her, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his expression full of contempt. “Tsk. Got a problem, Emily?” Tiffany shoved me, and I fell backward. I landed right in the puddle of spilled coffee and dirt. The earthy, bitter smell was sickening. Her friends erupted in laughter, mocking me, saying I looked like a pig wallowing in slop. They even tried to force my face down into the puddle, to make me drink it. My cheek was inches from the grimy floor when the librarian came to lock up. “What are you all doing!” Tiffany and her cronies finally let me go, turning to the librarian with fake, cheerful smiles. “We’re just playing truth or dare with Emily!” “Yeah, Emily lost, so she has to drink the coffee on the floor!” “No, that’s not true,” I pleaded, shaking my head and looking desperately at the librarian. “Ma’am, they’re forcing me.” The librarian frowned, about to speak, but Tiffany quickly cut in with a sycophantic grin. “Ma’am, don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to get out of the dare!” “Yeah, Emily, don’t be a sore loser! You lost, fair and square. Why are you tattling to the teacher?” Tiffany twisted the truth, painting me as the bad guy. Her friends all chimed in. “Yeah, Emily, you’re being so petty.” “It’s just a game. You don’t have to tell on us just because you don’t want to do the dare!” There were too many of them, and their stories all matched. Predictably, the librarian believed them. She gave me a disapproving look, then turned to Tiffany. “Alright, that’s enough. You’re in school to learn, not to play these silly games.” And with that, the librarian left, clearly wanting nothing to do with it. Tiffany looked down at me, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “See, Emily? They’re all on my side. No one will ever believe you.” “Tattling to the teachers is useless. I have a hundred ways to get out of trouble. You, on the other hand, won’t be so lucky.” 03 My heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. I barely even heard what they said after that. I sat there on the cold library steps for a long time, so long that all the campus lights went out. It wasn’t until a security guard on patrol kept calling my name that I realized I’d been staring into space for hours, sitting in a puddle of cold coffee. I walked home in a daze. My mother was in the kitchen, slamming dishes around in the sink. “You’re old enough to know better than to get your clothes so filthy. I don’t have money to buy you new ones.” “Instead of focusing on your real studies, you had to go and pick this ridiculous art hobby. Do you know how much extra that costs us? You’re a curse. Why can’t you be more like your cousin back home? She’s hardworking and sensible.” I was so used to my mother’s complaints that I was usually numb to them. But tonight, I felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. I ignored her and locked myself in my room. My phone was blowing up. It was Edmund. [Emily, are you out of your evening class yet?] [Answer me!] [Baby, did I do something wrong? You’ve been so cold these last two days.] [Don’t ignore me. You’ll break my heart.] He’d be heartbroken? Yes. He would be. Even though our relationship was purely online, I knew how much he needed me. He wanted to talk to me 24/7. He was a person starved for affection, crippled by insecurity. His toxic family life had shrouded his childhood in darkness. After his mother died, he’d become a deeply negative and gloomy person. I had appeared in his life right at that moment, pulling him through that dark time. After that, he became like a puppy showing its belly, offering me his entire heart on a platter. He used to say: [Baby, you are the only light in my life.] [Baby, I’m trying to become a better person for you. I’m studying hard, eating properly, turning into the kind of gentle, charming boy you like…] [Baby, I love you more than anything. Please stay with me forever…] I thought about his words, then I pictured his face as he helped Tiffany torture me. My fingertips trembled. [Edmund, if someone bullied you, what would you do?] I asked him. [I’d get revenge, of course. I’d make their life a living hell.] [Why are you asking, Emily? Did someone bully you? Who was it? I’ll take care of them for you!] [It’s nothing.] There’s no need. Edmund, I already have a plan to make the person who bullied me suffer. 04 During art class, Tiffany “accidentally” knocked over my paint tray as she walked by, smearing paint across my finished canvas. “Emily, does someone as poor and pathetic as you really deserve to study art? It’s so expensive. Can your family even afford it?” She smirked and sashayed away. I silently cleaned up the mess. Half my paints were gone, and my brushes and other tools were ruined. I salvaged what I could and took the dirty brushes to the washroom to clean them. I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned around. It was Edmund Carter. He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his teeth, his eyes full of the same mocking contempt. He was looking at me like I was a clown. I gripped the paintbrush tightly in my hand. He made no move to leave. When I tried to exit the washroom, he blocked my path, pinning me against the wall. “Go apologize to Tiffany tomorrow.” His tone was absolute, his eyes a clear threat. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t break her bag.” I summoned the courage to meet his gaze. The next second, the burning tip of his cigarette was pressed against my arm. “Cut the crap!” “It’s a thirty-thousand-dollar bag. All you have to do is say you’re sorry. Don’t be an idiot.” “My patience is wearing thin. If you don’t apologize, you know what will happen.” Edmund left. I clutched my burned arm, hot tears finally falling. That night at home, my mother started in on me again, trying to convince me to quit art, telling me a family like ours couldn’t afford my dreams. Eventually, my dad told her to stop. Before I went to bed, he came to my room. He told me to just focus on my studies, that the family would find a way to support my art. I looked at my dad’s hair, already graying though he wasn’t old, and at his prosthetic eye. My heart ached. A neighborhood bully had blinded him in one eye when he was a kid. Now, on rainy days or when he was overtired, the socket would ache relentlessly. But he still bore the weight of our family without complaint. “Dad, I’ll get a part-time job. I promise, I can earn my own money soon.” My dad just shook his head, a proud, sad smile on his face, telling me not to worry. Then he asked, “You haven’t been yourself the last few days. Did something happen at school?” I shook my head. “If anyone is bullying you,” he said, his voice firm, “you have to tell us.” I nodded, telling him not to worry. They had been through enough. They didn’t need to carry my burdens, too. For years, I had grown up wild and resilient on my own. I always found a way. Tiffany thought I was some weak little mouse she could crush. Just because I was poor, did that mean I had to swallow every humiliation in silence? The moment Tiffany demanded thirty thousand dollars from me, I had already secured the security footage of her falling and damaging her own bag. After all, a poor person’s greatest fear is being framed. I had documented the injuries from the alley and the bathroom. I had also managed to get a copy of the security footage from the library entrance. I’d barely responded to Edmund’s messages these past few days, and he was starting to spiral, flooding my phone with notifications. 99+ unread messages. I clicked on them, reading one by one. [What are you so busy with, Emily, that you don’t have time for me?] [Emily, did I do something wrong?] [I’m sorry, baby. Whatever I did, please just tell me. I’ll change. Just don’t ignore me.] [Emily, are you… leaving me?] By the last message, I knew he was panicking. So, Edmund, you really can feel hurt. Don’t worry. The real pain hasn’t even started yet. 05 Before I could finish reading, my phone started ringing. It was him. I didn’t answer, just texted back. [I’m not leaving you.] [Really?] He clearly didn’t believe me. He had no security, no trust. [Then please don’t ignore me anymore, Emily. It hurts my heart.] My fingers trembled. For a second, I hesitated, then I replied: [Okay.] His tone immediately brightened. [You’re the best, Emily. Emily, I want to see you. Soon. Can I come find you?] We had agreed to meet after our college entrance exams, but now he was clearly getting impatient. Maybe he could feel it. That I was slipping away from him. [Emily?] [You said you’d always be with me. You won’t break your promise, right?] I could hear the fear in his voice, the desperate need for reassurance. A pang of something sour twisted in my gut. I had been so determined to make him suffer, but for a split second, I wavered. I asked him: [Edmund, you said you were trying to become a better person for me, right?] [Yes, Emily. I’m trying.] He answered without a moment’s hesitation. As if the person who tormented and abused others wasn’t him at all. He truly had two faces. [Then you have to be a just and kind person. At the very least, you can’t do bad things,] I replied. I’m giving you a chance, Edmund Carter. You’d better keep your word. … Tiffany’s crusade against me wasn’t over. To force my apology, she took the fight public. She posted her version of the broken bag story on the school’s gossip blog. Overnight, she transformed from aggressor to victim. She played the part perfectly, claiming all she ever wanted was a simple apology. She painted herself as the righteous one, accusing me of being a poor, jealous girl who coveted things she couldn’t have. She said my vanity was a burden on my family, that I was ungrateful and inconsiderate of my parents’ struggles. Her “righteous” act won her a wave of sympathy. The comments section was flooded with vitriol directed at me. “If you’re poor, just stay in your lane!” “If you can’t have it, destroy it! That Emily girl is pure evil!” “Yeah, get that bitch out of our school!” “I heard Tiffany’s boyfriend, Edmund Carter, beat her up a few days ago.” “Good. I’d take a beating to get out of paying thirty grand!” “Emily must apologize!” On the post with the most comments demanding my head, I uploaded the video. The one showing Tiffany tripping on her own, scuffing her own bag, and then blaming me. The cascade of angry comments stopped instantly. I had planned to release the video today anyway. Tiffany’s post just gave me the perfect stage to humiliate her. With that done, I went to school with a calm heart.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393225”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At my own wedding reception, I raised a glass to my wife’s old flame. In response, he smashed the glass on the floor in front of everyone. “So I lost to you,” he spat. “You got to marry Amelia. But that doesn’t give you the right to humiliate me in public!” My wife, Amelia, was livid. She screamed at me, calling me a petty, pathetic man, saying my jealousy was the most disgusting thing about me. Then she ripped off her veil and ran after her old love, who was already storming out. I rushed forward, trying to explain, but a car screeched around the corner and hit me. Amelia glanced back at me, just for a second, then continued her pursuit without breaking stride. I was rushed to the hospital. By some miracle, I survived. But in that sterile, white room, my heart died. The moment I was conscious, I made a call to the father I hadn’t spoken to in three years. “Dad,” I said, my voice raspy. “About that arranged marriage for the family… I’ll do it.” The day I was discharged, Amelia still hadn’t shown up. She hadn’t visited me once during my entire hospital stay. My leg was still in a cast. I had to take a cab home. When I got to our apartment, my key wouldn’t work. The lock had been changed. I had no choice but to call her. A man’s voice answered. It was him. Cole, her old flame. “Hey, is that you, Leo? Amelia’s in the shower.” Before I could say anything, the door clicked open from the inside. The moment Cole saw me, he grinned, wide and welcoming. “Leo, you’re back! Come on in.” “It’s my fault, man,” he said, gesturing to the lock. “I’m so bad with numbers, I could never remember the code. So Amelia just changed it to my birthday. You didn’t know, right? I’ll write it down for you.” He was wearing a brand-new silk robe, his hair still damp and plastered to his forehead. Just then, Amelia poked her head out of the master bedroom. She was wearing my favorite of her nightgowns—the sheer black one. If this had happened before, seeing them alone together, both freshly showered, I would have exploded. We would have screamed at each other until we were red in the face. This time, I just gave a slight nod and wheeled my suitcase inside. Seeing my lack of reaction, Amelia tossed the towel she was holding and offered a flimsy explanation. “The power went out at Cole’s place, so he’s staying here for a few days. Don’t get the wrong idea.” Looking at her, all I could see was the image of her chasing after Cole, not even glancing back as I was struck by a car, nearly killed. In that moment, any love I had for her had vanished. “I’m not,” I said. I didn’t stop, just dragged my suitcase toward the bedroom. “Cole’s family is all overseas,” she continued, following me. “He’s all alone here. We grew up together. If I don’t take him in, who will?” I listened silently. She seemed to have forgotten that I had also cut off my family for three years to be with her. If Cole had it so tough, what about me? “I told you, I’m not getting the wrong idea.” I was forced to stop as she blocked my path. “Leo, you’ve had a sour look on your face since you walked in. I’m trying to explain, and you won’t even listen.” “What is it that you want?” She grabbed my arm, her words a torrent of accusations. My patience snapped. I pushed her hand away, my voice cold. “I said, I am not getting the wrong idea.” The fracture in my arm wasn’t fully healed. A sharp pain shot through it, and I had to let go of my suitcase. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. The bedroom light flicked on, revealing a pair of light blue men’s briefs on the bed, next to a black bra with a broken strap. Amelia’s face went pale. She scrambled to snatch up the clothes. “We… we accidentally got these wet earlier. We were just letting them dry,” she stammered. “Don’t overthink it.” I looked around the messy bedroom. There was barely a place to stand. “Mm,” was all I said before turning and walking into the guest room. After I showered, my father called. “Leo, I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. I’m getting old, and you’re my only son. For three years, you refused to come home and take over the family business, all for that woman. You have no idea how much your mother and I have missed you. If she truly loved you, it would be one thing. But it’s been three years, and she’s never even properly introduced you to her family or friends. It’s clear she’s not as devoted to you as you claim.” “Since you’ve made up your mind to come back, we’ll set the wedding for a month from now. How does that sound?” His words left me stunned. Before, whenever he’d said things like this, I’d bristled, convinced he was just a rich snob looking down on Amelia. I would have fired back, telling him how much Amelia and I loved each other. This time, I had nothing to say. “Okay,” I finally managed. “That works. I can leave after Professor Evans’s birthday party.” “As for the wedding, you and Mom can handle the arrangements.” Just as I hung up, I heard footsteps outside the door. Amelia pushed open the door to the guest room, holding a box of fresh mangoes. She set the fruit on the table, her brow furrowed with suspicion. “I thought I heard you talking about a wedding? I’ve told you several times, since our wedding was postponed, there’s no rush.” Seeing the panic in her eyes, I answered calmly, “Not ours. A relative’s. They asked me to help plan it.” She seemed to relax. She opened the box of mangoes, her face lighting up with a smile as she mentioned Cole. “Cole was worried you’d be upset, so he’s already moved into a hotel. He asked me to bring you these fresh mangoes as an apology.” I didn’t open my mouth. A flash of annoyance crossed Amelia’s face. “Leo, enough is enough. Let it go. This isn’t good for anyone.” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “We’ve been together for years. Don’t you know I’m allergic to mangoes?” With that, I turned to find a hairdryer. Amelia followed me, opening her mouth to say something several times, but ultimately remaining silent. She used to remember everything I couldn’t eat. She used to remember every single one of our anniversaries. The first time I had an allergic reaction to a dessert with mango in it, she had rushed me to the hospital in the middle of the night, frantic with worry. It wasn’t that she had forgotten now. It was just that she didn’t love me anymore. Without looking at her, I took out the medicine the doctor had given me and started changing my own dressing. When she saw the scars and bruises covering my body, a flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. She picked up a cotton swab, wanting to help. I was about to refuse when her phone rang. Cole’s weak voice came through the speaker. “Amelia, I think I ate something bad. My stomach is killing me, and I’m breaking out in a cold sweat. Can you bring me some medicine?” Amelia shot to her feet. “Don’t move. I’m on my way. Just lie down and wait for me.” After hanging up, she turned to me with a look of earnest sincerity. “Leo, Cole’s stomach condition is acting up. I have to go check on him. I swear, there’s nothing going on between us. If there was, it would have happened years ago. Please, don’t be mad at me over this.” Before I could answer, she was already out the door. The medicine bottles on the table were knocked over, spilling their contents across the floor. Staring at the empty, silent room and the closed door, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. It was always like this. Whenever it came to Cole, she would lose all composure, and I would be consumed by insecurity. She always said I didn’t trust her enough. Well, now she could rest easy. I would never doubt her again. After that day, Amelia didn’t come back. But Cole’s social media was updated frequently. It was all about how blissful it was to be alone with Amelia. I quietly blocked Cole on all platforms. Then I watched the numbers on my new digital countdown clock tick away. With twenty days left, I started the process of resigning from my job. My projects were already wrapping up, but I still wanted to leave things in perfect order. My manager saw the “getting married” reason on my resignation form and joked, “About time you two had a proper ceremony. Wouldn’t want Amelia to get any funny ideas.” I lowered my head for a moment, then looked up with a bright smile. “It’s not with her.” My manager’s smile faded, replaced by a sigh of regret. The days were a blur of handing over my work. It wasn’t until the second day after I’d officially left that I finally had a moment to breathe. I glanced at the countdown clock. Five days left. I was in a daze. I slapped my cheeks, trying to clear my head, and started packing. Amelia and I had been together for a long time. I loved photography. Our pictures were everywhere in the apartment. There were more on my camera and computer. Besides the photos, there were the boxes from every birthday gift I’d ever given her. I’d kept them all, as mementos. And to make sure I didn’t repeat a gift and seem thoughtless. And then there were the love letters she had written me. … Looking at all of it, a heavy weight settled in my chest. It hurt. We had been so good together once. Back then, I couldn’t bear to miss a single moment with her. And she would spend all her free time with me. Sometimes, she would pout at the photos and say, “You take so many pictures. Aren’t you going to get sick of looking at me one day?” I’d flick her forehead gently. “Maybe. The day I get sick of you, I’ll just disappear quietly. Be a real heartbreaker.” She’d playfully punch my arm, and I’d fall back onto the sofa, laughing. “Oh, you’ve broken it… my heart! Look what’s inside! My god, it’s all you!” We would collapse into a fit of laughter. So many years had passed. I hadn’t gotten sick of her, but she had gotten sick of me. After looking through everything one last time, I took it all to the bathroom and burned it, piece by piece. I washed the ashes down the drain. All our history, gone. Nothing left. Time flew by. Amelia still hadn’t returned. I spent the next few days packing and cleaning the apartment. Until there was not a single trace of me left in that home. Seeing the “2” on the countdown clock, I grabbed my keys and went out to get a gift for Professor Evans. Professor Evans had taught a general education course we both took in college. He was, in a way, the one who brought Amelia and me together. I spent a long time at the mall before finally choosing a jade pendant. They say jade can ward off disaster. The professor was getting older. I hoped he would live a long, healthy life. Professor Evans’s birthday was my last day in this city. Tomorrow, I would fly home to get married.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393224”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The mission was a success. I returned to my own world, waking from the coma that had held me captive. My children, all grown up now, stood vigil by my hospital bed. My wife, Florence, threw her arms around me, her embrace a desperate anchor. Her parents, my in-laws, were weeping with joy. I was just about to dismiss the System, to choose to stay here, in my life, when the door creaked open. A man who was my spitting image—a near-perfect double—walked in. My own two children rushed to him, clinging to his legs with a familiar affection, and called out, “Daddy!” Every eye in the room swiveled to me. The air crackled with a thick, suffocating awkwardness. The man shot me a triumphant, mocking smirk. I put the System on hold. “Let me think about it,” I transmitted. “About whether I want to stay.” 1. My children, Lily and Sam, clutched at the man’s—at Alex’s—clothes, their eyes fixed on me with a wariness usually reserved for monsters. A sharp, needle-like pain pricked at my heart. My wife, Florence, squeezed my arm, her grip tightening. I looked at the others. They had been happily explaining the new emergency alert system they’d installed on my phone, clearly not expecting Alex to make such a dramatic entrance. My father-in-law, his face a mask of embarrassment, finally broke the silence. “Liam, while you were… unconscious, Alex was the one who took care of us. We were going to introduce you two properly when we got home.” My mother-in-law chimed in, her voice strained. “Yes, that’s right. Now that you’re awake, you two should get along. For our sake.” Alex just smiled, a lazy, confident expression as he strolled over to my bedside. His eyes were glittering with provocation. I remained silent, freezing the System in my mind. I’ll give you my answer in a couple of days. A soft sigh echoed in my consciousness as the System went dormant. Seeing that I was ignoring him, Alex feigned a wounded look. He forced a smile for the benefit of the room. “My apologies. It was presumptuous of me. Liam has every right to be upset. I’ll just… I’ll go.” He didn’t give anyone a chance to respond, turning on his heel and walking out. “Alex, wait!” my mother-in-law cried, stamping her foot in frustration before hurrying after him. Florence flinched, starting to rise as if by instinct, but my gaze caught hers and she froze, slowly sinking back into her chair. She hugged me tight, her voice the same soothing murmur she’d always used to comfort me. “Don’t overthink this, Liam. You’re my husband. You’re the only one.” But then Lily, my daughter, hitched up her little dress and ran out after them. My son, Sam, shot me a look of pure hatred before slamming the door so hard the walls vibrated. I didn’t understand. How had my sweet, loving children turned into these hostile strangers? Sensing the tension, my father-in-law excused himself to handle the discharge paperwork. A short while later, I was in a wheelchair, being pushed out of the hospital. But as we drove, I realized this wasn’t the way home. “Dad,” I said, my voice raspy. “If I remember correctly, this isn’t the road to our house.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a split second. Then he chuckled, a hollow sound. “Your memory’s as sharp as ever, Liam.” He took a long, meandering detour before finally pulling into our driveway. I didn’t understand the purpose of the scenic route until the moment I stepped through the front door. The large family portrait that had hung in the entryway—the one of the four of us, smiling in the summer sun—was gone. In its place was a new photo. Florence, her parents, Lily, and Sam, all beaming. With Alex. Stunned, I stared at the picture on the wall before storming upstairs and throwing open the door to what used to be my bedroom. Of course. The cuckoo had taken over the nest. Alex had made my room his own. My chest heaved. The decor was completely different, all sleek, impersonal modernism. And there, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Alex, reading a bedtime story to my daughter. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. For five years, I had slavishly completed every task the System threw at me, all for the singular goal of coming back to my family. And now? Now there was no place left for me in my own home. “You were going to take me somewhere else at first, weren’t you?” I asked, my gaze locking onto my once-kindly father-in-law. He had the decency to look away, shamefaced. “We’ll get the room cleared out for you right away, Liam. This will always be your home.” The moment the words left his mouth, Alex, in the bedroom, put on his wounded act again. He stood up silently and began gathering his things, only to be stopped by Lily. When she thought no one was looking, she launched herself at me, shoving me with all her might. I stumbled, falling hard against the floor. She grabbed the nearest object—a heavy book—and started hitting me with it, screaming through her tears. “You just came back and you’re already bullying my daddy! You’re a bad man!” “Get out!” “Get out of my house! Leave!” I just stared at the contorted, furious face of the child before me, utterly frozen. 2. Lily’s outburst shocked everyone. Florence grabbed her arm, her brow furrowed in anger. “Lily! What has gotten into you?” But my daughter was inconsolable, her tears fueling a torrent of accusations. The commotion woke Sam, who started crying in the other room. Alex scooped him up, a look of pained helplessness on his face. “Stop, everyone, please stop fighting. This is all my fault. I’ll just leave, okay? I’ll go!” He made to walk out, but my father-in-law’s voice boomed through the house. “Everybody, quiet!” He turned to Alex. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying in this room.” My breath caught in my throat. I looked at him, searching for some sign of the man I used to know. He just frowned at me. “Liam, I’ll have the entire third floor cleared out for you tomorrow. For tonight, you can sleep in the guest room.” He sighed. “Let’s just have some peace.” His words sent a jolt through me, reminding me of a conversation from before our wedding. “Sir, this is the master bedroom, isn’t it? Why are you and Mom giving it to us?” Back then, he had looked at me with such warmth, his smile genuine. “Liam, you’re our son-in-law. Of course, we want you to have the best.” The memory was a shard of glass in my heart. I turned away, swiping at my eyes, and walked toward the guest room without another word. My father-in-law started to say something, then stopped himself. I was exhausted. I collapsed onto the guest bed, burying my face in the pillow, welcoming the darkness. Suddenly, a warm, fragrant embrace enveloped me. Florence. She pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Is my husband in a bad mood today?” she whispered, her voice a low murmur. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She offered a small, hesitant smile. “I need to wash up,” I mumbled, pulling away. Florence hugged me again, a quick, tight squeeze, before grabbing her phone and disappearing into the en-suite bathroom. I expected her to be quick. A shower for her was usually a ten-minute affair. But this time, the sound of running water was a constant drone. It was still going when I finally drifted off into a restless sleep. I awoke later to the soft click of the bedroom door closing. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Her phone, left on the pillow beside me, flickered to life. A new message. From Alex. “Waiting for you ;)” My heart skipped a beat. My hand shot out, grabbing the phone. I swiped to unlock it, my thumb tracing the familiar pattern of my own birthday. Password incorrect. It had always been my birthday. I tried again. And again. Not mine. Not hers. Not the kids’. Then, a sickening thought occurred to me. The contact info for Alex. His name in her phone had a birthday next to it. With trembling fingers, I punched in the date. Unlocked. A wave of ice washed through my veins, chilling me to the bone. I opened their chat history. For the entire hour Florence had been in the bathroom, she hadn’t been showering. She had been on a video call with Alex. The phone slipped from my numb fingers. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. After a long moment, I got up and walked silently to the door of my old bedroom. 3. I stood outside the door, forcing myself to watch, a glutton for punishment. I stayed there until my legs gave out and I crumpled to the floor. A faint clatter from the kitchen drew my attention. I turned my head. It was Sam, my seven-year-old son, standing on a stool, clumsily stirring something in a pot on the stove. Fearful he’d get hurt, I pushed myself up and went to him. “Daddy doesn’t like cilantro… no onions,” he mumbled to himself, a miniature adult concentrating on his task. He carefully lifted the small pot off the stove, and for a second, my heart swelled with a painful tenderness. Then he turned and saw me. His expression soured instantly. “What are you doing here, you bad man!” His words hit me like a physical blow. The “Daddy” he was so carefully cooking for… was Alex. My lips trembled. “Sam, I’m your father. How could you—” “You’re not my daddy!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. He shoved past me, carrying the pot of hot soup toward the master bedroom. The push sent me stumbling backward, the corner of the counter digging sharply into my spine. The pain was excruciating. I limped back to Alex’s door. Sam was carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup before holding it up to Alex’s lips. Alex praised him with a wide grin, while Florence pulled our son into her lap, ruffling his hair. “Our little Sam is even more caring than his big sister,” she cooed. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, a ghost in my own home, watching the three of them. They were a perfect picture. A happy family. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I turned and walked away. The next morning, Florence woke me, a habit she hadn’t yet broken. She leaned in for her customary good-morning kiss. I turned my head, and her lips met empty air. She froze, a flicker of confusion in her eyes, before taking my hand and leading me to the dining table. But my seat was gone. Alex sat in my usual spot, a smug, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched me. Florence’s face flushed with embarrassment. She quickly guided me to her own chair, pushing me down gently. “Um…” the nanny began, wringing her hands nervously. “I… I didn’t prepare a breakfast for Mr. Liam…” A stunned silence fell over the table. “Didn’t Alex tell you?” my father-in-law asked, his brow furrowed. Alex made a show of slapping his forehead. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry! I was up so late last night, and I completely overslept this morning. I forgot to tell her.” He started to get up. “Here, Liam, you can have mine.” “Sit down,” my mother-in-law said, pressing his hand firmly. “You need to eat. You’re too thin as it is,” my father-in-law added, his tone full of concern. I was an invisible man, watching this grotesque play unfold. My hands, hanging at my sides, clenched into tight fists. My father-in-law sighed, instructing the nanny to make another breakfast before turning to me, his hand on my arm. “We’re planning a party to celebrate your recovery,” he said, forcing a cheerful tone. “A proper welcome home. Florence will take you to get a new suit later.” I coolly pulled my hand away and nodded. I stared at his face, at the faces of all of them, and a cold question began to form in my mind. Did I really want to stay here?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393221”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Here is the translated and localized version of your story: My identity was stolen, and I gave the thief my inheritance willingly. The nanny had swapped me with her own granddaughter at birth. She raised me in a cold garage, where I ate and slept with the guard dog. Meanwhile, my grandparents showered all their affection on her granddaughter, Poppy, who lived the life of a pampered princess. The nanny, Martha, and her cuckoo-in-the-nest granddaughter lorded their positions over me, their days filled with torment and ridicule. “Even a dog knows to bark at strangers. What good is a mute like you?” “Miss Poppy, stay away from our little low-born mute. You don’t want her bad luck rubbing off on you.” But they didn’t know. I knew who I was. And I wasn’t really mute. I endured it for twelve years. Then, my grandparents were paralyzed by a poison secretly administered by the nanny. The day Poppy inherited the family business, she threw the two crippled, bed-sore-ridden old people at my feet. “The company is mine now. You can have these two old parasites back.” I smiled and accepted them without protest. “Fine. The fortune is yours. The family is mine.” … My grandmother, Martha, kicked over the double-sided dog bowl at my feet. Scraps and water spilled across the concrete floor. “I told you, didn’t I? The dog eats first. Then you.” She turned, her face instantly transforming into a fawning smile for Poppy. “Miss Poppy, get in the car over here. Stay away from our little mute. She stinks of dog and bad luck. You don’t want to catch it.” Poppy tilted her chin up, sneering at me. “Even a dog knows its job is to guard the house and bark at strangers. What good is a mute who can’t even make a sound?” I groveled on the ground, bowing my head in a show of terrified submission. Just then, an exquisitely dressed elderly couple walked into the garage. “Poppy, darling, time to go to the mall. Grandma has her eye on several grand pianos, each worth a fortune. You can pick whichever one you like.” In front of the Sterlings, twelve-year-old Poppy, already a master of deception, beamed. “Coming!” Before leaving, Mrs. Sterling shot a disgusted glance in my direction. Mr. Sterling immediately took the hint and addressed Martha. “She’s just a child. Raising her in a garage with a dog… it’s not right. There are plenty of rooms in the mansion. Find one for her.” “Of course, sir. I was only worried her presence would be an eyesore for you and the madam,” Martha said with a sycophantic smile. The moment the Sterlings’ car was out of sight, Martha’s face turned to stone. A storm of fists and feet rained down on my small body. “Don’t you get any ideas, you little bitch,” she spat. “The master and madam will never give a damn about a little animal like you. They only told me to find you a room because they’re afraid of being embarrassed if someone sees you!” As her vile words washed over me, I silently wrapped my arms around my head, protecting the spot where she’d fractured my skull once before. I felt nothing. Because I already knew the truth. I was the real Sterling heiress. And Poppy was Martha’s granddaughter. When I was six, my parents died in a car crash. I was sent to an orphanage. Six months later, the Sterlings came looking for their granddaughter. Martha passed off her own flesh and blood, whom she’d kept hidden in the countryside, as me. That day at the orphanage, she had hugged me, crying dramatically, snot and tears smearing her face. “My poor, mute little girl, I’m your real grandmother!” But my eyes were fixed on Poppy, watching as she was swept up by the Sterlings, her face a mask of shocked delight, and ushered into a gleaming Bentley. I knew everything. And I wasn’t really mute. But I let Martha take me “home,” claiming me as her own granddaughter, and lock me away in the freezing garage with the guard dog. And so, Poppy lived my life, a princess drowning in the lavish affection of my grandparents. Forced by my grandfather’s command, Martha moved me from the garage to the laundry room. Her rage still simmering, she shoved my head into the washing machine drum. The world spun, and the suffocating, near-death panic clawed at me. I was so terrified I wet myself. Only then did she mercifully release me. “You worthless mute,” she hissed. “Don’t you know your place? If you ever try to play the victim in front of the master and madam again, if you ever even think about wanting what’s Miss Poppy’s, I will kill you.” The grand mansion was my home, yet I lived in that cramped, two-square-meter utility space until I was seventeen. One night, I woke from a nightmare and tiptoed upstairs for a glass of water. I saw Martha, darting glances around, furtively adding a white powder to the tins of milk powder my grandparents drank every day. “Just a little longer, you old fossils,” she muttered. “Our Poppy is almost eighteen. She’ll be able to inherit everything soon.” After a moment of feigned shock, I turned and went back to the laundry room without a sound. I pulled up the covers, turned off the light, and went to sleep. After Martha started poisoning their milk, my grandparents’ health declined rapidly. First, it was fatigue and lethargy. Then came sudden blackouts and coughing up blood. They had full physicals at the hospital, but the doctors found nothing, attributing it to the flu or old age. Poppy would coo sympathetically at them, then shoot me a cold, hard look. “It must be some bad omen in the house that’s affecting you. She was a curse on her own parents at six. Now she’s been living in our laundry room for six years, trying to curse you.” “Grandma, Grandpa, you can’t be too kind to certain kinds of filth.” Ever since Poppy learned her true identity six years ago, she had made tormenting me her favorite pastime. Now, as the plan to poison my grandparents and seize their fortune reached its critical stage, she was even more determined to get rid of the real heiress. Her words found fertile ground. My grandmother, her health failing and desperate for a scapegoat, looked at me. “You’re eighteen now, girl. It’s time for you to leave our house.” A flicker of pity crossed my grandfather’s eyes. “If you truly have nowhere to go, you can stay in the garage.” The cuckoo had taken over the nest, and my blinded grandparents were casting me out. I simply nodded obediently, gathered the few belongings that fit in my single backpack, and moved back to the garage. The old dog had died years ago. The kennel was now all mine—and bigger than the laundry room. With me out of the main house, Martha and Poppy grew bolder with the poison. Soon, my grandparents were too weak to leave their rooms. On the rare occasions they were brought out for some sun, it was Martha who pushed their wheelchairs. One afternoon, my grandmother saw me in the garden. Her face, usually slack and vacant, twisted into a strange, desperate expression. A hoarse, guttural sound, “Hhhh… hhhh…” rattled in her throat. She was trying to call for help. When Martha left for the grocery store, I walked over to her. She immediately reached out a trembling hand, the veins on its back bulging and blue. I saw it at once. Her hands were covered in purple and blue lumps. Looking closer, I could see the tell-tale, haphazard marks of needle punctures. No wonder her condition had worsened so dramatically. Martha was no longer waiting for the poison in their food to work. She was injecting it directly. My heart pounded. I slipped into the mansion. My grandfather, who had a stronger constitution, was already being held captive. A dog chain, as thick as my wrist, was looped around his neck, tethering him to the garbage can in the kitchen. The moment he saw me, tears welled in his old eyes. “That animal Martha… she tricked us! Poppy is her granddaughter! I always wondered why she was so cruel to you… it’s because you’re not hers! She brought you here from somewhere else!” “My dear girl,” he pleaded, his voice a ragged whisper. “We’ve let you live here for years, and we’ve never been cruel to you. You’re a good, kind child. You won’t side with them, will you?” Before I could respond, Martha’s angry voice echoed from the front door. “Where did that damn mute get to?!” I ducked under the dining table just as she came in. She searched the house suspiciously. Not finding me, she returned to the kitchen, muttering. “Good. The little bitch didn’t see anything she wasn’t supposed to. One less problem to deal with.” My grandfather’s eyes darted nervously to my hiding place. When Martha wasn’t looking, he put a finger to his lips, signaling for me to stay silent. He still didn’t know I was his real granddaughter, but he knew I was another of Martha’s victims. In his mind, that made me an ally. That made me one of his own. Soon, it was time for Poppy to come home from school, and Martha began to prepare dinner. She chopped off the muddy, unwashed ends of vegetables and fatty gristle from the meat and tossed them on the floor for my grandfather, as if feeding a dog. He had been a man of status his entire life. His eyes, filled with a complex shame, met mine for a second. He pressed his lips together, his jaw tight. Perhaps he was starved. Perhaps he was afraid that if he didn’t eat, he would expose my presence. Finally, he bent his proud back, picked up the filthy scraps and raw meat from the floor with his hands, and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing with tears streaming down his face. I looked away, and when Martha’s back was turned, I slipped out of the house as silently as I’d come in. My grandparents waited for me to call the police. They waited for my kindness, my pity, to save them from their torment. But I stayed in my kennel, closed the door, and lived my own life, blind to their suffering. Their world didn’t intrude on mine again until my grandfather’s nephew, Robert, grew concerned after not hearing from him for so long and decided to pay a visit. By then, my grandmother was completely paralyzed, only her eyes able to move. My grandfather, still able to speak, was forced by Martha to act as if nothing was wrong and send his nephew away. As Robert stood up to leave, yawning, my grandfather secretly pressed a folded piece of paper into my palm. “Dear girl,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “Get this note to my nephew. Please.” “Once we’re saved, we’ll give you everything. We’d rather give the entire Sterling fortune to you than let those two animals get their hands on it.” I clutched the note, my gaze locking with his. Then, under his hopeful, desperate stare, I turned and walked after the departing group. Martha, terrified my grandfather would try something, rushed back to the kitchen with Poppy to chain him up again. Robert was already in his car, the engine starting. If I hesitated for even two seconds, the chance to save my grandparents would be lost forever. He rolled down his window, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the twilight. “Little girl, you keep staring at me. Is there something you want to say?” I took two steps back and shook my head forcefully. Then I turned my back to him and, with quick, deliberate motions, tore the note into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. My eighteenth birthday arrived. Martha and Poppy held a coming-of-age party and birthday celebration at the Sterling mansion. The only guests invited were me and my grandparents. The nanny and her granddaughter sat at the head of the table, enjoying an expensive meal with fine wine, acting as if they were the masters of the house. My grandparents sat on the cold floor, waiting for the occasional bone or scrap to be thrown their way. I glanced at the lavish spread on the table for just a second too long. A cold smile touched Martha’s lips. “Want some?” I just swallowed hard. She raised her wine glass and smashed it against my head. A searing pain exploded across my scalp. Shards of glass and my own blood went flying. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was the lawyer. With my grandparents poisoned into a paralyzed, speechless state, Poppy didn’t even bother to hide her actions from us three “mutes.” She put on a tearful performance for the lawyer, twisting the truth. “I’m only eighteen, just a child myself. But my grandparents fell ill so suddenly. If I don’t take over Sterling Enterprises, the whole company will collapse.” The lawyer looked at her, his eyes a mixture of sympathy and envy. “Miss Sterling, you are officially an adult as of today. Once you sign this share transfer agreement, the Sterling Group will be yours.” As Poppy picked up the pen, Martha trembled with excitement. “The ancestors must be smiling down on us! Our family has finally made it! May they see that this is all my doing!” The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. He sharply blocked Poppy’s pen with his hand. “Aren’t you the nanny? What do you mean by that?” Martha froze, her face turning a sickly white, realizing her slip. Poppy quickly stammered an excuse. “She raised me from when I was a baby. So, my inheritance is her victory too.” “Is that so?” The lawyer looked suspiciously at my grandparents, but they could only blink their eyes. He had no choice but to turn to me. “Little girl, is that true?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393215”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My wife, Sarah, had a congenital heart defect. And she wanted to have a baby for her first love, Ryan. I refused, without a second thought. Ten months later, Ryan’s mother passed away. They said she died with her eyes wide open, heartbroken that she’d never held a grandchild. Crushed by guilt, Ryan killed himself in his cramped rental apartment. And then Sarah, on a family road trip she’d insisted we take, floored the accelerator and swerved our car directly into the path of a semi-truck. “You killed him!” she shrieked, her voice a terrifying mix of glee and madness in the final moments. “If you had just let me give him a child, he wouldn’t be dead!” “His family is gone,” she screamed over the blare of the horn, “so yours doesn’t deserve to live either!” And then I opened my eyes. I was back on the day she first asked. This time, I smiled. “Sarah, darling, of course. We’ll all support you.” … “Eric, I need to have a baby for Ryan.” The first thing I heard when my eyes snapped open was her voice, the same words that had started the nightmare. She launched into her practiced speech. “Ryan’s mother was my mentor, you know? She’s terminally ill, the doctors say she has less than a year. Her only wish is to hold a grandchild before she goes. Ryan doesn’t know who else to ask, so…” “Say no more, Sarah. I agree.” I reached out, my hand closing over hers with a sincerity that was pure performance. Sarah froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “Eric, did you… did you hear what I just said?” “I heard you.” My voice was a soft, understanding caress. “I know how much Ryan’s mother means to you. If it weren’t for her, you never would have come to this city for college, and we never would have met. In a way, she’s our benefactor.” My earnestness seemed to disarm her. The wariness in her eyes softened. “I’m so glad you see it that way. And don’t worry, Ryan and I already talked it through. We’ll use IVF, so there won’t be… you know. We would never betray you. But, for it to work legally, I’ll need to divorce you first and marry him. The baby needs to be on his birth certificate, legally part of his family.” She watched my face like a hawk as she spoke, waiting for the explosion. But it never came. Even the mention of divorce didn’t faze me. I just nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers. The legal process takes some time, though. Given the urgency with his mother, you and Ryan should probably get started on the… preparations… today.” My calm acceptance was finally too much for her. A flicker of suspicion returned to her eyes. “Eric, don’t you mind? Not even a little?” Mind? Of course, I minded. I couldn’t imagine a single man on earth who wouldn’t mind his wife having a baby for another man. Especially with Sarah’s heart condition. It was the entire reason I’d gotten a vasectomy the day after our wedding—to prevent any accidents that could put her life at risk. Last time, her request had sent me into a rage. I had vehemently refused, calling it insane, and even told her parents, hoping they would talk sense into her. Under pressure from everyone, Sarah had relented. But ten months later, Ryan’s mother died, whispering about the shame of facing her ancestors without a grandchild, her eyes refusing to close even in death. She was Ryan’s last living relative. A few days after the funeral, he hanged himself in his apartment. Before he did, he sent Sarah a long, rambling email. The gist of it was that while other women could have borne his child, he only ever wanted one with her. If she had given him a child, his mother wouldn’t have died in such sorrow. He would have still had a family in this world. Reading that email, learning of Ryan’s death, shattered her. She blamed me. She twisted reality until I became the villain who had murdered them both. She suggested a road trip to “clear our heads.” My parents came along. On the highway, she hit the gas, her face lit with a horrifying, ecstatic grin as she aimed us at the grille of a truck. “If you hadn’t stopped me, Eric, Ryan and I would have a child! He wouldn’t be dead! You killed him!” “He lost his whole family, so now you and yours get to die too!” My parents and I never had a chance. We were crushed under the wheels. The memory was a phantom ache, sharp and familiar, piercing my chest. But the smile on my face never wavered. I pulled Sarah into my arms, crushing her against me in a display of profound affection. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you,” I murmured into her hair. “If I’m worried about anything, it’s your health. You have to promise me you’ll take care of yourself through all this. Promise me.” 2 The next morning, Ryan was at our door to take Sarah for a “check-up.” They stood in front of me, holding hands, not a shred of shame between them as they walked to his car. Seeing them together, the sheer, laughable idiocy of my past self hit me like a physical blow. Sarah had been tutored by Ryan’s mother in high school. Naturally, she and Ryan had started dating, a romance that lasted all the way through college. But when it came time to discuss marriage, Sarah’s mother found out Ryan came from a single-parent home, with no car and no apartment in the city, and she forcibly broke them up. Shortly after, I met Sarah. I was instantly smitten. I pursued her for six months before she finally agreed to let me meet her parents. My family’s wealth was more than enough to satisfy her mother, who practically pushed us down the aisle. In my last life, I truly believed they had lost touch. I thought Sarah had only heard about his mother’s illness through an old alumni group chat. It wasn’t until I found gigabytes of chat logs on her phone that I saw the truth: they had never stopped talking. He sent her “good morning” and “good night” texts every single day. Their conversations had long ago crossed the line from friendship into something else entirely. After their car pulled away, I called my lawyer and told him to start drafting the divorce agreement. The call had barely ended when a flashy sports car screeched to a halt in my driveway. Leo, Sarah’s younger brother. He was a real piece of work, a spoiled brat who knew how to cause trouble. In the five years Sarah and I were married, she funneled him money from our accounts every year. The kid burned through tens of thousands of dollars annually. In my past life, I was so blindly in love with Sarah that I let her convince me her family was my family. A little money was nothing, I could always earn more. And so Leo had gotten used to hitting me up for cash under any and every pretext. If I remembered correctly, he was here today about an investment. He and a friend wanted to open some small factory and needed seed money. I’d seen the proposal last time—it was a joke. It promised quick, small returns upfront, but the business model was a minefield of hidden costs and liabilities that would lead to bankruptcy. Last time, I shut it down. This time, I looked over the file and told him, “This is a solid bet, Leo. Looks promising.” His eyes lit up. “So, you’ll spot me fifty grand, brother-in-law? We’ll split the profits seventy-thirty, your favor.” I closed the folder with a sigh of feigned regret. “Leo, my hands are tied. I just sank all my liquid cash into a new equipment order. But this is a golden opportunity. Don’t you still have that apartment I got you? Sell it. Use that cash to get in on the ground floor. Once my funds free up next month, I’ll buy you an even nicer place.” I’d always been good to him, so he didn’t question a word. All his money, including the deed to that apartment, had come from me. Lured by my promise, he sold the apartment that very afternoon and poured every last cent into the doomed factory. I was deeply satisfied with this outcome. I knew I’d never get back the money I’d given him, but if I couldn’t have it, I sure as hell wasn’t letting the Sullivan family keep it. Shortly after Leo left, my private investigator called. He told me Sarah and Ryan never went to the hospital. I just said, “I know.” For the next few days, Ryan and Sarah left together every morning. I showed no signs of impatience. In fact, I’d often ask how the “process” was going, if everything was proceeding smoothly. Two weeks later, Sarah showed me a positive pregnancy test. “That’s wonderful news,” I said, my eyes fixed on the two pink lines. A strange feeling settled in my gut. I’d already done my research. A proper IVF cycle required at least two months of prep time, and even then, getting pregnant wasn’t guaranteed on the first try. She was pregnant in just two weeks. The method they had used was painfully obvious. Seeing that I suspected nothing, Sarah let out a visible sigh of relief. And then, she finally remembered her own health. “Eric, you know about my heart,” she began, her tone shifting to one of delicate fragility. “Now that I’m pregnant, I think I should rest at home. And… Ryan’s mother is getting worse. She wants to see him get married, to see him happy. I want to give her that. Is that okay?” I nodded. “Of course.” “Oh, you’re the best, Eric.” She hugged me. “It’s just… a wedding costs money. And you know Ryan’s situation… I was thinking, maybe we could cover the cost?” 3 I couldn’t believe the audacity. It was one thing to cheat on me, to carry another man’s child. But to ask me to pay for their wedding? She had to be playing me for the world’s biggest fool. A cold, bitter laugh coiled in my gut, but my face only showed distress. “That’s a reasonable request, Sarah, but the timing is terrible. The company is in a tight spot right now, all our capital is tied up, and the board is watching every penny. And now that you’re pregnant, you’re my priority. Your heart, Sarah… I’ve been so worried. I already hired a private medical team to be on call for you 24/7. I just can’t move any more funds.” The thought of no wedding soured her expression. “Then what are we supposed to do? Ryan really doesn’t have the money for a wedding.” “Why doesn’t he borrow it for now?” I suggested, ever the problem-solver. “When our divorce goes through, I’ll be extra generous in the settlement. The board won’t question that. You can use that money to pay everyone back.” Sarah considered it for a moment, and to my dark amusement, she agreed. Ryan borrowed the money, and they quickly threw together a wedding. Fearing her parents would find out, Sarah only invited Ryan’s relatives and friends, keeping her side of the guest list completely empty. The wedding was that morning. By the afternoon, the videographer had sent the full wedding video to my inbox. I had, in fact, spent a fortune on a top-tier medical team to look after Sarah. They monitored her daily, ensuring she ate only the best, most nutritious food. Expensive prenatal vitamins and supplements were part of her daily regimen. I doted on the child in her womb as if it were my own. Sarah, of course, didn’t stay cooped up at home. Whenever she had a spare moment, she was at the hospital with Ryan. I turned a blind eye to all of it. Thanks to my meticulous “care,” the baby in her womb grew larger and healthier than average. An unborn child is, in a way, a parasite. The healthier the child, the greater the strain on the mother. For a normal woman, this is manageable. For Sarah, with her defective heart, it was a ticking time bomb. By the fifth month, her heart was already struggling to keep up. Some of her vitals were dipping into dangerous territory. But with the elite medical team there to immediately treat any discomfort, to soothe every flutter and ache, she had no idea how precarious her situation was becoming. Meanwhile, there was a positive development for Ryan’s mother. They had found a potential kidney donor. All they had to do was wait for the donor to pass, and she could have the transplant. The surgery, however, required a substantial sum of money. Sarah came to me. I gave her the same excuse about the company’s finances. So Ryan went to loan sharks. He figured that once I divorced Sarah, her massive settlement would be more than enough to cover the debt. The moment the doctors told me the fetus was past four months—a point where either carrying it to term or aborting it would pose a life-threatening risk to Sarah—a profound sense of relief washed over me. The net had been cast for a long time. It was time to settle the accounts. I called Sarah. “Sarah, let’s sign the divorce papers. Otherwise, you won’t be able to get a birth certificate for your and Ryan’s child.” After hearing this, Sarah and Ryan rushed over, practically vibrating with eagerness. She’d been nagging me about the divorce for weeks, and I’d kept putting it off. The meeting was in my office. My lawyer was present. Before signing, Sarah’s eyes scanned the document, going straight to the asset division clause. When she saw the line stating she would be leaving the marriage with nothing, her composure shattered. She stabbed a finger at the page. “What is this? When we divorce, assets are supposed to be split fifty-fifty. Why am I getting nothing?” I spread my hands wide. “It’s a sham divorce, remember? Just a formality. What does the asset split matter? Unless… you were planning on taking my money and running?” My words hit their mark. A blush crept up her neck. She shot a nervous glance at Ryan, then hardened her resolve. “It’s better to have everything clearly defined. Just in case… something unexpected happens.” Unexpected happens. Right. As if I didn’t know they’d rekindled their old flame and were planning to run off with half my fortune to live happily ever after. “Fine. Let’s get clear,” I said, pulling a stack of glossy photos from a file. “You committed adultery during our marriage. Therefore, you leave with nothing. Any objections?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393209”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Hey, ghost crew, what is up? It’s your girl, Linda, coming at you live.” “Tonight, we’re exploring the infamous haunted house from the ‘Body in the Wall’ murder case that shocked the nation three years ago.” In the dead of night, Linda aimed her camera at the dilapidated old house. Under the pale, anemic moonlight, the yard was a sea of dead leaves, rustling and whispering with every breath of wind, lending the crumbling brick structure an air of profound menace. Instantly, the live chat lit up with two names, spammed over and over again: “Selene” and “The Sinner.” The comments section became a torrent of outrage. “No fucking way. Is this about that psycho, Selene?” “Ugh, if I’d known, I would’ve burned some sage to cleanse this bad juju.” “For real.” “Everyone in Riverbend City knows Selene was the daughter of the richest man in town. Why would she ever live in a shithole like this? Who are you trying to fool?” “Linda, don’t be like those other clout-chasers, blinded by the views.” “Listen to us, sweetie. Let’s not do this.” “The last thing we need is for your stream to make that bitch famous again. She’d probably love that.” Watching the scroll of angry text, Linda felt a flicker of doubt. Had her source been wrong? But then she saw the viewer count tick past one hundred thousand and climbing. Taking a deep breath, she addressed her audience with renewed professionalism. “Don’t worry, everyone. As a paranormal investigator, my job is to be objective. I don’t take sides.” “And I would never, ever let a monster who would frame her own sister just for a taste of fame get a second chance in the spotlight.” She held up a small, intricate sword woven from antique coins, a faint smile on her face. “And if her spirit is truly here,” she said, her voice dropping, “I will be the one to pass judgment. I’ll send that evil soul straight to hell myself.” Her declaration flipped the mood of the chat instantly. Cheers and praise flooded the screen. With that, she stepped onto the carpet of dried petals and pushed open the groaning, time-worn wooden door. The next second, her eyes went wide. She froze on the threshold. “What the—!” In a brightly lit villa miles away, Adrian Thorne leaned over a balcony railing, his face a mask of irritation as he chain-smoked. “Selene,” he muttered. “It’s always Selene.” “She’s been dead for three years, how is she still causing so much trouble?!” He ground out the cigarette with his heel and spoke coldly into his phone. “Celeste cannot find out about this. Do you understand? I don’t want the name ‘Selene’ to even touch Celeste’s ears.” But it was too late. Behind him, Celeste, who had been walking toward him, stopped dead. A sad, wan smile touched her pale lips. “It’s okay, Adrian. I heard.” “I’m sure… I’m sure my sister didn’t mean to do all those things back then.” Her voice was a fragile whisper. “Besides… I forgave her a long time ago.” At that moment, my father, watching from the living room, slammed his glass down. The sound of his knuckles cracking echoed in the tense silence. “Restless even in death.” He ordered a servant to cast the livestream onto the massive television screen. His eyes, bloodshot with rage, bored into the image. “Let’s see what kind of trouble a dead bitch can stir up after three years!” Just as he spoke, Linda’s shocked voice filled the room. “What… what is this…?” The camera panned across a wall crawling with green moss. Hidden within the grime were countless dark, reddish-brown stains—streaks of old blood. The entire live chat, which had been a waterfall of text, fell silent. Then, as Linda moved closer, it exploded. “HOLY SHIT…” “That’s fucking disgusting.” “I always heard Celeste was ruthless in her climb to fame, but I never imagined she had zero bottom line.” “Is that all pig’s blood?” “Didn’t she lie about having depression back in the day?” “Probably planned this whole stunt to make a comeback. Too bad she died before she could pull it off.” “LOL, I wonder which unsung hero took out the trash for us.” “Serves her right! Good riddance!” The irony was laughable. Hiding behind these vicious words was a mob of strangers who had never met me. They waved their banners of justice while pelting my memory with the most toxic filth imaginable, feasting on my demise like vultures. The sight made even Linda frown. Deciding to ignore the chat, she pulled a spirit compass from her bag and began her investigation. But in the next instant, a sudden gust of wind burst through a broken window, making the tattered curtains dance violently. It whipped the stained sheet off the bed, a final, mournful cry from the depths of the macabre carnival. And there, lying exposed, was a yellowed diary. The wind flipped its pages, revealing lines of elegant, handwritten script. It caught Linda’s eye. “June 23, 2018. Today, I saw him again. The boy who occupied my entire youth. Adrian Thorne…” He was just as I remembered, so beautiful that even the moonlight seemed to favor him, pouring over his shoulders like a silver halo. One look, and my world stopped. My eyes were glued to him. But this time, something was different. This time, he looked back at me. It was the graduation gala. My roommate, Jessica, had gotten food poisoning the night before. As her best friend, I had to take her place on stage, next to him. When the stage lights flared to life, my nerves were a wreck. My hands trembled uncontrollably. But then Adrian’s hand gently covered mine, stilling the tremor. He smiled and whispered, “Don’t be afraid.” “As long as I’m here, you won’t mess this up.” As his clear, strong voice filled the auditorium, my own breathing evened out, and I sang my part, my voice weaving a melody around his. That night, bathed in his glow, even I became a star on that stage. And he… he finally noticed me.” Listening to Linda read my words aloud, Adrian’s expression flickered. It was a look of nostalgia, mingled with a deep, unspoken regret. He was right. Back then, I hadn’t done those terrible things. I hadn’t been branded a sinner. And it was the first time that he, the popular musician, had felt his heart stir for me, the quiet girl he barely knew. In my eyes, filled with such pure, unadulterated passion, he had seen a reflection of himself—someone who loved the stage with their entire soul. In that moment, a complex, unspoken emotion had bloomed in his heart. Watching him, Celeste’s face changed. She lowered her head, a bitter twist to her pale lips. Her voice was a carefully controlled murmur of pain and forbearance. “Adrian… I’m so sorry…” “If it wasn’t for me… you and my sister would have never…” “It’s all my fault.” “I’m the one who killed her.” The glint of tears in Celeste’s eyes pulled Adrian back from his reverie. The word “sister” was a splash of cold water. His face hardened, but his voice was gentle as he comforted her. “Celeste, don’t think like that.” “If it weren’t for Selene, would you have lost your dream? She brought this on herself.” As he spoke, the anger in his eyes became almost impossible to hide. He turned away from Celeste quickly. “She doesn’t deserve your tears. And she doesn’t deserve to be called your sister.” My parents chose this moment to speak, their voices dripping with sympathy for Celeste. “Celeste, darling, we know that monster’s death was a huge blow to you. But you have to move on.” “It’s time you and Adrian started a family.” Then, their eyes fixed on the live stream, their jaws clenched. “As for that ungrateful viper we raised,” my father seethed, “restless even in death.” “Good,” my mother added. “I hear this streamer has some real power. If she can make Selene’s soul shatter into a million pieces, it’ll be our family’s public service.” As the three of them sat together, a perfect picture of a loving family, Linda turned the diary to the second page. But in the corner of the dilapidated room, a blood-red figure flickered into view in the reflection of a cracked, dirty mirror. From a mouth that had no tongue, a muffled, desperate whimper escaped: “Help… me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393204”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Four years ago, my mother and father went to the Atacama Desert. My mother, Helen, returned from the expedition not long after, but my father, David, refused to give up. He vanished into the desert, and for four years, we heard nothing. Then, just last week, the official word came from the authorities. My father, missing for four years, was confirmed dead. All that was left of him was a tattered backpack and a diary. The canvas of the pack was stained with blood and matted with hair. A DNA test confirmed our worst fears. It was his. My mother and I held a funeral with an empty casket, burying only the backpack and the diary in a memorial grave in our backyard. But on the third night after the funeral… my dead father came home. He stood there smiling a chilling smile, caked in dirt and dust, without a trace of human warmth, as if he’d just clawed his way out of the earth. “Lily,” he said, his voice a dry rasp. “Did you miss your daddy?” … A shiver traced its way down my spine. I squeezed a single word from my throat. “Yes…” His smile widened. He reached out with a rough, calloused hand and pinched my cheek. The coldness of his touch was alarming, sinking deep into my bones. It wasn’t the temperature of a living person. I was terrified. My father was dead. His last known possessions were buried in the empty grave behind the house. So who—or what—was this thing standing in front of me? In a panic, I called for my mother. She was showering upstairs and yelled down, asking what was wrong. I hesitated, then told her everything in a rush. “Mom, Dad’s home!” “What?!” A minute later, she ran down the stairs, still damp, her robe hastily tied. She looked ready to scold me for talking nonsense, but then she saw him. Standing in our living room. My father smiled his weary, weathered smile and pulled a few rocks from his pocket. “Helen, I’m back. I know it’s been hard on you, running the house and taking care of Lily all these years.” “I brought you these stones from the Atacama. A souvenir.” He tried to press the stones into my mother’s hand, but she flinched away. They fell to the floor with a heavy, dull thud. Mom stared at the rocks on the floor, her expression a mask of horror. Her lips pressed into a thin, white line. I couldn’t tell if she was more afraid of my father, or of the stones themselves. But Dad just kept smiling. It seemed to be the only expression he had left. His idea of romance—bringing home rocks from his adventures—was just as tone-deaf as ever. Nothing had changed. My father was an adventurer at heart. Before they were married, both he and Mom were part of an amateur exploration club. After they married, Dad quit the official club but was still constantly away, forming small expedition teams with other enthusiasts. When I was born, he stayed home a little more, but you couldn’t chain down his free spirit. He went on his trips all the same. In my memory, the only one who was ever trapped was my mother. When I was little and I cried, she would cry with me. I remember her cycles of breakdown and recovery, a long, slow grind until I was old enough for her to go back to her job as a nurse. My father never understood her sacrifices. He just complained that she had become boring. Every place he conquered, he brought back a rock for her. Her vanity wasn’t filled with jewelry or makeup, but with a collection of stones from all over the country. And now, there was one more. Forget my mother; even I thought it was cruel. I wanted to throw it as far as I could. But Dad just smiled that chilling smile and asked, “What’s wrong, Helen? Don’t you like it?” “I love it,” Mom replied, her voice cold as ice. She told him to go upstairs, take a shower, and get some sleep. He agreed without argument, still smiling as he went upstairs. The moment we heard the shower start, Mom grabbed my arm and dragged me into a corner, her grip like a vice! “Lily! Listen to me very carefully! Remember every word!” her voice was a panicked whisper. “That man is not your father! Your father is dead in the Atacama!” “No matter what he says, no matter what he does, do not believe him! He is not your father!” A father returned from the dead should have been a miracle. For us, it was a curse. I was used to it being just Mom and me. Having this… father… in the house made my skin crawl. The next morning, Mom left early. She sent me a text saying she had to take care of something important and might be gone for a few days. She transferred a sum of money into my account and told me to take care of myself. Her last message was a stark reminder. “Don’t trust him, Lily. He is NOT your father!” My heart leaped into my throat. I had barely finished reading the text when I sensed a shadow behind me. I spun around to see my father’s face, his lips stretched into that unnatural smile. “Good morning, Lily. Texting your mom? Where is she? I didn’t see her this morning.” “She went to work,” I said quickly. “She has a business trip. She’ll be back in a few days.” Dad’s smile didn’t falter. He pushed his glasses up his nose, his eyes glinting as he easily dismantled my lie. “Your mother is just a nurse. She has business trips?” “Of course,” I improvised, my mind racing. “She’s up for the Head Nurse position. There’s a provincial competition. She’s been working so hard these past four years, Dad. Juggling her job and taking care of me.” I turned the question back on him. “What about you, Dad? Where have you been for four years? Why didn’t you call, not even once?” He paused. For a second, the look behind his glasses turned sharp and cold. But the smile remained plastered on his face. He began to tell me about his time in the desert, the dangers he faced, the vast, empty beauty he witnessed. He spoke in great detail, as if he really had been there for four years, and he had all of Dad’s memories of Mom and me. As he spoke, my eyes kept darting to the empty grave in the yard. I thought of the diary. It had to contain the real story of what happened to him in the Atacama. Mom had forbidden me from reading it when the police returned it, saying it would be too traumatic, that I’d never recover from the loss. She buried it to protect me. But what if I dug it up now? Could it give me a clue? If I compared its contents to what this man was telling me, maybe the truth would come out. I tucked the idea away and continued to make noncommittal conversation with him. At noon, he offered to cook lunch. The day wasn’t particularly warm, but he cranked the air conditioning, setting it to a very low temperature, letting the cold air blast directly onto him. Amidst the recycled air, I caught a faint, strange, foul odor. But I didn’t dare say anything. I just pretended not to notice and ate the meal he prepared. It tasted just as bad as I remembered his cooking. Nothing unusual there. After lunch, he said he was tired and went to his room to rest. He took another shower first, then went into his room and turned on the air conditioning, again setting it very low. As I walked past his door, a chilly draft seeped out from under it. The room inside was pitch black; he had drawn all the curtains. He had developed a sudden love for the dark. I noted all of this but kept silent, retreating to my own room. Once I was sure he was asleep, I grabbed a shovel and crept out to the backyard. I started digging. The memorial grave wasn’t deep. It only took me about fifteen minutes. I pulled out the backpack, retrieved the diary, and stuffed it inside my shirt. I quickly filled the hole back in and ran back to my room before he could wake up. I locked my door and windows, my heart pounding with anticipation as I opened the diary. It was definitely my father’s handwriting. The first twenty or so entries chronicled his journey into the Atacama. He wrote that he had entered the desert without issue and had met another expedition team, joining them on their journey. They decided to change their route to visit the ruins of Humberstone, a 19th-century ghost town in an undeveloped sector of the desert. Then, for a long time, the diary was blank. Pages and pages of empty paper. When the writing resumed, it was a single, terrifying sentence, written in what looked like blood. “Lily! If you’re reading this, run! Your mother is not your mother anymore…” “Run, do you understand?!” The chilling, blood-red words burned themselves into my mind. I gasped, and the diary fell from my trembling hands. As it hit the floor, a photograph slipped out. The photo was taken against a backdrop of a dusty, twilight-orange desert landscape. In the distance were the crumbling ruins of the Humberstone ghost town. And half-buried in the sand was the body of a woman. Her face had been gnawed away by scavengers, making her unrecognizable, but I knew the clothes she was wearing. And the bracelet on her wrist… I recognized it instantly. It was a bracelet I had made for my mother four years ago on a trip with my friends, with a small, laser-engraved message of love hidden on the clasp. But how did that bracelet end up in the Atacama? And who was this dead woman? My mind was a tangled mess of questions, my nerves stretched to their absolute limit. A knock on my door jolted me back to reality. “Lily? Are you sleeping? Why is the door locked?” It was my father. He jiggled the handle, his tone urgent, a stark contrast to his earlier gentleness. “Lily, open the door!” “Lily, what are you doing in there? Why are you locking the door in your own home? Hiding from your own father?” His voice grew more agitated, more accusatory. “What are you really doing? Do you have a boy in there? Is that it? You think you can sneak him in while I’m asleep? You have no respect for me at all!” He was shouting now, twisting the handle frantically, kicking at the door. I was frozen with fear. I tried calling my mother, but her phone went straight to a “not reachable” message. The next second, the door burst open, splintering from the frame! I had managed to hide the diary just in time. I watched, terrified, as my father stormed in, his face a mask of rage. He scanned my room, his eyes wild. “Where is he? Where is he!” “Lily, where did you hide that little bastard?!” I couldn’t even breathe. I could only cry silently. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad. There’s no one here. I was just taking a nap.” “You need to lock the door for a nap?” he sneered. His eyes were cold as stone. “Don’t you ever lock this door again. Do you hear me?!” I curled into a ball on my bed and nodded. Instantly, his expression changed. He smiled and reached out to pat my head. “Good girl. That’s my good Lily.” As he touched my head, I smelled it again. That foul, rotting odor. My father was not my father. And whether my mother was still my mother… I no longer knew. Everything had become a terrifying mystery.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393200”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A thousand years ago, A thousand years ago, the Kirin—scaled guardians with antlers that channeled celestial magic—sacrificed countless of their most powerful mages to help the Archon imprison the Demon Lord in the Dark Abyss. A thousand years later, the Demon Princess idly remarked, “I hear the brain of a Kirin can cure my migraines.” And in a single night, my people were slaughtered to the last. I stared at the ruins of my home for a long time. “Mother,” I whispered to the ashes, “you always told me the world was at peace, that the Archon was benevolent. You said my own heaven-defying power was a curse upon this realm and you suppressed it for my own good. Well, what about now? Do you still believe that?” 1 The day before my clan was butchered, my little brother, still too young to take his human form, chirped and chattered, begging me to go to the mortal plane and buy him a candy apple. He was getting on my nerves. I was about to kick him away when my mother stopped me with a gentle smile. “Hera,” she said, “that’s your brother.” “He is the one person in all the realms who is closest to you. You can’t treat him like some wild beast.” Closest to me? Born with dulled senses, I didn’t understand the meaning of her words. But I always listened to my mother. I lowered my clawed paw and promised to bring him his candy apple the next day. He was so happy he rolled around on the ground in a fit of glee. I watched him with disgust, muttering, “So noisy.” But the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, I rode the clouds down the mountain to buy his treat. 2 And now, here I stood at the gates of my home, candy apple in hand, completely lost. The ground was littered with the corpses of my kin. My brother, who had looked up at me with a smiling face just that morning, now lay in pieces on the ground, his head separated from his body. His skull was cracked open, his brain spilled across the dirt. With trembling paws, I pried open his tightly clenched fist. Inside was the pearl of night I had casually tossed to him on his hundredth birthday. I stared at the pearl for a long time before speaking. “You silly thing. You’re dead. Why were you still holding this?” “But… the pearl is warped. It must have hurt a lot, didn’t it?” I sat there, from sunrise until the dead of night. 3 When Lord Caelus, the Celestial of Mercy, arrived, he was shocked to see me. Then he shook his head. “Thank the heavens, a survivor. The Kirin are not truly extinct.” I looked at him blankly. “What now?” It took him a moment to understand my question. He sighed. “Rest assured, I will protect you. This time, Lord Azureus went too far. To slaughter your entire race for a whim of the Demon Princess… it was reckless.” “I have already reprimanded him,” he continued. “He won’t trouble you again.” I couldn’t quite follow. “But… Mother told me that murder is a debt paid with life,” I said, my voice flat. “Why did you only reprimand him?” Lord Caelus’s compassionate expression cracked. A flicker of anger crossed his face. “Insolence! Do you have any idea who you speak of?” “He is the Sovereign of this world! The one who defeated the demons, pacified the monsters, and brought a thousand years of peace to all the realms! How dare you entertain the thought of deicide?” A crushing pressure descended upon me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I opened my mouth to speak, but only a mouthful of blood came out. I gritted my teeth and forced the words out. “You’re wrong.” “My mother told me. This peace was never his achievement alone. Nine-tenths of the Kirin’s greatest mages fell in that war. The Dragon Lords have but a few scions left. That is the price that was paid for this ‘glorious peace.’ It was not his alone.” With every word I spoke, the pressure intensified. Just as I felt my bones turning to dust, my spirit about to be extinguished from the world, the very heavens began to tremble. I felt them—countless of my kind, from every corner of the world, their spirits rushing to my side. “Lord Caelus, show mercy!” “Lord Caelus, show mercy!” “Lord Caelus, show mercy!” The chorus grew louder and louder. I could hear the roar of dragons, the cry of phoenixes, the howl of tigers… A symphony of spectral beasts forming a shield around me. And then, I fell into darkness. 4 When I woke, I was in the Celestial Palace. Lord Azureus, the Archon, looked down at me as if I were an ant. “Luria’s headaches are much improved,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your race has proven its use. Your existence was not entirely in vain.” “I will issue a decree. You will be named a Saintess. Do not cause any more trouble.” Ignoring the dull, grinding pain deep in my bones, I stared back at him defiantly. “My mother told me that murder is a debt paid with life. That is the great law of the mortal world.” “I don’t want to be a Saintess. I only ask that the Archon respects the great law.” Azureus narrowed his eyes, studying me for a long moment before he laughed. “Do you know who Luria is?” “If we are to respect the great law, then healing Luria should be the single most important matter in this world. Luria was an ancient goddess. A thousand years ago, she willingly sacrificed herself to the heavens, her own flesh and blood mending this broken realm. If we speak of debts, every living creature in this world owes her.” When he spoke of Luria, his eyes shone with a brilliant light. Just like Father’s did when he spoke of Mother. I lowered my head, fell silent, and tried to understand. Was he right? I was never very smart. I thought about it for a long time, but I couldn’t figure it out. If only Mother were here. She would know if he was right. Azureus seemed to have lost interest in talking to me. He waved a hand, dismissing me. But I didn’t move. I stubbornly believed that the deaths of my parents, my brother, my aunts and uncles… it couldn’t just be forgotten. Azureus grew annoyed. “What more do you want?” I thought for a moment, then held to my conviction. “A life for a life.” The words had barely left my lips when a bolt of raw magic slammed into me, throwing me to the ground. I coughed up another pool of blood. Azureus’s voice dripped with scorn. “Ant. Only the strong have the right to speak their desires. Only the strong hold the power of life and death. The truth… has always been a tool for the powerful.” I clutched my chest and staggered to my feet, nodding blankly. So, I have to be stronger than him to kill him. As long as I am stronger, I can kill him. He should have just said so from the start. It would have saved me so much time. A pity Mother never taught me that might makes right. She only ever spoke of reason and compassion. 5 As I stumbled out of the grand hall, I bumped into a woman in a green dress, her face beaming with joy. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. She threw herself at Azureus. “Azureus! There’s another Kirin!” “Quick, cut out her brain for me!” she chirped. “It has to be fresh! The last one, the little one with the fire-cloud mark on its head, I ate it while it was still alive. The effect was marvelous!” Hearing this, I couldn’t stop myself. I turned and stared at her. Among all the Kirin, only my brother had a fire-cloud mark on his head. Azureus stroked her hair dotingly. “This is the last Kirin in the world. We can’t kill her. Otherwise, we’ll have nothing left to keep the other beasts in line.” Luria pouted. “It’s just one animal. What does it matter?” I didn’t listen to any more. I limped out of the Celestial Realm. Mother, you used to tell me the Archon loved all his creations. But why… why does it feel so different from what you said? 6 When I returned to the mortal plane, Lord Dragon and Lady Phoenix were waiting for me at my ruined home. Seeing me covered in wounds, they trembled with rage. But their anger quickly gave way to a weary sigh. Lady Phoenix stroked my head. “Hera, don’t provoke them anymore. Just live. Please.” I looked at her, confused. “Why? Shouldn’t a murderer pay with their life?” “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Living is what’s most important. Hera, you are the last of the Kirin bloodline. Nothing is more important than your survival. Your mother… she probably wouldn’t want you to seek revenge. She would only want you to live.” I didn’t speak again. I found a shovel and started digging a hole by the gate. My parents and my silly little brother… they deserved a proper burial. I held my brother’s head in my paws. I suddenly remembered Luria saying she had eaten his brain while he was still alive. It must have hurt. A lot. No wonder the pearl was warped. Just that morning, he had been so full of life. Now, he was as cold as ice. No one would ever chirp “sister” at me again. It was so quiet. Yes, it was quiet, but… it was too quiet. A gust of wind blew, stinging my eyes. They felt dry. Why were they watering? Mother said my senses were dull. It must be the wind. It must be… 7 After burying my family, I leaned against the gravestone. I started talking, my words a rambling whisper. “Mother, you once told me the world was at peace, that the Archon was benevolent.” “What about now? Do you still think so?” “Mother, I still believe that a murderer should pay with their life.” “Mother, I want to go to the Great Eastern Wilds. I want to take back the other half of my power.” “Mother, I don’t want to listen to you anymore.” “Mother, you can’t blame me for this…” “Mother… I just miss you a little. And I miss my brother.” “Mother…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393195”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 For five years, my husband, the billionaire Joshua Archer, treated me like a goddess. He’d kneel to paint my toenails, wept as he offered me his own kidney after a car crash—he cherished me, his queen. But as his mistress, a woman I didn’t recognize, had me bound like an animal and kicked me across the manicured lawn of a country club, he didn’t see me. Instead, he stood beside her, clapping his hands in delight. “Go on, darling, give it a good swing! Using a pregnant woman as a golf ball… imagine the follow-through on that! It must be exhilarating!” I screamed, a raw, ragged sound of agony, crying out for my husband, for my mother. But my mother, who was also there, simply wrinkled her nose in disgust and shoved a silk handkerchief from her purse into my mouth, silencing me. And my husband? He snatched the golf club from the other woman’s hands and swung it, hard, into my swollen belly. As I lay dying on the grass, the mistress ripped off her mask. “Sister,” she purred, “how do you like your birthday gift?” Cold sweat mingled with bright red blood, dripping onto the pristine green. I forced my eyes open, staring, just staring, at the man before me. An hour ago, he had washed the scent of another woman from his skin and knelt by our bed, whispering, “Thank you for your love, my queen,” his eyes glazed with sated desire. Now, he watched with cold amusement as his mistress tortured me. The nylon ropes had already chafed my wrists and ankles raw. The slender metal of the golf club struck my body again and again, each blow leaving a bloody welt, until I felt like my bones were being pulled from their sockets. Every cell in my body screamed in pain. “That poor woman must’ve crossed the wrong people,” a voice murmured from the clubhouse patio. “Mrs. Archer seems to be in a foul mood today. Looks like it’ll be two for the price of one…” “Anyone who gets into this club is someone important. Who’s the man who brought her here?” The whispers of the onlookers were laced with a cold detachment, a desire not to get involved. But none of them knew. The man who had just swung at me with the most vicious force, the man who was treating my body like a game… He was my husband. Today was my birthday. Joshua had cleared his entire schedule to be with me. Then a call came through—a major client had arrived, and he had to go. He’d spent half an hour kissing me, apologizing, and whispering sweet promises before he left. When I found his phone on the nightstand, I didn’t bother calling his assistant. I just grabbed it and drove to the club myself. The moment I stepped inside, a woman in a mask, her face vaguely familiar, intercepted me. Before I could process what was happening, her men seized me. I fought back, screaming that I was Mrs. Archer, Joshua Archer’s wife. Her eyes glinted with a cruel light as she ordered her men to bind me into a ball and roll me onto the putting green. Her voice was a low, mocking laugh. “What a coincidence. I’m Mrs. Archer, too. And since I’m standing right here, what does that make you? A liar?” The women behind her sneered. “Everyone knows Joshua Archer worships his wife. I swear, every woman in this city wants to be the next Mrs. Archer. This one clearly doesn’t have what it takes, but she’s certainly got the delusion down.” The masked woman used the toe of her designer shoe to stop my spinning body. Her smile was pure venom. “Let’s make a little wager. If Joshua recognizes you, I’ll let you go. If he doesn’t… you’re all mine.” I was certain. The moment he saw me, he would know. But that certainty evaporated into thin air when I saw him walk onto the green and press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Darling,” she said, her voice cloying sweet, “this woman’s belly is so big and round. It’s the perfect golf ball. Let me practice my swing.” “Of course, my love. Whatever Mrs. Archer wants, Mrs. Archer gets.” He tweaked her nose with a fondness I knew so well. It felt like a nightmare. He hadn’t recognized me. He hadn’t even truly looked at me. His world was completely filled by her. If she was Mrs. Archer, then what was I? What were our years of whispered secrets and shared dreams? What was the child growing inside me? My chest felt like it would explode. An icy dread, sharp as needles, crept up from the soles of my feet. I swallowed the blood pooling in my throat and, clinging to one last, desperate shred of hope, I forced out a single word. “Jo…shua!” He glanced over. For a heart-stopping second, I thought he saw me. But then he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Is this woman insane? Calling any man she sees ‘honey’? The desperation is pathetic.” He gestured to the woman beside him. “See this? The only woman in the world who gets to call me her husband is her. What the hell are you? You’re not worthy.” A vicious kick followed his words, landing squarely on my stomach. The world exploded in a starburst of white-hot pain, and a wave of cold sweat drenched my body. 2 I gasped for air, staring at him in utter disbelief. Just last night, he had rested his head on my pregnant belly, his laughter warm against my skin. “My love,” he’d whispered, “whether it’s a boy or a girl, you and our child are the center of my universe…” Just this morning, he’d kissed me until I was breathless, making me say his name a hundred times before he’d let me out of bed. But now, holding another woman’s hand, he was sneering that I wasn’t worthy. Of course. The treasure, the goddess, the center of his universe—it was all fake. The only things that were real were the lies. And the affair. The golf club in his hand came down on me again and again. My stomach slammed against the hard ground, and a gush of amniotic fluid and blood soaked the grass beneath me. I was no longer a person; I was just a human ball, rolling back and forth until I was completely covered in my own blood. Through a hazy, red-tinged fog, I saw my mother approaching, holding a coat, speaking softly to the other woman. A desperate need for rescue drowned out all reason. I choked out a cry. “Mom… help me! Mom!” The masked woman didn’t stop me. A strange, knowing smile played on her lips. My mother glanced at me, clutching her nose as if offended by the smell. “My eldest daughter, Seraphina, is resting comfortably at home,” she said, her voice cold. “And my youngest is right here beside me. You are neither. Stop your disgusting squawking, you filthy sow… it’s utterly deafening.” A bolt of lightning shot through my head, feeling as if my brain had just imploded. The next second, a scented handkerchief was brutally shoved into my mouth, choking off my cries, leaving me to make only muffled, guttural sounds. My heart seized. An immense, crushing wave of grief and pain threatened to shatter me completely. Just a few days ago, when I’d had a scare with some abdominal pain, she had sat by my bedside for twenty-four hours straight, sleepless. She’d been frantic, babbling incoherently as she prayed to every saint in the book, bargaining with God for my health and the baby’s. She’d even gone to a shrine and knelt until her forehead was bruised, all for us. The scab on her forehead hadn’t even fully healed. How could she… how could she not recognize me? I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t. Tears streamed down my face. I choked back a sob, my throat raw, and screamed against the gag, a silent, desperate plea. Mom! Look at me! Please, just look closer! It’s me, Elara! Your daughter, the one you raised for over twenty years! But she didn’t give me a second glance. She was the one who had silenced my pleas for help. And now she was standing there, laughing and talking intimately with my executioner. The air was thick with the jeering laughter of the onlookers. A tearing, violent pain ripped through my lower abdomen, a heavy, pulling agony. My mind went blank, and through the haze, I thought I could hear the sound of a baby’s heart-wrenching cries from within me. My baby. I have to save my baby. With the last of my strength, I fixed my cloudy eyes on the man standing nearby. I forced his name through my bruised lips. “Jo… sh… ua!” He paused, turning to look at me. His voice was as soft as a lover’s whisper, but the words were the cruelest I had ever heard. “Get rid of this sow. The way she looks at me… it’s disgusting. She’s actually trying to seduce me.” Just before he left the house, he’d whispered in my ear, “My love, do you know why I love you so much? I can’t stand a single second without you. I miss you already.” He didn’t miss me. He wanted me dead. The last flicker of hope inside me trembled and died. Just as my world dissolved into gray ash, the woman leaned in close and ripped off her mask. “Sister,” she whispered, “how do you like your birthday gift?” I was dragged away like a sack of garbage and dumped outside the club gates. A kind passerby saw my state—a pregnant woman, beaten and bloody—and rushed me to the hospital. He pulled the handkerchief from my mouth. “Miss! Who did this to you? Where’s your family? Your husband?” My lips trembled. My mouth was filled with blood. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell him. The man who beat me was the husband who swore he loved me more than life itself. The people who orchestrated my demise were the family I had lived with for over twenty years. The emergency room doctors saw my near-dead state and rushed me straight into surgery, shouting, “Pregnant woman, massive hemorrhage, needs type B-negative blood, now!” “We’re out of B-negative in the blood bank!” a young nurse called back, her face pale. The door swung open. A familiar figure stepped inside. “I’ll give her blood,” he said. “I’m B-negative.” I trembled, forcing my eyes open. It was my father, in his white doctor’s coat. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. 3 My father had to recognize me! He was giving me his blood! Just last night, he had driven through a thunderstorm to bring me my birthday present. He’d told me he’d gone to a remote monastery, a place of pilgrimage, and had a silver locket blessed by a reclusive monk, a charm to keep me and the baby safe. His face had been slick with rain, his brow etched with exhaustion, but his eyes, full of love, had been brighter than I’d ever seen them. My lips quivered as I managed a single, broken word. “Dad…” His gaze, sharp and cold behind his glasses, met mine. “Who are you calling Dad? I have two daughters. My eldest is at home celebrating her birthday, and my youngest is at the golf club. Don’t just call any man you see ‘Dad.’ It’s pathetic.” My mouth hung open. I was a clown in a tragedy of my own making. His words were a lightning strike that vaporized my entire world, turning my flesh and blood to ash. He… he didn’t recognize me either? Was it all a lie? All the years of affection, the whispered endearments of “my sweet girl,” “my darling Elara”… was all of it fake? My heart twisted in agony. I wanted to scream. Dad, save me. Save my baby. It’s your grandchild. But his next sentence plunged me straight into the ninth circle of hell. “My son-in-law just called. Seraphina’s old heart palpitations are acting up again…” He looked down at me, his face a clinical mask.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393189”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The year I turned thirty, I did something stupid. I hid Wade Thorne’s little canary, his mistress, in a desperate attempt to win back his heart. When he found out, he didn’t hesitate. In a matter of days, my family’s company was bankrupt. My father, his life’s work destroyed, saw his hair turn white overnight. My mother nearly cried herself blind. And now, Wade was threatening to make my father kneel and beg for forgiveness, all to force me to reveal where his little bird was hidden. “Annabelle, I spoiled you too much,” he snarled, his voice a low growl. “It’s made you forget your place.” “Since you’re the one who made the mistake, I’ll be the one to teach you a lesson.” As the words left his mouth, his bodyguards seized my father, forcing his head down and slamming it against the cold, hard floor. In that moment, my heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles. … “Wade, that’s my father! He’s your elder! You can’t do this!” I screamed, a pain that gnawed at my soul tearing through me. My voice was hoarse, laced with a despair so deep it felt like the end of the world. We had dated for four years and been married for eight. Twelve years of our lives were tangled together. I never imagined it would end like this, with our hearts grown so distant, our bond irrevocably severed. Wade seized my chin, forcing my head up to meet his gaze. His face was a thunderous mask of fury. “Where did you hide Leah?” I wanted to fight back, but his men were everywhere. I choked back a sob and squeezed my eyes shut. My foolish pride had already cost my parents their life’s work; I couldn’t let them lose their dignity, too. I bit my lip until I tasted blood and met his cold stare. “Let my parents go. Promise me you’ll never bother them again, and I’ll tell you.” Wade waved a dismissive hand, and the bodyguards released my father. Just as a wave of relief washed over me, his hand shot out and clamped around my throat, slowly lifting me until my feet dangled in the air. The air vanished from my lungs. I clawed at his hand instinctively, but his voice was a blade of ice in my ear. “Annabelle, have I given you too much face?” “Did you really think I was that easy to negotiate with?” “Finding Leah is a matter of minutes for me. What gives someone like you the right to bargain?” “Crushing you,” he whispered, “would be as easy as stepping on an ant. Do you understand?” A suffocating blanket of terror and hopelessness enveloped me. I stared at him, tears streaming silently from the corners of my eyes. But even through the fear, I forced the words out. “Even so… you can’t hurt my parents! They’re my family!” At that, something in him snapped. His face darkened, and his grip tightened, as if he meant to end my life right then and there. Just as my vision began to blacken, he released me. I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, my body shaking violently with a fear that was bone-deep. In that single, terrifying moment, our entire past flashed before my eyes. All the tender moments, the stolen kisses, the whispered promises—they all twisted together into a single, sharp dagger that plunged straight into my heart. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I broke down, sobbing. For the sudden, violent death of our love. For the hopeless abyss our marriage had become. And for the pathetic, desperate woman I had become, sacrificing my own dignity to try and save it all. Wade just stood there, watching me with cold, detached eyes, an aura of brutal power radiating from him. He strode forward and roughly tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “Tell me. Where did you hide Leah?” His tone was so vicious, I knew that if I didn’t answer, something far worse was waiting for me. “The countryside,” I choked out. “She’s in the countryside.” In an instant, his fury melted into triumph. He turned on his heel and left, his men following in his wake. I knew. From that moment on, he was no longer my husband. And no matter how much I still loved him, I had to rip him out of my heart. Even if it tore out half my soul, I would do it without hesitation. 2 “Anna, honey, are you okay?” My mother pulled me into a tight embrace, her voice thick with tears. I shook my head, my own sobs choking me as I apologized over and over. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mom, Dad. If it weren’t for me, this never would have happened, you wouldn’t have to…” My father wrapped his arms around both of us, his voice aged and trembling. “It’s not your fault. Our Anna has suffered, too.” I wiped my tears away, my voice filled with a newfound resolve. “Mom, Dad… I’m divorcing Wade.” “Good,” my father said, his voice firm. “Nothing is more important than your happiness.” … I fell for Wade in college. It was love at first sight, for me at least. I chased him relentlessly, and after a long time, he finally gave in. We got married the day after graduation. It was only after we’d impulsively signed the papers that I learned who he really was. The heir to the Thorne fortune. He had never mentioned it. I’d always thought he was just a handsome, ordinary guy. After all, what kind of billionaire’s son wears faded jeans and threadbare t-shirts? He explained it to me later. “I was afraid people were after my money, not me.” I was so naive, I actually felt lucky that I’d fallen for his looks, not his wallet. I never thought to ask him what he saw in me. I also never imagined that the day I discovered his affair, he would point a finger at me and say: “Annabelle, why are you making such a scene?” “What does a thirty-year-old woman like you have that a girl in her early twenties doesn’t?” “You’re not as young as them, not as pretty, and your body isn’t as good.” “If I’m not going to play with them, am I supposed to play with you?” His words plunged me into an icy abyss. He seemed to have forgotten. He was the one who had begged me, with red-rimmed eyes, to love him just a little bit more. He was the one who had said: “Annabelle, my parents never taught me how to love someone.” “I don’t know how. Please, teach me.” “I want to love you right.” And he had also said: “Annabelle, my parents destroyed my perception of the world.” “You’re the only one who’s ever shown me what real love is.” Because of his parents, Wade was deeply insecure. So I whispered “I love you” in his ear, over and over, a constant reassurance. But he still needed to test my love, again and again. I was patient, I was tolerant. I would hold him in my arms, my heart aching for him, until he finally fell into a peaceful sleep. I thought we would grow old together like that, inseparable. Then he got his little canary, and it caught me completely off guard. Leah was twenty, a junior in college. I first saw her about six months ago. Wade had gotten into a brawl and was being held at the local police precinct. I went to bail him out. He was radiating a dark, violent energy, but the moment he saw me, it all dissipated. He followed me meekly as I took care of everything. Just as we were leaving, a young woman in a cocktail waitress uniform rushed up to him. “Sir, thank you so much,” she gushed. “If it weren’t for you tonight, I don’t know what would have happened. Thank you. If there’s ever a chance, I’ll do anything to repay you.” I froze, looking at Wade with confusion in my eyes. He waved her off with an impatient scowl. “Just find a different job.” The girl looked troubled. “I… I can’t. This one pays too well…” Wade looked her up and down, a predatory smile playing on his lips. “Is that so?” That girl was Leah. At the time, I couldn’t understand why Wade would suddenly help a stranger. He explained, “Seeing her… she reminded me of you when you were twenty. So I helped.” I didn’t think much of it. Not until he started bringing her to galas and charity events, brazenly holding her, kissing her in public for everyone to see. That’s when I finally understood the meaning of that predatory smile. He had wanted her from the very beginning. I cried. I screamed. I threw things. All I got in return was his cold reply: “Annabelle, what’s the big deal? When you were twenty, didn’t I love you just the same?” In that moment, I understood Wade’s love. He only loved women in their twenties. And I was no longer in that phase of my life. I wanted to file for divorce immediately. But life has a cruel sense of irony. After years of trying to get pregnant with no success, I found out I was pregnant right after I discovered his affair. For the sake of the baby, for the sake of our twelve years together, I decided to give him one last chance. If he would just come back to me, I would forgive him. So, I hired a few people to take Leah to a remote house in the countryside and keep her there. The result was crystal clear. For her, Wade destroyed my father’s life’s work. For her, he humiliated my parents. He showed no mercy, no consideration for our twelve years of history. I had lost. Utterly and completely.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393185”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel