1 On our anniversary, my wife—who never cooked—made a feast. With each bite, Lydia took notes, asking detailed questions. She left to take a call. I recognized Mark’s ringtone. Flipping through her notebook, I found: “Green beans undercooked—Mark won’t like them.” “Mushrooms too salty—use less for Mark.” “Lamb too gamey—try beef for Mark.” Lydia returned, furious. “Daniel, you’ve got no manners!” A sudden headache hit. My vision blurred. “Lydia, the beans… I think they’re raw—” She scribbled: “Cook longer for Mark.” Then she left. “You’re strong. Take medicine if sick.” Collapsing, I called her. “What’s the big deal?” she snapped. “Call me when you’re dead!” I never will. With my last strength, I dialed the ambulance. It turns out, sometimes an ambulance is more reliable than she is. The doctor said I had been poisoned by both the green beans and the mushrooms. I was lucky they brought me in when they did. A few more minutes, and I wouldn’t be lying safely in this hospital bed. As I lay there, an IV drip in my arm, my phone buzzed. I picked it up. It was Lydia. “Daniel, do you think stir-fried beef is better with onions or without?” Her question caught me off guard. I managed a weak, bitter smile. “Lydia, I’m in the hospital.” Her voice was impatient. “Okay, fine. Get them to prescribe you something.” Then, she immediately returned to her original question. “Just tell me, with onions or without?” Before I could answer, I heard a man’s voice in the background. “Lydia, darling, as long as you’re the one making it, I’ll love it either way.” The line went dead. I stared at the blank screen. Two messages popped up. “A last-minute project came up at the office. I have to work late. I’ll be back tomorrow.” “Since you’re at the hospital, just get some extra medicine. If you need money, I’ll transfer you some.” The words on the screen felt like a fist clenching around my heart. A last-minute project? Just get some extra medicine? Could a person be this utterly indifferent? This time, I simply put the phone down. I didn’t reply. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. The patient in the next bed was a little girl. Seeing me alone, she toddled over, propped her chin on my bed, and looked at me with wide, curious eyes. “Mister, why are you all by yourself?” “When my daddy was in the hospital, my mommy was always with him. Where’s your wife, mister?” I looked at the innocent little face. “My wife?” I said softly. “I don’t have a wife.” The little girl shot up, planting her hands on her hips, her face puffed up in indignation. “You’re lying! I saw! You have a picture of you and a pretty lady in your phone case! It’s your wedding picture!” “Grown-ups aren’t supposed to lie! Your nose will get super long!” “Mister, your wife is so pretty! Can I see the picture? Please?” Her words made me pause. In all our years together, the only photo Lydia and I had was the one tucked into my phone case. She always said she hated having her picture taken, so that single shot from our civil ceremony was all we had. 2 The little girl’s mother, sensing the awkwardness, quickly pulled her daughter back, offering me an apologetic smile. “Kids, you know how they are. Please don’t mind her.” I waved a hand, saying nothing. I picked up my phone and started scrolling aimlessly. The first thing I saw was a post from Mark, uploaded just a minute ago. It was a screenshot of Lydia’s social media feed, with the caption: “Loving you is the best choice I’ve ever made.” Seeing the post, I froze. My fingers trembling, I clicked on Lydia’s profile. As always, her posts were set to be visible for only three days. There was nothing there. An idea struck me. On a whim, I logged into my secondary, anonymous account and searched for her profile again. And there it was. I saw everything. Her latest post was from ten minutes ago. Two pictures. One was a selfie of her and Mark, their faces pressed together. The other was a photo of a table laden with food. It was the exact same meal she had made for me today. The caption read: “Happy Birthday. For you, I’d do anything.” And pinned to the top of her profile was a photo of her and Mark against a plain red background—a formal portrait, like one taken for official documents. It was dated three years ago. I pulled our own wedding photo from my phone case and compared them. The contrast was stark. In her photo with Mark, Lydia was smiling, her face soft and gentle. In ours, her expression was one of sheer annoyance. We had even argued that day. My hand shook as I scrolled through her feed, post after post. She updated it almost daily, sometimes several times a day. I clicked on one photo. Lydia and Mark, kissing under a sky full of fireworks. I remembered that night. It was New Year’s Eve. I had waited for her for hours in the town square, holding a bouquet of flowers, only to get a text saying she had to work late and that I should go to bed. We were in the same square that night. On one side, me, freezing in the cold, clutching flowers. On the other, them, wrapped in a passionate embrace. I clicked on another photo. Lydia and Mark, kissing at the very top of a Ferris wheel. I remembered that day, too. I had a high fever and had called her, begging her to bring me some medicine. It took her forever to answer. In the end, she brought me a box of antacids. Now I understood. She hadn’t bought them for me. She had just grabbed a box for me while buying them for Mark. My eyes blurring, I clicked on another. The two of them, taking Mark’s dog to the vet. I will never forget that day. My grandmother was on her deathbed. With her last breaths, she held my hand and said she wanted to see my wife one last time. I called Lydia again and again. When she finally answered, her voice was sharp with impatience. “I have a work emergency. I’m out of town on business. What do you want me to do? I can’t possibly make it back.” It turned out, when she took that call, she was at the pet hospital right across the street from the human one. As I scrolled through the endless feed, my heart grew colder and colder. All my trust, all my understanding, had been met with nothing but lies. A message from Mark popped up on my phone. “Hey Daniel, sorry, Lydia and I were just having dinner. Just remembered you went to the hospital. Lydia asked me to send you some money for medicine.” “She said if I didn’t, you’d probably throw a tantrum. Here, you should take this.” I stared at the ten-dollar transfer from Mark, a bitter smile twisting my lips. I hit ‘decline.’ “No thanks. You should keep it. Buy yourself a nice birthday present.” “After all, that’s about what you’re worth.” Less than a minute after I sent the message, my phone rang. It was Lydia. The second I answered, she started screaming. “Daniel, what is wrong with you?” 3 “It was Mark’s idea to send you money for medicine! If you’re not going to be grateful, fine, but what’s with the sarcastic attitude?” “I’m putting him on the phone right now, and you are going to apologize. It’s his birthday. Don’t you dare ruin it for him!” Listening to her accusations, I managed a weak laugh. “Lydia, why should I apologize?” “You think you’re in the right, Daniel?” “What has gotten into you? You know Mark grew up poor! How could you use money to mock him like that?” “Daniel, you are going to apologize to Mark. Right now!” When I remained silent, her voice grew hysterical. “Fine! You won’t apologize, is that it?” “Then you can forget about ever using a penny of my money again! You think you’re too good for the money Mark sent you?” “When you’ve decided to apologize to Mark, then I’ll consider forgiving you! You can just sit there and think about what you’ve done!” Before I could say another word, she hung up. Less than ten minutes later, I received notifications that all of my bank cards had been frozen by Lydia. I lay in the hospital bed, staring out the window, a bitter taste in my mouth. The little girl from the next bed looked at me, blinking her big eyes. “Mister, did you have a fight with the pretty lady?” she asked sympathetically. “Mister, what did you do wrong? Why is she so mean?” I smiled faintly. “Sometimes, a person can do nothing wrong, and in someone else’s eyes, they are still wrong.” The little girl looked at me, completely baffled. “I don’t get it.” “All I know is, my mommy says being happy and free is the most important thing!” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at her, stunned. Yes. Being happy and free is the most important thing. I turned my head to look out the window again, my eyes filled with a profound loneliness. I must have been exhausted, because I drifted off to sleep. I was woken by a nurse telling me I needed to pay for my continued stay. I handed her my bank card, then remembered they had all been frozen. I forced a smile. “It’s alright. I’ll be checking out today.” “Hey, mister, you’re leaving already?” The little girl from the next bed bounced in, holding a small robot that looked strangely familiar. “Little one, where did you get that robot?” “This? Oh, a nice lady’s husband is in the hospital. She gave one to all of us kids so we would be quiet and not bother him.” “Do you like it, mister? If you really like it, you can have it!” “Hey, that’s weird. That nice lady looks a lot like the lady in your phone case…” With every word she spoke, my heart grew colder. When she said the last sentence, I felt my legs give way. I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the bed, my face pale. I knew that robot all too well. After Lydia and I got together, we had dedicated ourselves to developing a highly sensitive, specialized medical robot. It had been our shared dream for years. The project was born out of a terrible fear: I might carry a rare, genetic disease that ran in my family. Lydia, her eyes red with tears, had told me, “I have the company, you have the technical skill. Together, we’ll build a robot that can detect genetic diseases with perfect accuracy. You’re going to live a long, long life.” For years, I had poured everything I had into it. A year ago, I finally succeeded. The thing about this highly sensitive robot was that once it was activated, it could never be reset to its initial state. I had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to test the prototypes. There were only a handful of them. And now, Lydia had given them all away. Snapping back to reality, I grabbed my phone with a shaking hand and called her. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice impatient. “What? You’ve thought it over? Are you calling to apologize?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393077”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A month ago, King Antonio brought a woman back from outside the palace walls and named her Duchess. The entire court was in an uproar. It was because Antonio had once declared, before all the ladies of the court, that his heart was mine alone. That he would never elevate another to the rank of Duchess. Now, he had broken that sacred vow with his own hands, and the entire court was eagerly awaiting my humiliation. They whispered that he had grown tired of me, that his love had withered on the vine. I traced the petals of a fading rose on the windowsill, a silent, bitter smile touching my lips. They were right. Antonio no longer loved me. Just yesterday, the affection points I had so carefully accumulated—only one point shy of success—had plummeted to zero overnight. All because when the new Duchess, Seraphina, came to pay her respects, I didn’t bid her rise quickly enough. Antonio had walked in on us. His voice was cold. “She is no threat to your position, Nadine. Can you not show the grace of a Queen and stop making things difficult for her?” The old me would have burst into tears, desperately trying to defend myself. But now, I simply nodded, my voice a placid stream. “The Duchess enjoys Your Majesty’s favor. Of course, I would not trouble her.” I immediately decreed that from this day forward, Duchess Seraphina was exempt from paying her respects at the Queen’s Wing. But Antonio’s face darkened further. “Nadine, don’t you see this will only make the court hate her?” I froze, my gaze falling upon the way his brow furrowed, his entire posture protective of her. My mind drifted. So he knew. He knew that to be singled out was to be hated, yet he had placed me on that glittering, lonely pedestal to bask in a warmth that was never truly mine. It didn’t matter now. I bowed my head in gentle submission. “You are right, Your Majesty. It is too great a distinction. Then perhaps the Duchess need not kneel when she comes to call.” The System had told me that if I was docile, obedient, and compliant with Antonio’s wishes, he would be pleased. And if he was pleased, the affection points might rise again. Instead, he flew into a rage, shattering several porcelain vases in the Queen’s Wing. He rounded on me, his voice a raw wound. “Nadine, aren’t you even jealous?” I looked at him, my expression one of pure, placid confusion. “Your Majesty, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted me to be?” Before the System had implanted its protocol, I had asked. “Do I have to go into dormancy? What if Antonio notices something is wrong?” The System’s voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion. “We will act in your stead, becoming the version of you that Antonio most desires. We will maintain this body’s normal functions.” “The version of me he most desires?” “Host, we have analyzed Antonio’s every word of anger towards you and designed a protocol based on that data. It will replace you, and you will become the perfect Queen in his eyes.” I let the fading rose fall from the windowsill, watching it disappear into the courtyard below. Yes. That was it. The things Antonio always raged about were always the same. I was too jealous, too childish, too clingy, too inconsiderate. I was not the ideal Queen he envisioned. Now, the affection points were at zero. The System was preparing to transport me to the next world. He was finally getting his wish. I wiped the last tear from my eye and spoke to the void in my mind. “Begin.” A wave of vertigo washed over me. As the world dissolved into darkness, I heard the System’s final report. [HOST CONSCIOUSNESS… DORMANCY SUCCESSFUL.] [PROTOCOL IMPLANTATION… SUCCESSFUL.] The dead of winter held the castle in its icy grip, blanketing everything in a pristine layer of white. At luncheon, my handmaiden, Bianca, burst into my chambers, her boots tracking snow across the marble floors and startling the doves in the courtyard. “Your Majesty, it’s terrible news! The Royal Physician just left the Sunstone Pavilion. The Duchess… she’s with child!” I set down my paintbrush, discarding the unfinished scroll. My voice was calm, a stark contrast to her panic. “Is that not wonderful news? What is the meaning of this hysteria?” Bianca stared, thinking I must have misheard, and repeated her words, her voice trembling. I unfurled a fresh sheet of parchment, picking up my brush once more. “This is excellent news. The matter of an heir has weighed heavily on me. The Duchess’s pregnancy is a great service to the kingdom. She must be rewarded handsomely. Let this be a reminder to the other ladies of the court to be more diligent in their service to the King.” I continued, my hand steady. “Go to the vaults. Select some of the finest treasures for the Duchess. And take her this painting I have just finished, titled ‘A Mother’s Blessing’.” Bianca gritted her teeth, her hand shaking as she retrieved the key to the treasury box. “Your Majesty, have you forgotten? She stole our choice cuts from the kitchens! She claimed the finest silk meant for you from the looms! She had one of our maids beaten outside the infirmary for collecting your herbal tonics! And the King turned a blind eye to it all, never once punishing her. If she was this brazen before, what will she be like with a royal heir in her belly? She will walk all over you! And you want to send her gifts?” How had I reacted to those incidents before? I had raged. I had pleaded for justice, demanded an explanation. And Antonio had told me I lacked the grace of a true queen. That they were trivial things, not worth disturbing him over. He had ordered me to copy holy scriptures, confined me to my rooms to reflect on my pettiness. I had seethed with injustice then. Now, I only felt that I had indeed been wrong. I sat up straight, a serene smile on my face as I looked at her. “Bianca, I am the Queen. My duty is to be a mother to this nation.” My voice was gentle, but firm. “While the Duchess may have been excessive in the past, I was also at fault. The King was right. As Queen, it is unseemly for me to be possessive, to harbor jealousy, to view the King as my property.” “I have changed. From now on, I will be a model of virtue. I will manage the court with diligence and support my King.” Shortly after Bianca delivered the gifts, an invitation arrived from the Duchess. “Your Majesty,” Bianca said, her voice tight, “the King is so overjoyed about the pregnancy that he is holding a celebratory banquet for the Duchess at the Sunstone Pavilion. Are… are we to attend?” I folded the invitation, my eyes glancing at the new gown the royal weavers had just delivered. “I am the Queen. Of course, I will attend. And I will do so with the utmost grace and decorum.” Bianca understood. She helped me into my most regal gown and dressed my hair in an elaborate style, crowned with the Queen’s coronet. The Sunstone Pavilion was aglow, vibrant with lanterns and alive with music. It was a scene of pure celebration. Bianca’s hand tightened on my arm as she escorted me into the main hall. There, on the dais, in the seat that should have been mine—the one beside the King—sat Duchess Seraphina. Tonight, Antonio was dressed in deep violet, the stark lines of his brow and the sharp angle of his jaw casting him in a severe, handsome light. It only served to make the pregnant Duchess beside him appear all the more delicate and alluring. Bianca’s grip on my arm was a vice, her whisper a furious hiss. “The audacity! She’s using that babe in her belly to usurp your rightful place!” The eyes of every lady in the hall were on me, their faces painted with morbid curiosity. On the dais, Antonio’s gaze flickered towards me, a subtle, challenging glint in his eyes, as if he were waiting for me to make a scene. The Duchess’s smile was pure provocation; she looked as if she was already planning my punishment for disrupting her celebration. I offered a serene smile and a perfect curtsy to the King. “Forgive my tardiness, Your Majesty. I shall drink a cup in penance.” Antonio froze, the wine goblet halfway to his lips. Beside him, Seraphina’s triumphant smirk faltered. She clutched her handkerchief, glancing at Antonio before letting out a tinkling, false laugh. “Oh, my dear Queen, you’ve arrived! Look at this foolish head of mine, pregnancy has made me so forgetful. I seem to have taken your seat. I should be punished, truly.” She cooed, leaning against Antonio’s arm, her eyes flashing with triumph. Antonio looked at me, his expression cold, before wrapping an arm around the Duchess’s waist. “You are the center of tonight’s celebration. It is only right that you sit here.” From across the hall, I could feel the waves of pity washing over me from the other courtiers. For the King to so blatantly disregard decorum for his new favorite… The old me would have turned this hall into a battlefield, a storm of tears and accusations that would have left no one unscathed and stripped Antonio of his dignity. But now… I was to be a model Queen. “You jest, dear Duchess,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the hall. “I am not so petty.” I continued, my gaze sweeping over the room before landing back on them. “The King is right. You are the star of this evening. Carrying the royal heir is a monumental achievement. Not only should you occupy the seat of honor, but you must also accept these humble gifts from me.” At my signal, servants began to enter in a procession, each carrying a priceless treasure. A root of Kingsfoil, a thousand years old. A string of glowing Lumina Pearls. A vial of powdered Griffin’s Horn. … Each item was from my personal, most cherished collection. Gasps rippled through the banquet hall. There was shock, confusion, and raw envy in their eyes. Even the Duchess was stunned, her hand flying to her mouth. “Your Majesty… all of this… for me?” Antonio’s brow furrowed, his voice a low growl. “Nadine, this is not the time or place for games.” I smiled gently and found an empty seat further down the table. “The Duchess jests. My gifts are quite real. I have been remiss in showing you favor in the past, sister. Now that you have brought such joy to the court, it is only right you be rewarded.” My words left the entire assembly baffled. Tonight, there was no rivalry, no hidden daggers. Only a Queen’s heartfelt blessing for the Duchess. I was the mother of the nation, the Queen that Antonio wanted. Poised, dignified, a paragon of royal virtue. This time, surely, he would be pleased. But he only stared at me, his face an unreadable mask of black anger, before ordering the Duchess to accept the gifts. He gave me one last, deep, inscrutable look before turning away.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393076”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother was a Spirit Binder. For decades, she performed the Soul-Binding Ritual—a sacred duty of our bloodline to guide the restless dead to the afterlife. The more souls she bound, the more her power grew. But on my twenty-first birthday, she passed the duty to me. “Lilith,” she said, her voice thin as autumn leaves, “you must complete fifty bindings to fully awaken your gift. It is our family’s legacy, and now, it is your burden to bear.” I never got the chance to begin… until the night a wealthy widow, her face a mask of desperation, burst into our quiet chapel, clutching a heavy sack of gold. “Bind my sons’ souls,” she begged, her voice cracking. “I’ll pay any price.” Her name was Lady Beatrice, and she looked at me with the frantic eyes of a cornered animal. My mother had warned me about clients like her—the ones whose grief was so sharp it could be used as a weapon. “My sons… they were twins,” she sobbed, spilling gold sovereigns onto the cold stone floor. “They died together in a boating accident. Their souls must cross over together, or they will be lost.” Two at once? A dual binding was exceedingly rare and drained an immense amount of a Binder’s energy. Even my mother had only ever attempted it once. For a novice like me, it was not just difficult; it was dangerous. Lady Beatrice saw my hesitation and pressed forward. “If you will perform the Ritual for both my sons at once, I will give you one hundred gold sovereigns!” At that price, any further hesitation would be an insult. This sum was a small fortune. It could pay for the finest physicians for my ailing mother, and what was left would be enough for us to return to our ancestral home in Avalor, not in shame, but in triumph. I nodded decisively. “Very well. But you must return home at once. Keep the bodies warm with heated stones and blankets. They must not grow cold and rigid, or it will hinder the Ritual.” She nodded eagerly and hurried away. I turned and went to find my mother in the back garden. “Mother,” I said, my voice firm. “That childhood betrothal you arranged for me… please, cancel it.” My mother had been a Binder herself, the most renowned in our lineage, having guided forty-nine souls. She only began after my father’s death, but some years ago, a mysterious illness had forced her to pass the chapel to me. She understood immediately. After a long silence, she spoke. “Lilith, the day I gave you this chapel, that betrothal was already void. Your path is not meant to be tied to an ordinary man. Since you have chosen this life, it is time I told you the most important secret of our craft.” My heart hammered against my ribs. My mother was beautiful, and I had inherited her looks. When she performed the Rituals, she would never leave me alone, always taking me with her. I had waited outside the door for all forty-nine of her bindings. It was a somber, sacred affair, yet each time she emerged, her face would be flushed, her skin glistening as if from some great exertion. But what I remembered most was the gold. As a child, I constantly pestered her, “What is the Ritual really like?” She never told me. As I grew older, I began to understand the solemnity of it, but the true secret remained veiled. Now, she leaned in close, her whisper brushing against my ear as she explained everything. I felt my face flush with heat, but as her words sank in, a chill prickled my scalp. “What do you mean, ‘unused Life Essence’?” I asked. She only shook her head. “Remember my warnings. As for the rest… you will understand after you bind these two brothers. I have never attempted a dual binding, Lilith. You must be careful.” Her words haunted me all day. But when night fell, I packed my ritual bag and set out for the manor at the foot of the hills, ready to face my first Soul-Binding. The wind howled through the trees, lending the estate a sinister air, but I, who had grown up surrounded by the quiet hum of death, was not afraid. I took a small wax effigy from my bag and tossed it onto the path. It instantly burst into smokeless, silent flame, and the oppressive wind died with it. By the time the ashes settled, I had changed into my ritual robes: a gown of scarlet silk, a paper-thin coronet of silver leaves in my hair, and the red embroidered slippers my mother had worn for her own bindings. A sheer red veil, folded by my mother’s own hands, obscured my face. It was not a true marriage, but the spirits demanded respect. A few steps later, I saw Lady Beatrice waiting. Grief had hollowed her out; she looked like a wraith herself, her red-rimmed eyes wide in the gloom. She rushed to greet me, her hand trembling as it took mine. “So beautiful, Miss Lilith. My sons… they will be pleased. To have such a lovely Binder guide them in their final moments… it is a blessing.” “I am here to do my duty,” I replied, my smile hidden by the veil. For that much gold, and for my first binding, I would not fail. She had prepared a rooster to stand in for the brothers in the initial rites, a common folk tradition, but I stopped her. “That won’t be necessary. I brought my own.” I asked for the brothers’ full names and birthdates, writing each on a slip of parchment. From my bag, I produced a pair of red silk effigies, no larger than my hand. I affixed the parchments to their heads. Instantly, the dolls seemed to gain a life of their own, moving under my guidance as I led them through the ceremonial vows to the elements and the spirits. Lady Beatrice and her household watched, their mouths agape. Finally, it was time for the final stage—the Energy Exchange. She led me to a heavy oak door. I knew that inside lay the bodies of the two cousins. My mother once told me that the best subjects for the Ritual were those who died suddenly. Their bodies were often pristine, and if they were handsome in life, it made the grim work more bearable. She had seen horrors: crushed skulls, bloated tongues from hangings, bodies disemboweled. I wondered what I would find. I pushed the door open. Inside, two figures lay on a large bed, dressed in funeral silks. Before leaving, Lady Beatrice clutched my arm, tears welling in her eyes. “Lilith, you have sworn the vows. You are a daughter to me now, so I will be honest. The one with the mole by his lip, Silas, he is my true son. The other, Elias, is my nephew, but I raised him as my own. I love them both equally. If you can ensure their souls pass smoothly… I will add another fifty gold sovereigns to your payment.” My eyes widened. I nodded eagerly. “Of course. They are my charges now. I will devote all my energy to them. In fact, for a bonus of that size, I will perform a Ritual so powerful it will shake the very foundations of this house.” The sheer avarice in my voice seemed to startle her. She took a step back, her expression shifting. After a moment, she bit her lip, a flicker of something hard and desperate in her eyes. “Fine. Five hundred sovereigns in total. But you must see it through. I will check in the morning. If you have not completed the exchange… there will be consequences.” “Naturally,” I said with a dazzling smile. “My family has been doing this for generations. I would never cheat the spirits.” “Good. Then leave your bag with me. You Binders carry all sorts of charms. I wouldn’t want anything interfering with my sons.” Without a word, I handed her the satchel. “As you wish, my lady.” She beamed, satisfied, and left, closing the door behind her. Finally alone, I approached the bed. The two bodies lay side by side. I was, I admit, a little disappointed. They looked perfectly normal, no signs of a struggle, no discoloration of the lips to suggest poison. It was an unnervingly peaceful scene. Just then, a sharp rap came at the door. “Miss Lilith!” Lady Beatrice’s voice was sharp, urgent. “The hour is late! Please, begin the consummation of the Ritual! Do not miss the auspicious moment!” “It has already begun!” I called back, my voice laced with a feigned breathlessness. “Rest assured, your sons will have a… perfect crossing.” The silence outside told me she was satisfied. I began to remove my heavy outer robes, my eyes finally taking in the faces of the two men. The one on the left was plain, with the mole she’d mentioned. That was Silas, her son. But the one on the right… he made me pause. He was breathtaking. A strong nose, deep-set eyes, and lips that seemed sculpted for sin. My heart gave a little flutter. This must be the nephew, Elias. His body was surrounded by heated stones. On a whim, I pushed one aside and slid my hand beneath the silk of his tunic. The muscles of his stomach were firm, solid… the texture was shockingly good. My fingers traveled lower… I snatched my hand back as if burned, my face flushing hot. A wicked thought took hold. I would start with Elias. “My handsome charge,” I whispered, leaning close. “We begin with you. I am Lilith. We have sworn the vows, and now… we must complete the exchange.” I was not gentle as I stripped away his funeral silks. The body that was revealed was a work of art. As my gaze drifted down, I drew a sharp breath, my eyes widening. Because I had instructed her to keep the bodies warm, Elias’s body was… reacting. The physical proof was stark and undeniable. I swallowed hard and climbed onto the bed, straddling him. A thrill shot through me. No one knew how long I had waited for this day, to finally understand my mother’s secrets, to feel the power of the “unused Life Essence.” I positioned myself, ready. But nothing happened. I waited. The only sound was my own breathing. I grew anxious. Had I missed a step in the preparations? Just as I began to despair, I felt it. A subtle shift in the texture of his skin beneath me. And then, a sensation… something warm and electric sliding into my very core. A soft gasp escaped my lips. At the same moment, the window creaked open. I thought it was Lady Beatrice, spying, but when I looked up, my heart began to pound in my chest. The true Ritual had begun.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393075”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

During the third month of my cold war with the award-winning actress Evelyn Shaw, we were invited onto a variety show. The segment required us to call the person we loved most, live on air. Spitefully, she dialed her male assistant, Leo. The internet went wild with speculation. I, on the other hand, dialed an unknown number, a line that connected to my mother in another world. The internet responded with a tidal wave of ridicule. Evelyn scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’re an orphan with no one to lean on. What mother? Are you so desperate to save face that you’d hire someone to impersonate her? How pathetic can you get?” I didn’t answer. As Evelyn’s mocking expression twisted into a cruel smile, I rushed to the window and leaped. The System had told me. All I had to do was die in this world. And I could finally go home to my mother. 1 “You’re an orphan with no one to lean on. What mother? Are you so desperate to save face that you’d hire someone to impersonate her? How pathetic can you get?” [Host, as soon as your physical body in this world perishes, you can return home.] The two voices echoed in my mind simultaneously. I stared blankly ahead, lost for a moment. Evelyn, however, thought my gaze was fixed on her and let out another derisive snort. “What’s wrong? Can’t even find one person you love? What a pathetic existence.” Her words triggered a wave of laughter from the studio audience. But I couldn’t laugh. She was right. Since arriving in this world and accepting the mission to win her affection, my entire universe had revolved around her. To complete the mission as quickly as possible and return home to cure my mother, I hadn’t bothered making any friends. In this strange, alien world, she was all I had. The tabloids had even dubbed me “the world’s most stubborn limpet,” a shadow that couldn’t be shaken off. In the years when our love was at its peak, she loved making promises. “Adrian,” she’d whisper, “in this world, I am your family. I will be with you for a lifetime. We’ll never be apart.” I believed her. Until the first time I walked in on her kissing Leo. She’d explained it away with impatience, her eyes, however, were fixed on Leo, dancing with amusement. “It was just a dare from a game. Can you stop being so paranoid? There’s nothing going on between us. Don’t be so disgusting.” We had a massive fight. Then, three months ago, I walked in on them again, emerging from a bathroom together, clad only in bathrobes. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. This time, she didn’t even bother with an explanation. Instead, she deliberately wrapped her arm around Leo. “Fight, fight, fight, that’s all you ever do! Why can’t you be more like Leo? Oh, right, I forgot. You have no parents, no one ever taught you any grace. I suppose it’s only natural you have no manners.” In that moment, I finally realized. This precarious relationship of ours was over. And this mission… I couldn’t do it anymore. Fortunately, the System didn’t force me to complete it. It readily agreed to cancel the mission, even offering me a supplemental reward as a gesture of goodwill, promising to uphold its original pledge to cure my mother. With that, my last hesitation vanished. Snapping back to the present, I lowered my gaze and bit my lip. The System’s voice echoed in my mind once more. [Host, after the call, your mother asked me to tell you that she misses you very much.] A sour sting pricked my nose, and my eyes quickly reddened. Yes. I did have someone I loved. I had my mother. And I missed her so, so much. “I want… to go home,” I murmured, my voice catching in my throat. Evelyn flinched, a flicker of pity in her eyes, but her words were still sharp. “Adrian, your acting skills are really getting better and better…” I pretended not to hear her. I stood up and walked toward the window. Amidst the panicked shouts of the crew and the crash of falling camera equipment, I didn’t hesitate. I leaped. Evelyn, I don’t want you anymore. These five years of love, I don’t want them either. I just want to go home. 2 I awoke to the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic. Before I could even rejoice, a familiar voice dragged my thoughts back to reality. “Adrian, you’re going to jump off a building and threaten me just because I called Leo? All I did was say a few words to you! Weren’t you the one who started the fight?” “If you really wanted to die, you should have picked a higher floor! A three-story fall won’t kill you. What’s with all the drama?” Evelyn’s eyes were shot with red, her face a mask of fury. But beneath the anger, I saw a glint of genuine concern. I stared at her, stunned into silence. Before I could speak, the door opened and Leo rushed in, interrupting us. “Adrian, I’m so sorry. Evelyn was just trying to make you jealous, that’s the only reason she called me. I’ll disappear. I won’t bother you two again.” With that, he glanced at Evelyn, his eyes full of a reluctant, pained struggle, and turned to leave. He’d only taken a few steps before Evelyn grabbed his arm, pulling him back. Her expression was grim. “It’s not your fault. Why are you leaving? I’ll have Adrian clear your name.” She turned back to me, her gaze turning to ice. “Adrian, because your little stunt was broadcast live, Leo is now being crucified online. You have to make a statement and explain things. He’s innocent. He shouldn’t be dragged into your mess.” “Because of you, he’s being called a homewrecker everywhere he goes. You need to apologize to him. You were in the wrong this time, and I can’t just let it slide.” I almost wanted to laugh. Because I was with Evelyn, I had been cyberbullied more times than I could count. No matter how many times I moved, her fans always found me. It was only later that I discovered Leo had infiltrated one of her fan groups and leaked my address, my phone number, my private information. When Evelyn found out, all she did was frown. “Leo wouldn’t do something like that. As my assistant, he knows how the industry works. Someone must have been impersonating him.” Later, when I was cast in a role opposite her, I was viciously attacked online for “riding her coattails.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I gathered evidence and went to the police. When the investigation led back to Leo, Evelyn had simply looked at me with disappointment, taken Leo by the arm, and led him away. “Infamy is still a form of fame, Adrian. This is the fastest way for you to get noticed, to stand on equal footing with me. I’ll help clean up your image later. Leo was just trying to help.” That was the first time the thought of escape had truly entered my mind. But because I loved her, I chose to stay. Reality was now showing me just how laughable that choice had been. Was Leo innocent? No. But none of it mattered anymore. My thoughts cleared. I tossed my phone to Evelyn, my face a calm, empty slate. “Fine. I’m sorry. Post whatever clarification you want.” “When this is over,” I added, my voice flat, “I’m going home.” 3 The System seemed to sense my resolve. [Soon, Host. Very soon.] Evelyn stared at me for a moment, then expertly unlocked my phone and quickly typed out a statement. When she handed it back, her gaze was complicated. “Adrian, after all these years, your lock screen is still that photo.” I didn’t speak, just glanced at the screen. It was a picture of the two of us holding a birthday cake, our smiles brilliant, our eyes full of love. I felt a pang of nostalgia. Back then, she wasn’t a famous actress. She was a nobody, running from audition to audition, working as a stand-in. When my birthday finally came around, she had scraped together all her money to buy me an exquisitely beautiful, expensive cake. “Adrian,” she had said, “thank you for staying with me. I’ll buy you the most beautiful, most expensive cake every year from now on. We have to stay together forever.” Later, when she became famous, she kept her promise. But somewhere along the way, the cakes and gifts had turned cold and sharp. The sweetness was gone, replaced by a lingering, endless bitterness. I spent a week in the hospital bed, and as I recovered, I found myself scouting for a more suitable place to die. The day I was discharged, Evelyn came to pick me up. The hospital entrance was swarmed with her fans. The moment they saw me, the curses began. “Just die, Adrian! Why didn’t you die when you jumped!” “You manipulative, attention-seeking leech! You’re disgusting!” The words went in one ear and out the other. After all these years, I was used to it. Even at industry parties, when I took drinks for her and was groped by lecherous producers, I could maintain my composure, down the alcohol with a practiced smile, and say, “My conscience is clear. I’m not afraid of rumors.” Evelyn took it as truth. She thought I was thick-skinned, good-natured, with a high tolerance for pain. She praised my broad-mindedness more than once. But the truth was, I was simply numb from the pain, so hurt that my face had forgotten how to show it. After finally shaking off the fans, Evelyn’s car pulled up in front of me. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Leo’s triumphant face. “Adrian, get in, quick! Your hate mob is going to be back any second. Don’t let us get caught in the crossfire, haha.” He was teasing, but Evelyn didn’t seem to mind. She smiled at him, an unconscious softness in her eyes. The passenger seat, once exclusively mine, had long since become his. My heart still ached. But it didn’t matter. I took two steps back, hailed a taxi, and went back to the small apartment I was renting alone. 4 I sold most of my possessions and donated the money to a charity for children in remote mountain regions. I had the shards of porcelain ready. Just as I was about to drag one across my wrist, the doorbell rang. Outside stood a grim-faced Evelyn, with Leo right behind her, holding a cake box. “Adrian, are you determined to fight with me? I really don’t understand what you’re upset about this time!” she exclaimed, then sighed, her gaze heavy as she looked at me. It was a look of weary resignation. “Fine. It’s your birthday today. I won’t hold it against you. I brought you a cake. I came specifically to celebrate with you.” She gestured at Leo. “You should thank him for the cake. If he didn’t know the owner of the bakery, we wouldn’t have been able to get one made on such short notice.” In years past, I would have already pulled her into my arms. But not today. I didn’t want to. Leo handed me the cake and wished me a happy birthday. My eyes, however, were fixed on the familiar necklace around his neck. As if sensing my gaze, Leo touched it self-consciously. “Evelyn gave it to me. I saw it and said I liked it, so she just gave it to me.” Evelyn nodded, walking past me into the apartment as if she owned the place. “It’s just a necklace. It was old anyway. It was just sitting around gathering dust. If Leo likes it, he can have it. I never really liked it that much to begin with.” My body went rigid. I stared, frozen. That necklace… I had given it to her when we first got together. It had cost over two thousand, which wasn’t much, but it was all the money I had in the world. It was a matching couple’s set. “I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life!” she had declared. “It’s a testament to our love, it has special meaning! If I ever lose it, you can punish me by never letting me see you again, okay?” Every year on her birthday, she had loved wearing it with me. Last year, she stopped. I hadn’t asked why. I just never imagined I would see it on Leo. Evelyn. This time, your words are finally coming true.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393074”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Max Croft’s secretary was pregnant. At our ninth-anniversary dinner party, he brought her home. His tone was casual, almost breezy, as he gave me my instructions. “The young lady is a bit particular about her food. From now on, her meals—three a day—must never be the same. And she’s a timid thing, needs someone with her to sleep. Pack up your things and move into the guest room.” I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up the suitcase I had already packed and walked calmly toward the front door. The butler tried to stop me, but Max let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Let her have her little tantrum. She’ll come crawling back in three days, you’ll see.” Laughter erupted around the room. Right there, in front of me, they placed a ten-million-dollar bet. A bet that I wouldn’t last the night before I came back like a pathetic lapdog, weeping and begging Max to let me in. But they didn’t know. The Maybach, arranged by him, was already waiting for me outside. This time, I was really leaving. 1 As I was about to step out the main door of the villa, Max’s voice stopped me. “Claire, leave your jade bracelet. Chloe has been having nightmares lately.” The bracelet was the last thing my parents left me. He met my reddened eyes with an icy indifference. “Name your price.” How much was a nine-year marriage, one spent trampled in the mud, worth? I couldn’t be bothered to calculate. I only knew the last time I refused to give my ski goggles to Chloe on the slopes, I’d been stripped naked and left stranded on the mountainside. I took off the bracelet and slipped it onto Chloe’s wrist. “I wish the child in your belly a safe and peaceful life,” I said to her. At this blessing, Max, for the first time, offered me a sliver of an olive branch. “Claire, if you’re obedient enough, my child can be your child.” The words had barely left his mouth when the bracelet on Chloe’s wrist suddenly slipped off and shattered on the floor. Seeing a shard graze Chloe’s leg, Max swept her up in his arms, princess-style, and roared for the butler to call the family doctor. The sight of his frantic panic made the guests look at me with amused, pitying smiles. It wasn’t just them who found the scene amusing. I found it laughable myself. Last night, when I had a heart attack, Max was on his way out to watch a meteor shower with Chloe. Even as I foamed at the mouth and collapsed, he had stepped over my body without a flicker of emotion. The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was his instruction to the butler. “Have the entire living room disinfected. Chloe is coming home tomorrow, and I won’t have her smelling any foul odors.” My grip tightened on the handle of my suitcase. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, his face a mask of cold fury. “Apologize.” “What—?” Before I could finish, he had dragged me to my knees at Chloe’s feet. My knees scraped against the broken jade, staining the white marble with blood. The sight of the bloodstain made his eyes flicker with disgust as he released my hand. “You deliberately dropped Chloe’s bracelet and injured her. Don’t you think you owe her an apology?” Since marrying Max, the words “I’m sorry” had become my mantra. The soup is too bland, I’m sorry. I worried you were drunk and texted you, I’m sorry for disturbing you. I accidentally saw Chloe’s text asking you to a hotel, I’m so, so sorry for invading your privacy… I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, then straightened up with grim resignation. I bowed a full ninety degrees to Chloe, apologizing three times, before turning my deadened eyes to Max. “Is that enough?” I asked softly. His chest heaved as he stared at the blood on my lips. “Claire, your grandfather isn’t here to protect you now. Who are you putting on this pathetic, disgusting act for?” Before I could reply, the family doctor rushed in. Pushing me aside like a piece of furniture, Max led the doctor to Chloe. While his world revolved entirely around her, I walked swiftly out the door. The moment I stepped out of the villa, I heard it. Beep-beep! Two sharp honks. Seeing the silver car outside the iron gates, I quickened my pace. But before the gates could open, two bodyguards appeared, forcibly dragging me back into the house. In the study, Max had me tied up. He ordered a needle, as thick as a child’s arm, to be plunged into my vein. Through the half-open door, I heard the doctor’s worried voice. “Mr. Croft, Mrs. Croft and Miss Chloe both have the rare RH-negative blood type, but Mrs. Croft has a history of heart disease. Forcing a blood transfusion could trigger acute shock. I really think we should go to a hospital to treat Miss Chloe’s anemia…” “Don’t try to persuade me,” Max’s voice was like ice. “Your only job is to get Chloe healthy. I’ll handle the rest.” Hearing his approaching footsteps, I slowly closed my eyes. “Does it hurt?” His voice, for once, held a hint of comfort. “Just bear with it. It’ll be over soon.” I turned my head away, unwilling to waste another word on him. After they had drawn 800cc of my blood, my lips had turned a deathly shade of purple. Just then, Chloe, lying in the master bedroom, let out a soft cough. At the sound, Max immediately stopped the doctor from removing the needle and demanded he draw double the amount. The doctor, sweating profusely, told Max that if they continued, I would very likely die. After a two-second pause, Max said only this: “Chloe is pregnant. The pregnant woman comes first.” “But—” I cut the doctor off. “Do it. Just let me leave when you’re finished.” Staring at my bloodless face, Max’s eyes flashed with cold anger. He opened his mouth, about to demand if I was done with my games, if I was really going to run away over such a trivial matter. But a delicate, honeyed voice called out, “Max, darling~” And just like that, he was gone. Two days later, I woke up in a hospital, having been admitted for shock. The first thing I saw was Max, sitting by my bed, reviewing documents. Our eyes met and held for a long, silent moment. He emotionlessly brought a bowl of congee over, gesturing as if to feed me. I shook my head. “I can do it myself.” He watched quietly as I finished half the bowl. “Are you feeling unwell anywhere?” he asked. I answered with a question of my own. “Could you please pass me my phone?” Perhaps my tone was too distant. Max froze for several seconds before contacting the butler to have my phone brought over. He noticed the numerous missed calls on the screen. “Who’s been calling?” he asked, his tone sharp. He’d never been one for so many questions. A flicker of annoyance crossed my face. “Someone you don’t know,” I said simply. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, looking down at me with cold eyes. “Claire, how long are you going to keep up this spoiled princess act? You think you can push your luck with me?” In the past, when he was angry, I would have immediately started examining my own faults while trying to soothe him. But now, I just pointed to his vibrating phone. “Chloe’s looking for you,” I said, my face a blank slate. A smile touched his lips. As was his habit, he turned away from me and stepped into the hospital corridor to take the call. The moment he left, my phone rang. I answered. Before I could speak, the anxious voice on the other end burst out. “You said you were coming to find me. Claire, did you change your mind?” “No, I didn’t. I just ran into some… trouble.” “Trouble? What happened to you? No, this won’t do. I have to come back myself—” I cut off his frantic stream of words, my gaze dropping. “Just give me a few more days.” Max returned to the room just as I ended the call. He noticed the faint smile playing on my lips, a smile he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. An unfamiliar tightness clenched in his chest. But he had just promised Chloe he would be right back to sing a lullaby to her and the baby. So, he didn’t have time to ask who I was talking to. It was probably that cousin who visited me often. After all, since marrying him, my social circle had dwindled to just female relatives. Picking up his files, Max spoke without turning back. “Claire, something’s come up at the office. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that, he didn’t appear. But thanks to our mutual friends, a steady stream of videos of him and Chloe found their way to me. He took her to banquets, to dinner parties. He was like a young man in the throes of first love, eagerly introducing her to everyone he knew. The day I was discharged, Max posted a nine-photo collage on his social media. At sunset, he stood in a romantic hot air balloon, cradling Chloe’s blushing face and kissing her deeply. I posted a comment: [Wishing you two a beautiful baby and a lifetime of happiness.] Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was Max. I didn’t answer. Half an hour later, after completing my discharge paperwork alone, I saw Max and Chloe at the entrance of the obstetrics and gynecology department. I overheard a young nurse at the front desk cooing at Chloe. “Mrs. Croft, your husband dotes on you so much. He accompanies you to every single appointment. During the ultrasound, he was so worried the gel would be too cold for you that he insisted on warming it in his hands first before letting us use it.” The other pregnant women around them looked on with undisguised envy. I subconsciously touched my abdomen. I remembered a time when there was a child there. The day I had the car accident, the day I miscarried from blood loss, I had tearfully video-called Max. What I saw instead was a naked Chloe. “Mrs. Croft,” she had purred, “Mr. Croft lost a game to me, so he’s currently tied to the bed receiving his punishment. Was there something you needed him for?” I didn’t say a word. I just hung up. Less than a minute later, Max himself called back. He had his arm around a teary-eyed, wronged-looking Chloe as he berated me for being petty and stupid. He had also said: “A useless idiot like you who can’t even hold onto her own child… I really wonder what you’re good for. Claire, you might as well have just been hit by a truck and died.” Shaking myself from the memory, I was about to take a detour when Max walked over, his face cold. “What are you doing just standing there like an idiot?” I lowered my eyes, instinctively explaining, “I wasn’t following you. It was just a coincidence. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” “Wait.” As Max frowned and called out, a flash of jealousy crossed Chloe’s eyes. She tightened her grip on his arm and smiled at me. “Mrs. Croft, I’m so grateful to you for the blood transfusion. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be feeling dizzy. Max, darling, please, can’t you let Mrs. Croft come home with us? Please?” Max adoringly tapped her nose. “You’re the kindest pregnant woman in the world, my love. Whatever you say, goes.” Since I was planning to go back for my luggage anyway, I didn’t refuse Chloe’s “kindness.” Inside the spacious black car, just as Chloe had intended, I quickly spotted a pair of not-quite-dry lace panties wedged in the seat cushions. “Oh my! How did… how did this end up in the car? Max, darling, didn’t you tell me you got rid of it?” Chloe bit her lip and buried herself in his chest, playfully swatting at him. Max chuckled, apologizing profusely, all while subtly observing my reaction. When he saw that I wasn’t angry at all, the strange tightness he’d felt in the hospital room returned with a vengeance. “Claire, you’ve been staring at your phone since you got in the car.” His tone was sharp, laced with something like jealousy. “Are you chatting with your cousin, or someone else… someone I don’t know?” Having finished booking my flight, I turned off the screen. “Just browsing the news.” My answer only seemed to deepen the displeasure on his face. He snatched the phone from my hand. “What’s the password?” he demanded. “My birthday.” Nine years of marriage. Such a simple six-digit number. He tried again and again until the phone locked itself, but he never managed to open it. The rest of the drive was silent. As soon as the car stopped, Max, his face etched with concern, helped a morning-sick Chloe into the master bedroom. Then he ordered the cook to prepare all of Chloe’s favorite foods. As he came downstairs, he saw my lonely figure heading towards the guest room. After a moment’s thought, he said to the cook, “Make a couple of the Mrs.’s usual dishes as well. And set the table for three.” In the guest room, I opened my suitcase to find that all my clothes had been cut to shreds. Fortunately, the passports and documents tucked away in the inner layer were unharmed. Just as I gathered my documents, ready to leave, Chloe blocked the doorway. She held a black bottle, her eyes raking over me with contempt. “Claire, I didn’t realize you had such a high tolerance for humiliation. I’ve moved into your house, made you the laughingstock of our entire social circle, and you’re still clinging to the Croft family like a leech.” “But I guess it makes sense. That old hag of a grandmother of yours finally kicked the bucket last month. Without her backing you, you have no choice but to cling to Max like he’s your last lifeline, right?” At this, she seemed to recall something amusing. “Claire, do you know why Max refused to fly you in the helicopter to see your grandmother on her deathbed? Because he had promised to take me to see the sunset at the beach that day. See this photo on my lock screen? It was taken right then.” Smack. I slapped the phone from her hand and, losing all restraint, lunged for her throat. The bottle slipped from her grasp, and the acrid smell of gasoline filled the air. In the struggle, Chloe frantically managed to ignite the spilled fuel. Thick smoke billowed, and flames roared to life. Having just been discharged from the hospital, I was quickly overcome, my body going limp as I collapsed to the floor. That’s when I heard Max’s voice. “Claire!” It was followed by the frantic shouts of the staff. “Sir, it’s too dangerous! You can’t go in! Wait for security to bring the fire extinguishers!” “Get out of my way! Claire is still in there!” He ignored the danger and rushed into the burning room. He just hadn’t expected Chloe to be in there as well. “Max, darling, save—” Chloe didn’t need to finish. Without a moment’s hesitation, Max swept her into his arms, didn’t spare me a single glance, and turned to leave. Half an hour later, after calming Chloe down, Max searched the entire villa. He couldn’t find me anywhere. In the sterile light of the late-night airport, I mailed a package and, coughing, boarded a flight to London. Just before takeoff, I received a text from him: [I don’t have time to play hide-and-seek. Chloe has a check-up at 10 am tomorrow. You be there too, for a lung examination.] I didn’t reply. I removed the SIM card and turned off the phone. Max Croft, from this day forward, we will never meet again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393073”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was painfully average. Gervase, the boy next door, was the kind of genius that comes along once in a generation. My entire life, I had struggled to breathe in the thin air left in the wake of his brilliance. To claw my way into a top-tier university, I waged a nightly war against textbooks, my eyes perpetually bloodshot. And him? He was busy skipping class to romance the most popular girl in school, yet the best universities were still fighting to offer him a spot. I chained myself to the library, a tireless monk in pursuit of a coveted spot in the graduate program, only to miss it by a single, heart-breaking point. Meanwhile, he’d casually flip through his notes the night before an exam and effortlessly snag the top rank in his department. Whenever my parents reached the peak of their disappointment with me, they’d twist my ear and spit the words I came to dread: “For God’s sake, just look at Gervase! How can one person be so brilliant, and another… so useless?” My early life was a long, suffocating eclipse, completely blacked out by Gervase’s shadow. The moment I graduated, I fled my hometown like a bird breaking free from its cage. For three whole years, no matter how hysterical my parents got on the phone, I never once set foot on the path back home. On New Year’s Eve of the fourth year, I was heading back to my small apartment, plastic bags cutting into my wrists, ready to spend another holiday alone. But there, leaning against my door, was the familiar, infuriating silhouette of Gervase. He looked thinner, his frame casting a long shadow in the hallway light. His eyes found mine. “Why aren’t you home?” he asked, his voice soft. A storm of emotions churned inside me, but I said nothing. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, his gaze darkening for a second. “You should go back,” he continued. “Your parents miss you. And… so do I.” My entire life, I had existed in Gervase’s orbit. He was a star, destined to burn bright wherever he went. He’d breezed through the best high school, skipped a grade, and had elite universities begging for him. Even when he ditched class for a girl, teachers would just chuckle and call him ‘a character.’ And me? I was the good girl. I kept my hair brutally short, sacrificed countless nights to my studies, and fought with every ounce of my being just to scrape by the entrance requirements for a decent university. By the time I started college, Gervase was already a junior. He was already attending high-profile conferences with his professors; I’d even catch glimpses of him on TV, looking confident and impossibly brilliant. Each time, it was a cue for my parents’ tirade. “How can you be so different from Gervase?” “I’ve never lost to his father at anything, but then I had you. You’re my one great shame.” “You make it so I can’t even look his mother in the eye.” Those words were daggers, and they had been piercing my heart for eighteen years. The day I left for college, I packed my bags in silence, hauled my heavy suitcase to the station, and boarded the train without a single look back. After that, news of Gervase always reached me through the filter of my parents’ scolding. I knew which famous mentors were vying for him, how many groundbreaking papers he’d published, and even that he’d aced his finals after a single night of casual reading. When I’d hear these things, I’d be hunched over a textbook in the library, its pages a dense forest of my desperate notes. I’d let out a bitter laugh, silence my phone, and flip it face down, trying to drown myself in the ocean of knowledge, to numb the ache. In my senior year, fate played another one of its cruel jokes. I missed securing my spot in the graduate program by one person. That night, my mother’s sanity finally snapped. She screamed at me over the phone for what felt like an eternity. When I hung up, she sent a torrent of venomous voicemails. “How did I give birth to such a moron! You’re worthless! My life is a tragedy because of you!” Listening to her wails, a final chill settled deep in my bones. After that night, I blocked her number, found a job in a city a thousand miles from home, and for three years, I never went back. Not even for the holidays. Every New Year’s Eve, I’d lock myself in my apartment, put on a classic movie, and sip a Coke, wondering if the countdown special on TV would be any better this year. My only contact with my parents was the monthly bank transfer I sent them. Nothing more. This year was no different. Or so I thought. As I returned to my apartment, my bags filled with soda, I saw him. Gervase. The golden boy of academia, a regular face on television, the word ‘genius’ practically tattooed on his forehead. He stood there in a tailored suit, a sight that did nothing to quell the deep-seated irritation I felt for him. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice cold. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Why aren’t you home?” he asked again, his voice raspy. I frowned, bewildered. What business was it of his? Seeing my silence, his expression fell. “Your parents really miss you…” “If you don’t have anything else to say, you can leave,” I cut him off, making no effort to hide my annoyance. “You’re not welcome here.” “I’ve missed you, too.” His voice was quiet, but the words hit me like a physical blow. He had to be insane. I let him in, poured him a glass of water, and stared at him, my mind reeling. “Do you have any idea what you just said?” He nodded slowly. “Your dad said that when you came home this year, he was going to try and set us up. But… you didn’t come home. So I came to find you.” I was silent for a long moment. “I’m not going on a date with you,” I finally said. “You should go.” “Why?” He looked genuinely confused. “You’ve hated me since we were kids, but I’ve never done anything to hurt you.” “You don’t need a reason to hate someone,” I said, my face a mask of indifference. “Leave. Don’t make me throw you out.” “Just be reasonable…” “I am being reasonable. And I’m perfectly lucid.” I looked him straight in the eye, my voice dangerously low. “I hate you. I really, truly hate you. I don’t care how famous or successful you are, Gervase. Get out of my apartment. I never want to see you again.” The truth is, I always knew he liked me. You just know these things. In elementary school, he’d help me with my homework, tapping my forehead in exasperation at my slowness and murmuring, “You’re such a dork.” In middle school, when his teachers suggested he skip a grade, he sought me out, his eyes full of hope in the biting wind. “Do you want me to?” he’d asked. Before I could answer, he’d pulled me into a quick, tight hug and then let go, smiling. “Even if I skip, we’ll still be best friends.” Then came high school and the rumors—skipping class, getting into fights, dating the prettiest girl in school. I heard it all, but I didn’t care. Not until he showed up on my walk home one day, his face bruised and swollen, his eyes red-rimmed and miserable. “Stella,” he’d pleaded, his voice thick. “Why didn’t you even ask me what happened? Don’t you care about me? It hurts…” The memory dissolved. Gervase was gone, and from the look on his face, my words had hit their mark. The water in the glass was cold. I washed it, sank onto the sofa, and switched on the projector. Predictably, my phone was already blowing up with messages from my parents. They called me ungrateful. “How dare you reject someone as wonderful as Gervase? Who do you think you are?” “It’s an honor he even wants you! You worthless, shameless girl! Staying out there like a tramp instead of coming home! We raised you for nothing!” “I wish I’d never given birth to you!” A bitter smile touched my lips. Sometimes, I wished I’d never been born, either. The day after New Year’s is my birthday. Growing up, my mother always said, “Kids with bad grades don’t deserve birthdays. Only when you’re as smart as Gervase will you deserve a cake bought with our money.” So, before I turned eighteen, I never had a birthday cake. My first year of college, I used the money I’d earned from tutoring to buy myself a whole eight-inch cake. I devoured it, mouthful after painful mouthful, even when the cream turned my stomach and I had to lean over the trash can, gagging. I forced myself to finish every last crumb, as if I could somehow reclaim all those lost years of joy. That morning, as I went through my routine, these memories surfaced, a familiar mix of tragic and absurd. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. “It’s all in the past,” I told myself. I picked up the cake I’d ordered. The baker had followed the photo I’d sent, shaping it into a cute cartoon character. “You’re a kid at heart,” she’d teased. I just smiled. When I got home, my heart sank. There he was again, the last person on earth I wanted to see. Gervase. “You again?” I sighed. He pursed his lips and pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket, holding it out to me. “A birthday gift.” “How did you know it was my birthday?” “Your parents told me,” he said. “They told me to spend the day with you, that you love celebrating your birthday.” I stared at the box in his hand, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. So they knew. They knew I wanted to celebrate. They knew I wanted a cake. They knew about all the hurt they had caused, and they simply hadn’t cared. “It seems they’d rather have you as their child than me.” My voice was flat. “They’d even lie about me liking my birthday just to get you to come here.” He winced, as if he finally understood. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Your mother said you two just had a small fight. I thought… I thought you’d want to patch things up.” He paused. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He didn’t retract the box. “This gift is from me. I made this charm myself. I wanted to give it to you. Happy birthday.” I didn’t take it. “I don’t want it. Please leave.” I said it again, my voice firm. “Gervase, I hate you. I really, truly do. Please, don’t ever bother me again.” That birthday passed in a blur of quiet melancholy. I had planned to light six candles, but after the third, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I looked around the empty apartment. Even with the warm, orange-toned decor I’d chosen, the loneliness was palpable. What was the point? I blew out the three tiny flames, scraped them into the trash, and forked a dollop of frosting into my mouth. The rich, velvety sweetness offered a fleeting moment of comfort. I cut a small slice, cracked open a Coke, and curled up on the sofa to watch a replay of the New Year’s Eve special. The comedy sketches were terrible. I was about to switch to a movie when my phone rang—an unknown number. It was Gervase’s mother. She started with a cloyingly sweet inquiry about my well-being, chattering on until my patience wore thin. “Mrs. Hayes,” I interrupted, “what is it you really want?” She laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “Stella, dear, I wasn’t aware Gervase was going to see you about a… setup. His mentor is actually planning to introduce him to a senator’s granddaughter. Your circumstances… they’re just too different. Our family could never accept a daughter-in-law like you. Even if Gervase approached you himself, I trust you won’t get any foolish ideas. Do you understand?” I was speechless for a moment, then incredulous. “So, instead of managing your own son, you’re calling to warn me not to get my hopes up?” “Gervase is a genius,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “And you… well. Honestly, Stella, I’m saying this for your own good.” “Who the hell do you think you are?” I sat up, my voice turning to ice. “Don’t think for a second that calling you ‘Mrs. Hayes’ gives you the right to lecture me. I don’t even listen to my own parents. What makes you think you’re anything special?” I slammed the phone down. But the rage was still there, a hot coil in my stomach. I yanked Gervase out of my block list and dialed his number. The fury that had been simmering since yesterday finally boiled over. “Are you insane?” I shrieked into the phone. “Is your whole family insane? Showing up out of the blue to humiliate me? What, am I some kind of joke to you? Do you people—” I raged on, a torrent of words, until the pressure in my chest finally eased. I took a long swig of Coke. Only then did I hear his voice. “I’m sorry, I—” I stabbed the end-call button before he could finish and blocked his number again. A profound sense of relief washed over me. Sometimes, losing your mind is incredibly satisfying. Three years ago, when I first arrived in this city, I went to the most famous cathedral and knelt before the altar, making a vow. I will never let anyone make me feel small again. I had been wronged too many times. I was done. Now, I would rather die than let myself be bullied. The dark screen of my tablet reflected my emotionless face, a face so much like my mother’s. I sneered at the image. I didn’t even care about my own parents anymore. Who in this world could possibly make me bow my head now? After the holiday break, my boss announced with breathless excitement that he’d hired an industry titan for an internship. A cold dread washed over me. “Hello, everyone.” Of course. It was Gervase. He placed a tray of bubble tea on the central table, his smile warm and perfectly polished. “I look forward to working with you all.” I stared at him, my face a blank slate. He met my gaze with that same infuriatingly gentle smile, and I had no idea what his game was. This relentless pursuit wasn’t the style of a proud genius. I certainly wasn’t charming enough to warrant this level of… obsession. Where was his dignity? His pride? After being rejected so many times, was he just a glutton for punishment? I didn’t take his bubble tea. I turned on my heel and walked away without a second glance. A few minutes later, he appeared at my desk, holding a mango bubble tea. “This is your favorite. I saved it for you.” “I don’t like it.” I didn’t even look up. “I only told you I liked it because I didn’t want you holding anything I actually enjoy.” He paused, but there was no anger in his eyes. “Then what do you like? I’ll go buy it now.” Snap. I slammed my pen down on the desk. I looked up at him, my voice dangerously low. “Gervase, what is wrong with you? Do you have some kind of humiliation fetish? I’ve yelled at you, thrown you out, pushed you away—and you just keep coming back. Do you enjoy being treated like a dog?” He swallowed hard. “If it’s your dog,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “is that a fetish?” I froze. Beside me, a colleague’s chair clattered to the floor. She stared at me, then at Gervase, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and terror. “You… you two…” “I’m pursuing her,” Gervase said to her, smiling easily. I was convinced he had lost his mind. He clearly didn’t think so. He stood over me, holding the drink, and asked again, his voice gentle. “What flavor do you like? I’ll go get it. Any brand you want.” His tall frame blocked the sunlight from the window, casting me in shadow. His focus on me was so intense, so tender, it was terrifying. A single thought crystalized in my mind: There is a fine line between genius and madness. The office was dead silent. My colleagues were trying, and failing, to pretend to work, their eyes darting nervously toward him. Fine. I pushed my keyboard away. “Let’s go talk. Downstairs, at the coffee shop.” He glanced at the bubble tea in his hand, hesitating. “But I…” I grabbed the corner of his jacket and pulled. The instant my fingers touched the fabric, he yielded, following me obediently. Like a dog that had found its master. In the coffee shop, I ordered a black coffee and tried to keep my voice even. “What do you really want? Can you just tell me?” “I just want to know what kind of bubble tea you like.” He had thrown the other one away and was now wiping his sweaty palms with a napkin. His expression was almost… mournful. “All these years, I’ve never once done anything that made you happy. I just wanted to buy you a drink you like. To see you smile.” “Why do you want me to be happy?” “Because I’m in love with you,” he said, without a flicker of hesitation. I stared at him, my mind racing. It was too strange. All of it. This deeply-in-love act was completely out of character for the proud, untouchable man I knew. “Did something happen to you?” I asked, probing. “I remember you being… different.” “People change,” he said quietly. “Besides, you never really knew me that well to begin with.” I fell silent. I wanted to tell him to leave, but I knew the words were useless. The silence between us was heavy, suffocating. He broke it first. “Give me one month. Let me try.” His voice was pleading. “If you don’t give me a chance to try, I’ll never be able to let this go. Just let me try to win you over. Please?” I still didn’t speak. He clenched his fists. “I know seeing me disgusts you… so I bought the apartment you’re renting. After one month, no matter what you decide, I’ll sign the deed over to you. As an apology for… disgusting you. Okay?” I blinked, more confused than ever. “What are you trying to get out of this? What could I possibly have that’s worth all of this?” “I told you, I love you. But you’ve always hated me. It’s… become an obsession.” He met my eyes. “Stella, I’m begging you. Give me a chance to resolve this. For my own peace of mind. Can you do that?” The reason still felt wrong, flimsy, but I couldn’t articulate why. A fully paid-for apartment in the heart of the city was worth a fortune. He was either insane or incredibly generous. I studied his face for a long time, then sighed. Whatever. What did his motives have to do with me? “Just one month. Are you sure?” He nodded eagerly. “Fine,” I said. “But after one month, you disappear from my life. Completely.” That evening, Gervase followed me home and let himself into the apartment directly across from mine. So that’s where he’d been staying. As he was about to close his door, I stopped him. “Can I call you something else?” He turned, confused. “A different name,” I explained. “Something other than Gervase. When I was a kid, every time my mom yelled at me, she used you as the gold standard. Hearing your name… it just brings all of that back. It’s… unpleasant.” His face paled. “They always compared you to me when they scolded you?” “What else?” He bit his lip. “Call me whatever you want. Anything that makes you happy.” “Then I’ll call you Number Three.” I saw the flicker of pain in his eyes but pressed on. “My ex before my last was Number One. My last ex was Number Two. You fit right in. You don’t mind, do you?” He bit his lip so hard I thought he might draw blood. I pretended not to notice. “Silence means you agree,” I said, turning and closing my door without another word. Gervase had been brought in on the recommendation of a renowned academic, so to keep him happy, my boss gave me a month of paid leave. I didn’t argue. It was the perfect opportunity to deep clean my apartment. I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor under a baseball cap, when he came over. Seeing me covered in grime, he frowned and pulled me to my feet. “Don’t do this. I’ll hire a cleaner for you.” I decided to press my advantage. “I also want one of those robot vacuums.” “Done.” “I’m hungry. Go get me some soup. From that place on the west side. I want it fresh and piping hot.” “Okay.” “And I want some of those green bean pastries. You’ll have to wait in line.” “I will.” Is there no limit to his compliance? “Will you really do anything I say?” “Yes.” He took my hand and began to gently, meticulously wipe it clean with a wet wipe. “Anything that makes you happy.” The man was certifiably insane. I blinked, a sly smile playing on my lips. “In that case… I’m thinking of taking on a couple of college boys as sugar babies. Will you foot the bill for that, Number Three?” His grip on my hand tightened for a fraction of a second. Then he relaxed, his gaze softening as he looked at the red marks his fingers had left. He brought my hand to his lips and blew on it gently. “If that would truly bring you happiness,” he murmured, “then yes. I would.” I was speechless. The man was a lost cause. I didn’t want takeout, so I sent him to the kitchen to cook. Leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed, I watched him expertly chop vegetables. “The toilet’s clogged,” I announced suddenly. “Number Three, can you go take care of it?” He grunted an affirmative, pulled off his cooking gloves, and headed for the bathroom. When he returned, hands washed, I watched him with a complicated expression. “If my mother knew I was making you do this, she’d probably skin me alive.” Gervase was a god in her eyes. And I was making her god plunge toilets. It was blasphemy. “They don’t matter,” he said curtly. “Stella, don’t let them make you unhappy.” That was the third time he’d said that. A thought suddenly struck me. “You seem terrified of me being unhappy. Why?” He paused his work, but didn’t turn or answer. When he called me for dinner, I was engrossed in a movie. It was the climax, the hero and heroine tangled in a passionate embrace. Gervase switched it off. “Time to eat.” “I don’t want to.” I pouted. “I’m not eating food made by hands that have just been unclogging a toilet.” It was unfair. It was childish. I expected him to get angry. He didn’t. He just looked at his own hands with a helpless expression. “I’ll go take a shower. And I’ll cook you a fresh meal. Just wait for me.” My eyes narrowed. There it was again. That strange feeling. He was coddling me, indulging my every whim like I was a petulant child. A gentle, cautious, desperate effort to keep me happy. But why? My eyes landed on an apple on the table. I picked up a paring knife. The moment the handle settled into my palm, I heard Gervase’s sharp cry. “What are you doing?!” My hand jerked. The blade sliced across my finger, drawing a bright red line of blood. Gervase lunged, snatching the knife from my hand and flinging it across the room where it clattered against the far wall.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393072”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When my wife’s chartered fishing boat sank, it left us buried under a mountain of debt. I sold my ancestral home and spent my days and nights diving in the deep, dangerous waters. It took me five grueling years, but I finally paid it all off. As I walked into the seafood restaurant, the last of the money clutched in my hand, still smelling of the sea, I saw her. My wife. She was feeding sashimi to another man, her one true love. The restaurant owner was bowing at their side, obsequiously offering a dish of caviar. “Ms. Thorne,” he stammered, “your husband just sold his last trawler to cover the final payment. About that money…” She wiped a smudge of oil from her lover’s lips, a lazy smile on her face. “Take it, of course. The usual deal. Seventy-thirty split.” She looked at the man beside her. “My darling wants a private island in the Maldives. This should be enough for a few blades of grass, don’t you think?” My phone buzzed. A news alert popped up on the screen. ‘Thorne Shipping becomes the nation’s largest maritime transport company as of 9:00 a.m. today.’ I tapped on the link. There, under the name of the chairwoman, Guinevere Thorne, was my wife’s ID photo. The pouch of money slipped from my grasp, its sharp edge slicing a bloody line across my palm. Five years ago, Guinevere’s chartered boat sank, and we were left to pay for the damages. Three million dollars. I sold our family home and became a fisherman to make ends meet. I had just sold my last boat, the final remnant of my family’s legacy, to scrape together this last payment. And now I find out that Guinevere is the chairwoman of the largest shipping company in the country. Even the boat owner, my supposed creditor, was just one of her lackeys. He was now raising a glass to her. “Thank you, Ms. Thorne, for your guidance all these years. And for letting me earn a little extra on the side.” He lowered his voice. “Once this is all over, I’ll find a way to run him off the island for good.” Guinevere waved a dismissive hand. “A fool like him who only believes in the Sea Goddess? Just tell him she came to you in a dream. He’d probably kill himself if she asked. That’s how I got him to give up his kidney, pretending to be lost at sea.” A chill shot through me, quickly replaced by a hot surge of rage. Six years ago, her ship was caught in a typhoon. Thirteen people died. She was the only one missing. I spent my life savings trying to get the maritime authorities to help, but no one would listen. In the end, I dragged my broken body to the temple of the Sea Goddess and prayed until my forehead was raw. “I beg you, great Goddess, I will give twenty years of my life for Guinevere’s safe return.” On the third day of my vigil, the statue seemed to glow, and a voice echoed in my mind, telling me it would take one of my kidneys to save her. I didn’t hesitate. That night, I was drugged. When I woke up, the pain from the fresh incision was agonizing. But the next day, Guinevere miraculously returned. I’ve been a vegetarian ever since, a token of my gratitude. And it was all a lie. A cruel scheme to treat her lover, Fabian. I was shaking with fury, the beautiful memories of seven years ago swirling in my head. She had been a tourist, lost on the island when we met. It was love at first sight. I was her guide for weeks. Her confession of love was as grand and dramatic as a summer storm. She never once told me who she really was. Fabian’s voice cut through my thoughts again. “How could a lowly fisherman like him ever be worthy of the great Ms. Thorne? If it weren’t for his family’s nautical charts, our Gwen would never have wasted her time on this pathetic wretch.” “Exactly,” Guinevere laughed. “And it cost me a life, too. That old hag wouldn’t budge, so I swapped her cancer medication with vitamin pills. She probably would have lasted a few more years otherwise.” Their casual laughter pierced my eardrums, and a deathly cold spread through my body. When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer, there was an imported miracle drug that could have saved her. It cost over a million a bottle. Someone had offered me a fortune for our ancestral nautical charts. I was tempted, but my mother threatened to kill herself if I sold them. 2 On the third day, she took the medicine I had bought by selling one of our boats, and she was gone. In the blur of the funeral, I never even noticed when the charts were stolen. I had blamed the black-market dealer who sold me the medicine. I had blamed my own bad luck. But I never once suspected that the person closest to me was the one who had destroyed my family. I wanted to rush in, to tear them apart with my bare hands. Fabian spotted me. “Gwen,” he called out, “your husband is here with the money.” Guinevere quickly tossed her designer jacket to the owner, revealing the coarse fisherman’s clothes underneath, still bearing the patches I had sewn for her. She lowered her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Darling, you’re just in time. I was about to ask for an advance on my salary to buy you some supplements. You need to take care of yourself.” For the first time, I realized how good a powerful CEO could be at playing poor. The owner tapped his ledger. “Your wife has been taking advances all year. She hasn’t even settled the rental fees! She still owes me at least thirty-nine thousand!” I tossed the pouch of money onto the table. “The boat is paid for. The rest is not my problem.” The owner clicked his tongue and flung a piece of cod at my face. “You think you can just walk away from your wife’s debts? If you can’t pay, you can roll around on the deck like a flounder. A thousand a roll.” Guinevere put her arm around me. The light reflecting off the multi-million-dollar watch on her wrist was blinding. Five days ago, I’d thrown out my back unloading cargo at the docks. She, on the other hand, had been celebrating the gift of this very watch with a passionate night with Fabian. Her voice was a soft whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault for being so useless and dragging you down. But a thousand dollars… it would take me days at sea to earn that.” A bucket of ice water was dumped over my head. I was humiliated but powerless to resist. As I completed my third roll, Fabian, looking bored, tossed a coil of fishing wire in front of me. “Roll over this, and I’ll give you two thousand.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to stand, but Fabian kicked me back down, the heel of his leather shoe grinding into my fingers. “The fish are more obedient than you.” The owner held me down as I was forced to roll back and forth over the sharp wire mesh. My body was a canvas of bleeding cuts. The taste of salt and blood filled my mouth. I limped back to our shabby hut. Everything of value was already sold. There was nothing left to hold on to. The wind began to howl, and the flimsy hut swayed precariously. My mother’s portrait fell from the wall, the shattered glass cutting my already mangled finger. To pay the debt, I had once snuck into a fish farm during a storm to collect the dead fish, and a wire fence had torn a chunk of flesh from that same finger. The wound had gotten infected, and I’d had to have the tip amputated. And at that very moment, Guinevere and Fabian were entwined on the most luxurious cruise ship, the price of a single night’s ticket more than I could make in two years of back-breaking, twelve-hour days of hauling cargo. Even the protective amulet I had prayed for at the temple, the one I had given her for her safety, had been casually tossed to Fabian as a toy for his cat. “Who believes in that Sea Goddess nonsense these days?” Years of devotion, all for nothing. I didn’t need them to drive me away. I was already leaving. As I finished packing, Guinevere sauntered in, a fresh love bite on her neck. She saw my luggage and her brow furrowed. A gust of wind tore through the hut, sending the thatched roof scattering like a broken kite. She wiped the grit from her face in disgust and placed a tube of cheap herbal ointment in my hand. “I saw you got hurt on the deck. I bought this for you.” Tears blurred my vision. I slapped the tube from her hand. Normally, I would have chided her for wasting money. But I had seen the news. I knew she had booked out an entire hospital just because Fabian had caught a chill from the sea breeze. As she was gazing at the stars with him from the deck of their luxury yacht, did she ever spare a thought for me, sleepless in the pouring rain? 3 Last month, during typhoon season, while I was risking my life to repair the fish farm nets, she was using the salted cod I had prepared to pamper Fabian’s cat. I used to think Fabian was one of the boat owner’s men, that Guinevere was powerless against his arrogance. Now I saw it was her indulgence that had fueled his cruelty all along. “Guinevere,” I asked, my voice raw, “you were the only one who knew where my family’s nautical charts were kept. Did you really not take them?” The sea wind stung my eyes. Her face contorted in a sudden rage. She grabbed a nearby oar and swung it at me. “What right do you have to suspect me?” I instinctively raised my arm to block the blow. A splinter from the oar pierced the old scar on my forearm, a memento from a time I had defended her from a group of thugs. Blood gushed from the wound. She panicked. “Are you crazy? Why would you block it with your hand—” Before she could finish, Fabian ran up, whining that he wanted to learn how to drive the trawler. I used work as an excuse to escape their nauseating flirtation. I worked until sunset. Then Fabian appeared at the port with a group of men. Crate after crate of seafood was dumped into the ocean, swallowed by the waves in an instant. “All losses today will be covered by Caden Thorne,” he announced, his face a mask of malevolence. He ignored the desperate pleas of the other fishermen and proceeded to release a catch of rare, deep-sea oysters back into the water. Guinevere arrived and kicked me hard in the back of the knees, forcing me to the ground. “Apologize to Mr. Lowell right now! With all these losses, we’ll be ruined for years!” But I knew. The value of the entire ship’s cargo was less than what Guinevere spent on a single meal.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393071”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For three years, I was Damian Hawthorne’s pretty bird in a gilded cage. The day I discovered I was pregnant, I overheard him talking to his twin brother. “Damian,” his brother said, “I’ve been pretending to be you, playing with your little bird for so long… she’s not gonna flip out and leave when she finds out, is she?” Damian’s voice was laced with indifference. “Why would she? She’d never give this up.” “Besides,” he added, “it’s not the first time we’ve swapped.” “Just don’t get her pregnant. I find that… dirty.” At that moment, live comments scrolled across my vision, a strange quirk I’d had for years. 【LMAO, the side character is pregnant and she’s actually happy about it. Little does she know, the great Damian Hawthorne has never even touched her. It was his twin brother who knocked her up.】 【Damian only has eyes for the main female lead. Even if the baby was his, he’d kick them both to the curb without a second thought.】 I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I just kept playing the part of the devoted lover for the man who wasn’t Damian. But in secret, I booked an appointment at a clinic and a one-way ticket out of the country. The day he caught me there, he grabbed his brother by the throat, his eyes blazing with a madness I’d never seen. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?” 1 The day I found out I was pregnant, I drove through a torrential downpour to the exclusive lounge Damian always frequented. By the time I arrived, my hair was damp, clinging to my cheeks as I reached for the heavy oak door. Just as my fingers brushed against the cold brass handle, I heard his voice from within, as cool and remote as a winter sky. “Had your fun yet? When are you going to switch back?” It was his twin brother, Julian, who answered. “Not yet. I’m not done playing.” A hint of irritation crept into Damian’s tone. “You haven’t touched her, have you? You know the rules.” There was a barely perceptible pause from Julian, then a slow, sly smile spread across his lips, audible in his voice. “What are you so afraid of? Of course not.” He took a sip of what sounded like whiskey. “But even if I had, you wouldn’t really care, would you?” Damian hesitated, a flicker of something unnatural in his voice. “Of course not. It’s just… dirty.” The private room erupted in a chorus of jeers. “Damn, Julian, you’re even going for your brother’s leftovers?” “Can you blame him? With a face like Zoe’s, who wouldn’t want a piece of that?” “And that body… curves in all the right places. That ass is like a ripe peach, ready to be picked.” “Only a saint like Damian would keep her around and not touch her.” A woman sitting next to Damian let out a delicate laugh. “The way you all talk, it’s like Zoe is a public restroom, open for anyone.” A wave of cruel laughter filled the room. I recognized her voice. Isabelle Thorne, the untouchable princess of New York’s elite, Damian’s childhood friend, the woman he’d cherished his entire life. Someone else asked, “Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway? This is a high-stakes game.” Isabelle’s voice was smug. “They’re so clueless. It was mine, obviously. Zoe probably doesn’t even dream that Damian has an identical twin. You should be thanking me. Without my little plan, you’d never get to have this much fun.” Damian let out a fond chuckle. “Alright, alright, you’re the cleverest one here.” “I heard there’s a wedding in seven days,” one of the guys chimed in. “Damian and Zoe. Is that for real?” Damian laughed it off. “Of course not. The girl wants a title, so I’m just playing along.” Isabelle suddenly sat up, a wicked glint in her voice. “Oh, I have a perfect idea. On their ‘wedding day,’ right at the altar, you two tell her the truth. That for the past year, you’ve been taking turns with her. I want to see the look on her face. Pushing her into the abyss right when she thinks she’s found happiness—isn’t that just delicious?” Damian’s laugh was weary but indulgent. “You’re still such a kid.” Isabelle pouted. “And you’ve been indulging this ‘kid’ since we were little, giving me whatever I want. And you two better be careful. Don’t go and get her knocked up by accident. A girl from the slums like her… she’d be impossible to get rid of if she got pregnant.” Damian’s voice tightened. “Don’t even joke about that. We’ve never touched her.” “But what if?” Isabelle pressed, her tone playful. “What if it happened by accident?” Damian’s laugh was careless, dismissive. “Then we’d just tell her to get lost. Right, Julian?” Julian, who seemed to have been lost in thought, answered a second too late. “Yeah. Right.” The comments flared in my vision: 【LMAO, Julian says he hasn’t touched her, but he’s been sleeping with her behind his brother’s back this whole time.】 【And the dumb side character is pregnant and happy, not knowing it’s the brother’s baby and the man she thinks she loves has never laid a hand on her.】 【Damian is all about the main girl. Even if the baby was his, he’d make them both disappear.】 【I’m shipping this so hard! Damian stays pure for our girl Isabelle, and Julian is just using the side character for practice. This is the kind of story I live for!】 I looked down at the pregnancy test in my hand, its two stark lines a silent, screaming confirmation. Running through the rain, my original plan had been to rush to Damian and share the news. I was pregnant. But now, it seemed, there was no point. 2 That same afternoon, I scheduled an appointment at a clinic and booked a flight for seven days later. The same day as the “wedding.” The timing was perfect. I could collect one last generous allowance from my patron. Since they wanted to humiliate me at the wedding by revealing their grand deception, why shouldn’t I ruin their little play first by simply not showing up? Turn their script into a complete farce. Besides, I’d been a full-time kept woman for years. I’d squirreled away a nice little nest egg. The savings rate had been particularly good lately, almost doubling. I’d wondered why “Damian” kept forgetting he’d already sent my allowance, wiring it over and over. Now the mystery was solved. Damian would send it once, and then his brother, Julian, would send it again. I mentally patted my secret treasure trove. I’d first gotten entangled with Damian in college. Isabelle Thorne was my roommate. She had a cruel hobby: orchestrating elaborate pranks to ruin people’s lives. In high school, she’d had one of her rich friends pursue a normal, hardworking girl, showering her with roses, luxury bags, and gifts. The girl, who’d never seen such extravagance, fell head over heels. Right before the final exams, Isabelle had the friend brutally dump her. The girl was so devastated that she bombed her exams and, shortly after, jumped from a building. She survived, but as a vegetable. Isabelle, meanwhile, went off to Princeton and became my roommate. Her new target became me: the tragic campus beauty working three jobs to support a gambling-addict father, a deceased mother, and a sick grandmother. This time, I was the game. And Damian Hawthorne was the leading man she’d handpicked for me. The prodigy of Princeton’s math department, a man whose candid photos could break the internet, and the heir to the Hawthorne Corporation. A man with a limitless future. She tasked him with conquering me, making me his girlfriend. According to Isabelle’s script, Damian would spoil me rotten with money until I was completely dependent on his lifestyle. Then, he’d dump me, sending me into a spiral of despair from which I’d never recover. And Damian played his part perfectly. He showered me with gifts, expressed deep sympathy for my tragic background, forbade me from working my menial jobs, and surprised me with new romantic gestures every day. But I was a squirrel by nature. Every dollar Damian gave me, I saved. Every piece of jewelry, I never wore. I’d sell them online for a premium. I’d known poverty too intimately to feel worthy of such things. Money, tucked away and growing, was the only security I understood. And I wasn’t stupid. I could feel it—Damian was acting. Every time he held my hand, I caught the fleeting flicker of derision in his eyes. I didn’t know why he pursued me when he clearly disliked me, but he was generous, and I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. I had to hoard as much as I could. We acted like any other couple—we dated, we hugged, we kissed. That winter, I even knitted him a scarf as a gift. The day my grandmother’s condition worsened, I broke my own rule and asked Damian for an expensive birthday present for the first time. I remember how he froze for a second, then smiled. I’ll never forget the triumphant, predatory gleam in his eyes. Like a snake finally flicking its tongue. They thought their plan had worked, that I was finally corrupted. The very next day, Damian broke up with me. Isabelle waited, expecting a show. She wanted to see me break down, unable to cope with a life of poverty again. She wanted to see me cry, beg, and cling to Damian, a pathetic, ugly mess. But she was disappointed. I just went back to my old life—working my jobs, going to class. My routine was just… quieter. I even managed to cut back from three jobs to two. Sometimes, I’d upgrade my instant ramen with a hot dog and an egg, and a small yogurt drink for dessert. I even gained a few pounds. I never begged him to take me back. In fact, the moment we broke up, I deleted his number. Her game had failed to produce the desired result, and she threw a fit, declaring it utterly boring. From then on, she made my life in the dorm a living hell, putting tacks in my shoes or pouring cold water on my bed in the dead of winter. Later, my father’s gambling debts spiraled out of control, and he ended up owing a fortune to the Hawthornes. To settle the debt, he offered me. That’s how I, by a cruel twist of fate, became Damian’s gilded bird. Lately, I’d actually started to think we could build a real life together. Damian had always been cold, distant. He’d never even touched me intimately. But at the beginning of this year, something shifted. He started to kiss me. One night, he came home drunk. I helped him to the sofa and went to make him some tea. Suddenly, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me into his lap. He gently pressed his lips to mine. I was so unused to it, I almost forgot to breathe. He chuckled softly. “So that’s what you taste like. Sweet. Next time, remember to breathe.” That night, he took me. After that, he became more adventurous, more demanding. He hated using protection. He got a thrill out of making love to me when the housekeeper and maids were in the house, forcing me to bite my lip to stifle my cries. The more I resisted, the more excited he seemed to get. He had a strange quirk. When we were in the throes of passion, he’d make me say his name, over and over. “What’s my name?” “Damian. You’re Damian.” “Wrong. Say it again.” “What’s wrong with you, Damian—mmph…” He would press down, a storm of something fierce and untamed in his eyes. The more I said the name, the harder he’d become. Even though he was strange and intense, like a wild dog that needed calming, he could also be incredibly sweet. He’d cuddle, kiss me tenderly, and knowing my stomach was sensitive, he’d cook me warm, soothing porridge. On my birthday, he lit up the entire city skyline with fireworks. As they exploded in a shower of color, he stroked my hair. “My love,” he’d whispered, “let’s make a real life together.” When I had nightmares, he’d wake me, hold me tight, and murmur, “Shh, my sweet girl, I’m here. You’re safe.” Slowly, I began to think I was falling for him. A few months ago, he had me pinned to the bed again, refusing a condom. “What if I get pregnant?” I’d asked. He kissed me. “Then we’ll have it. I’ll raise it with you.” The proposal was his idea. One night, after we’d made love, he lay over me, his voice soft. “My love, stop being my mistress. Be my wife.” Looking back now, it’s so painfully clear. The man who first took me to bed, the man who proposed… it was never Damian. It was Julian. And the proposal? Just the start of a new, crueler game. I had truly considered having this child. But now, it seemed, there was no point. 3 Five days until my departure. I had become an expert at telling the Hawthorne brothers apart. Damian was the cold, brooding workaholic who rarely smiled. Julian was the affectionate, playful one with a small mole on his V-line, visible whenever we were undressed. I had no idea if Damian had one there, too. He’d never given me the chance to find out. That morning, I came downstairs to find Damian sitting in the living room, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, reading the newspaper. “Zoe, wear something nice today. We have guests coming.” The morning paper, the glasses, the icy tone. This was the real Damian. The comments in my head went wild. 【Hehe, today’s the day she officially meets Julian!】 【She’s been slept with by Julian countless times, he knows every sensitive spot on her body, and now she has to pretend she doesn’t know him. It must be torture.】 【That’s how people from the gutter are. They’ll endure anything for money. Our girl Isabelle is so much better, a true leading lady who never depends on anyone.】 【This meeting is all a setup for the public humiliation at the wedding. I can’t wait!】 【Isabelle is such a cunning little minx. I love her!】 I went upstairs and changed. At noon, Julian arrived with Isabelle. Seeing him, a perfect copy of Damian, I feigned a gasp, my expression a carefully crafted mask of shock. Damian made the introductions. “Zoe, this is my twin brother, Julian. He just got back from a business trip abroad.” Julian extended his hand, his smile warm and harmless. “A pleasure to meet you.” I took his hand. “You too.” I let out a small, amused laugh. “I can’t believe it. You two are absolutely identical.” Julian’s expression didn’t falter. “There’s a lot you don’t know,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. Sometimes, I had to admire his acting. After sleeping together countless times, he could still look at me like a complete stranger. Isabelle laughed. “Oh, I don’t need an introduction. Zoe and I were college roommates, remember?” She looped her arm through mine. “I heard you’re getting married soon! Damian and I already talked it over. I’m going to be your maid of honor.” Just then, the chef announced that lunch was served. At the dining table, Isabelle sat strategically between the two brothers. Propping her chin on her hand, she asked me with a saccharine smile, “Zoe, have you noticed any changes in Damian lately?” I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to see me squirm. Fine. I’d give her what she wanted. I put down my fork and nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he has changed a lot this past year.” For a moment, the world seemed to stop. All three of them froze, their expressions stiffening. Then I let out a soft laugh, a delicate blush coloring my cheeks. “He’s become… so much kinder to me. I find myself falling for him more every day.” Damian shot a dark look at Julian. During the meal, Julian casually peeled a shrimp and placed it in my bowl. “Garlic shrimp for my darling,” he said affectionately. “No shells. Your favorite.” The air went still. We all froze. He realized his slip-up instantly but recovered with practiced ease. “That’s what my brother calls you. Slipped out.” I nodded. “How thoughtful of you.” Damian shot Julian a look that could kill. I ignored them, popping the shrimp into my mouth and chewing. And then I frowned. Something was wrong. It tasted… off. Fishy. My stomach lurched. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom. When I came back out, Isabelle was watching me with a knowing, malicious glint in her eyes. “Morning sickness, perhaps?” Two pairs of identical eyes, Damian’s and Julian’s, snapped to me. “No,” I said quickly. “Just an upset stomach. Besides, throwing up is good for the figure.” Damian put down his fork, his smile thin and humorless. “If you get any thinner, you’ll be sharp enough to cut.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393070”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At eighteen, I stumbled upon Vaughn Vance helping a scholarship student with her torn blouse. His expression was grave, his movements clumsy and hesitant. At twenty-six, I married Vaughn Vance in a match arranged by our families. But everyone in New York’s elite society knew he kept a portrait of that same girl locked away in his study. Three years into our marriage, I asked for a divorce. He was silent for a long time before signing the papers. “If you ever need anything,” he said, “don’t hesitate to ask.” Later, I attended a gala on the arm of my law firm partner. A friend from college teased us, “Who would’ve thought the two of you, always at each other’s throats in debate championships, would end up holding hands?” Late that night, Vaughn’s name lit up my screen for the first time in months. “That riverside penthouse you insisted on,” his voice was a low growl. “Was it because you could see his law firm from the window?” 1 A bitter wind rattled the windows, but inside, the air was still and warm. Across from me on the sofa sat a man in a tailored suit, his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of cool command. His face was just as chiseled as it had been at eighteen, his features sharp and deep-set. The only thing marring his perfect facade was a fresh cut on his temple, a stark, angry line against his skin. An hour ago, I’d gotten a call from the police precinct. Vaughn had been in a fight. When I arrived, a woman was cupping his face, dabbing at the wound with painstaking care. I recognized her. Mia Foster. A classmate of ours from high school. The moment she saw me, she flinched back like a startled fawn. Vaughn immediately moved to shield her, his voice tight with displeasure as he spoke to me. “She’s… delicate. Don’t frighten her, Eleanor.” I said nothing, simply turned and followed an officer to handle the paperwork. By the time I returned, Mia was gone. The drive home was suffocatingly silent, at least on my end. Vaughn was on the phone the entire time. He was still on it now, his voice a low and gentle murmur, a caress meant only for the woman on the other end of the line. I had never seen this version of Vaughn before. A tenderness in his gaze, a focused devotion… he was giving every ounce of his patience to Mia. And in that moment, the thought of divorce, once a distant whisper, became a deafening roar. 2 If Vaughn and I were childhood friends, bound by destiny, then Mia was his North Star—the one he could only ever wish upon. We all met in high school. Unlike the silver-spoon world Vaughn and I inhabited, Mia was a scholarship student. She was beautiful, brilliant, and possessed an infectious optimism. The day she transferred into our class, she captured Vaughn’s attention, and he never looked away. I once thought his fascination was a fleeting novelty. That belief shattered the day Mia was framed for stealing class funds. A group of girls cornered her in the girls’ restroom. By the time I got there, the bullies had vanished, leaving Mia alone in the echoing, tiled space, her blouse torn open at the front, her shoulders bare and trembling. I was shrugging off my blazer to cover her when I saw him. Vaughn emerged from one of the stalls, holding her ruined shirt. Mia’s back was to him, her voice thick with tears. “You should go. If anyone sees you here, we’ll never be able to explain it.” “Then we won’t explain,” Vaughn said, his voice steady. “Just… put this on.” They stood in a tense standoff for a moment before Mia relented. But her fingers were trembling too violently to manage the remaining buttons. Without a word, Vaughn stepped forward. “Let me.” His face was a mask of solemn concentration, his large hands surprisingly clumsy as he fumbled with the small pearl button. As he finished, I saw the tips of his ears burn a tell-tale crimson. Then his head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine. A flicker of panic crossed his features before he regained his composure and strode towards me. “You’re here. Good. Help her.” He started to leave, then paused and turned back, his voice low and urgent. “And Eleanor? Keep this to yourself.” I promised I would. By that afternoon, a photo of Vaughn, his hand on Mia’s chest as he helped her with her shirt, had gone viral throughout the school. Vaughn was convinced I had betrayed him. That day, for the first time ever, he unleashed his fury on me. “Don’t think just because our parents have you on a pedestal that I won’t touch you, Eleanor,” he snarled. “You’re their choice for a daughter-in-law, not mine! No one decides who I marry.” I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Believe me or not, I had nothing to do with this.” He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “You were the only other person there. Who else could it have been?” “It wasn’t me!” I lifted my chin, my voice stubborn. “Besides, why would I spread a rumor like that?” “Because you’re jealous that she and I are together.” My mind went blank. “W-what? When did that happen?” He looked at me, his eyes filled with a cruel pity. “I saw her… broken. It’s my job to protect her now.” “But… we were…” He cut me off, his patience gone. “Eleanor, don’t tell me you actually thought all those years I looked out for you meant I was in love with you?” An icy dread flooded my veins, rooting me to the spot. That night, the Vance family found out about Vaughn and Mia. His father dragged a defiant Vaughn to my house to apologize. Vaughn stood there, his jaw set stubbornly, and spat the most rebellious words I’d ever heard him say: “If you love Eleanor so much, why don’t you marry her yourself?” His defiance earned him a hail of fury from both our fathers. The Vaughn of back then didn’t understand the game. He hadn’t realized that I had been groomed since childhood to be a Vance. As the sole heir, he had no say in who he would marry. And so, in the end, he married me. After the photo scandal, Mia transferred schools. After graduation, Vaughn was sent to study abroad. He stayed for eight years. When he returned to take over the family company, he was a different man. The boyish arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, formidable presence. He came to me and proposed. “We’re both still single,” he’d said, his tone matter-of-fact. “We might as well get it over with.” I knew a dynastic marriage was my fate. Marrying someone I’d known my whole life seemed like a small mercy. It was only later that I learned the first thing he did upon returning was find Mia. But she, with all her pride, had turned him down. Marrying me was just his way of getting back at her. 3 “I have to go out. You should get some sleep.” Vaughn’s words pulled me from my reverie. He stood and walked towards the door, his voice softening as he spoke into his phone. “Don’t be scared, I’m on my way. They won’t touch you… Yeah, lock the door. I’ll be there soon.” I stood up too. “You’re leaving? It’s so late.” He barely paused. “Something came up. I’ll be back late.” As he reached the door, I called his name again. He turned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “What is it now?” “Vaughn,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” Instantly, his eyes blazed with anger. He fought to keep his voice level. “What are you trying to pull now?” “Mia was scared tonight,” he said, as if explaining to a child. “She has no one here. She had to call me.” I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “And ‘helping’ means showing up at the lounge she works at every night to play her knight in shining armor? The great Vaughn Vance, getting into a brawl at a police precinct over a waitress. Is that your idea of ‘helping’?” His lips thinned into a blade. His dark eyes held a dangerous warning. “I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight,” he said, his voice like ice. He paused, adding, “And it had better have nothing to do with you.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A cold shock coursed through me. In the three years of our marriage, Vaughn had never been truly angry with me. For a while, I’d allowed myself to believe he’d moved on from Mia, that he was ready to build a life with me. How foolish I’d been. It was all a fantasy. I remembered the portrait. For a while, a painting of Mia hung in his study. He’d painted it himself and made no effort to hide it from anyone, including his family. His grandfather had thrown a monumental fit, which ended with our wedding portrait being hung in its place. The painting of Mia was locked away in a cabinet. Now I understood. He hadn’t surrendered. He was just fighting a silent, private war against all of us. Outside, the wind howled. A draft slipped in from the open balcony door in the dining room, and I shivered. Just then, a shrill, piercing scream erupted from Vaughn’s phone. In an instant, the cold fury in his eyes shattered, replaced by raw, primal fear. He was already moving, a blur of panicked motion towards the door. “Mia, don’t be afraid! I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t you dare open the door for anyone—” His voice was cut off as he slammed the door behind him. The click of the latch was a final, deafening sound, sealing all his tenderness away from me. That night, Vaughn didn’t come back. I sat alone on the sofa until the sun came up. As the city awoke, two messages appeared on my phone. The first was a photo: Vaughn and Mia, walking side-by-side into a hotel. The second was a single sentence: Divorce him. Choose me? I scrolled up to see three older, unread messages from the same number: Eleanor, I’m back. I’m here if you need me. Always. Do you really love him that much? Could you try loving me instead? I blinked, my eyes stinging, and typed back a single word: Okay.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393069”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was our third year crammed together in a shoebox apartment in the city when the storm hit and flooded the place. I buried my face in Jasper’s shoulder, the misery a cold weight in my chest. He murmured that his heart ached for me, then turned around and, without blinking, donated twenty million dollars to the city’s disaster relief fund. I heard the story later, secondhand. A pack of his blue-blood friends were joking about it at a private club. “All those heiresses are throwing themselves at you, Croft. Why bother with some broke girl from the outer boroughs?” Jasper just smiled, those beautiful, treacherous eyes of his crinkling at the corners. “My girl works three jobs a day just to save up for a ring for me. Could any of them do that?” Then, another voice cut in. “But what if she actually proposes? Aren’t you and Delia Duncan supposed to be getting engaged?” “It’s just a game,” Jasper said with a dismissive laugh. “You don’t actually think I’d marry her, do you?” After a pause, his voice took on a chilling certainty. “Besides, Wren will never find out.” He didn’t know I was standing right outside the door. 1 I’d fought my way through a monsoon to find him. My lab coat was plastered to my skin, a cold, second skin of ice, but it was nothing compared to the glacial chill of his words. They were icicles plunging straight into my heart, a pain so sharp it made my whole body recoil. Inside the private room, the conversation flowed on. “You’re right. She’d probably lose her mind if she knew.” “Can you imagine? The pretty boy she’s been ‘keeping’ for three years casually drops twenty million on a donation. You couldn’t write this stuff, hahaha.” “So what’s the plan, Jasper? Just turn her down flat when she proposes?” Jasper lazily motioned for the waiter to open another bottle of wine. “Turn her down? Why would I do that?” he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye. “I’m not done playing yet.” He stroked his chin, a thoughtful, predatory look on his face. Then, a roguish smile spread across his lips, making the tiny beauty mark by his eye seem to burn even brighter. “What do you guys think? Maybe I should break up with her first, just to scare her a little. You know, tell her my ‘three-thousand-a-month’ salary can’t possibly hold her back.” “You’re playing with fire, man. What if she actually leaves?” “You don’t know Wren,” another voice chimed in, filled with smug confidence. “He’s tried breaking up with her how many times? And every single time, she’s the one who comes back crying, begging him to take her back.” Jasper clearly savored that, raising his glass in a silent toast to the speaker, who puffed up with pride. Then, someone else clicked their tongue. “Damn, that’s pathetic. Like some stray no one wants, just begging for scraps…” I couldn’t listen anymore. My legs felt like they were filled with lead as I dragged myself away, my soul adrift. My hand brushed against the small, velvet box in my pocket, and I snatched it away as if it were on fire. Behind me, the boisterous room fell strangely silent. Jasper, who had been lounging in his chair, now sat up. One hand draped over the backrest, the other swirling the wine in his glass, he shot a sideways glare at the man who had just spoken. The air turned frigid. Everyone in that room was part of New York’s elite, but there were levels to that world. The Croft family was old money, with influence stretching from Wall Street to Washington. Jasper, groomed since birth to be the heir, was not someone you crossed. “Jasper, man, I’m sorry,” the guy, Leo, stammered, his face pale. He started slapping his own cheek, hard. “I was drunk, I shouldn’t have said that about your girl!” The others quickly jumped in to smooth things over. “You idiot, don’t you know his girlfriend is a researcher at Columbia? She’s a damn genius. Who are you to talk?” Only when Leo’s face began to swell did Jasper speak, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “That’s enough.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Vance, isn’t it? Your family is in pharmaceuticals?” Leo Vance nodded frantically. Jasper leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. He lifted his glass slightly. “Columbia’s latest research project…” “I get it! I get it, Jasper!” Leo interrupted, tripping over his words in his haste. “Thank you for the opportunity! I’ll make sure she gets all the support she needs!” 2 I stumbled home in a daze, their words echoing in my head. “The girl’s a total fool. She kind of deserves to be played.” “Remember three years ago? Jasper lost a dare and had to go to that karaoke bar and pretend to be an escort for an hour.” “The first few women who came in knew it was a joke. But not her. She actually believed him.” I was a fool. An absolute fool. I didn’t recognize that the artfully distressed sweater he wore was the latest from Balenciaga. I didn’t know the simple silver watch on his wrist was a Richard Mille, worth a small fortune. I just heard his sob story—a gambling-addicted father, a sick mother—and in his tragedy, I saw a reflection of my own past. I looked at his face, as devastatingly beautiful as a Japanese drama star, and my heart melted with a tenderness I hadn’t known I possessed. I had no idea that behind those soulful eyes, he was thinking, Tsk, what an idiot. How could anyone fall for such a ridiculous lie? I spent ages convincing him to leave that life, helping him find “respectable” work. I was just a research assistant myself, barely making a few thousand a month, yet I scraped together two grand to buy him a decent suit so he could make a good impression. All the while, I wore the same trench coat for three years straight. And him? He would just flash that devastating smile, his eyes curving into crescents. “You’re so good to me, my beautiful angel,” he’d purr. “I’ll have to find a way to repay you properly.” Then he’d pull me into his arms, and we’d be lost in each other. He was a twenty-year-old discovering passion for the first time… or so I thought. Once he started, he was insatiable. The walls of our old apartment were paper-thin, and the more I bit my lip to stay quiet, the more determined he became to draw out every sound from me, forcing soft pleas and breathless cries from my lips until he was finally satisfied. He was beautiful. He loved to cuddle. He loved to cook for me. I truly believed we would be tangled up like this forever. I even took on two extra freelance jobs, working myself to the bone, just to save up enough money to buy him a ring. I was going to be the one to propose. 3 On the way home, I passed the subway station Jasper usually took. It was chaos. Firefighters, paramedics, dazed survivors wrapped in emergency blankets… a sea of flashing lights and desperate faces. I stopped, my heart pounding in my throat. My phone buzzed with a new message. Jasper: Angel, my phone fell in the water, just got it fixed. Jasper: I bought you a little cupcake. Almost home~ The message was followed by a sticker of a cartoon puppy holding up a heart. The caption read: Puppy loves you most! For a moment, the world tilted. It took a long time for my fingers to move, to type out a reply. Me: I’m at the subway station. The north entrance on Huang Lane. A few minutes later, he appeared around the corner. He was a striking figure—tall and slender, with skin so pale it seemed to glow, lips a natural cherry-red. Even in a simple white t-shirt, a gray hoodie, and dark jeans, he had the undeniable aura of a star. Heads turned as he walked past. “I told you to stay home and rest,” he scolded gently, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over my shoulders. “You know you get sick so easily. Why would you run out in the rain?” His familiar scent, a clean, crisp fragrance like pine needles, enveloped me. It was so achingly familiar that it stung my nose and made my eyes burn. “I thought you were dead,” I said, my voice a broken thing. I pointed a trembling finger toward the dark mouth of the subway entrance. I thought I would be screaming, hysterical, but my throat felt like a rusted pipe—only a raw, hoarse, exhausted sound came out. “You texted that you were just getting on the train, and then… nothing. The news said the tunnel was flooded. I was so scared. I ran for miles in the storm to get here. They wouldn’t let me go down. I told them, no, my boyfriend is in there. If he’s going to die, we’ll die together.” I lifted my head, my bloodshot eyes locking onto his. “Jasper,” I whispered, the name a shard of glass on my tongue. “When I was so worried about you that I was ready to throw my own life away, where were you?” His long, dark lashes swept down, hiding those ever-smiling eyes, concealing the storm I knew must be raging within them. Maybe this game had finally grown heavier than he’d anticipated. Or maybe, just maybe, he was laughing silently at the sheer, pathetic devotion of the woman in front of him. He just turned his face away, a light, dismissive smile playing on his lips. “On my way to buy you a cupcake, of course.” No, you weren’t. You were at a club with your rich friends, drinking and laughing. You were taking my heart and grinding it into the dirt under your heel. Before I could press him further, he turned his back to me and crouched down. “Get on. Let’s go home before you really get sick.” And just like that, he was carrying me on his back, wading through the murky, waist-deep water that had consumed our street. My voice was a detached, airy whisper by his ear. “What home? Jasper, our home is gone.” Our first-floor apartment in the old building was a disaster. The nineties-era complex had drainage systems that were a joke. When we pushed open the door, we were greeted by a scene of utter devastation. A meter of filthy water filled the room. Floating in the brown murk were the matching mugs Jasper had bought, our slippers, and the pieces of the photo wall he’d so carefully curated… In those photos, we were laughing, smearing birthday cake on each other’s faces; we were holding sparklers on New Year’s Eve, our hands forming a heart against the night sky… all those perfect, romantic moments, now warped and blurred by the floodwater. “Damn it. They’re all ruined,” Jasper muttered, his brow furrowed as he fished the soggy pictures from the water. I opened my mouth, a question burning on my tongue. Was it all just a game? And if so, why did you look so genuinely heartbroken over these shattered memories? But all I said was, “It’s fine. They’re not that important.” “Not important?” He stared at me, a wounded look in his eyes. “If this isn’t important, then what is?” Are they important because they’re trophies from the three years you spent conning a woman out of her heart? I clenched my fists, my lips pressed into a thin line, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. 4 The apartment was unlivable. Every hotel nearby was either fully booked or charging astronomical prices. One clerk quoted us four thousand dollars for a single night. Defeated, we ended up huddled with the crowds in a hotel lobby, leaning against a corner, trying to figure out our next move. I overheard two young women chatting nearby. “God, I wish some billionaire would just randomly fall in love with me and drop a million bucks in my account.” “Forget that, did you see the news? I’m so jealous of Delia Duncan. She’s a huge star, basically New York royalty, and now her fiancé just casually donates twenty million dollars to charity. In both their names! Talk about relationship goals.” Behind me, I felt Jasper’s muscles tense. He leaned in close, his voice a low, wheedling murmur against my ear. “Angel, let’s just pay the four thousand. Please? Let’s just get a room.” His body, warm against my back, was trembling slightly. It was late autumn, and he’d given me his hoodie, leaving him in just a t-shirt. Before, I would have melted. I would have spent a third of my monthly salary without a second thought, just to keep him comfortable. But now, I pinched his thigh, hard. My voice was flat. “You brought this on yourself. You deserve it.” I paused, then added in a light, mocking tone, “If you were like that guy on the news, donating twenty million like it was pocket change, do you think I’d be living this miserable life?” As soon as the words were out, a violent coughing fit seized me. Jasper’s hand was instantly on my back, rubbing gentle circles. When I finally caught my breath, he lowered his head, his lips brushing my ear. He pitched his voice into that familiar, playfully pathetic tone. “I get it. My angel thinks I’m poor now. It’s my fault. I’m not good enough to give you a big house… making you suffer out here in the cold, sick and with nowhere to go. It’s all my fault…” I thought I was all out of tears. But hearing him spin that web of sweet, false sincerity, lamenting how he couldn’t give me a better life—the same life he’d watched me sacrifice for him day after day for three years—I felt that familiar, bitter sting behind my eyes. He was doing it again. Watching me get worn down by life, watching me suffer for him, and then smoothing it all over with a few pretty, empty words. He probably got a sick thrill out of it. “Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “It is all your fault.” He stopped, his face a mask of shock. Right. Usually, this was my cue to soothe him, to whisper, “Don’t you dare blame yourself. It hurts me when you do that, you know?” But now, I turned to face him, my gaze level and cold. “Who else would it be? You make three grand a month, Jasper. You can’t even afford a bathroom in this city. You think I want you holding me back for the rest of my life? Did you really, honestly think I wanted to live in that dump with you forever?” He just stared, completely stunned. For a long moment, he was silent, then a stiff, unnatural smile stretched his lips. “I… I can work overtime—” “I’m just kidding,” I said, pushing him away, unable to listen to another lie. In my peripheral vision, I saw the tension drain from his shoulders, saw them slump in relief.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393068”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel