My master, the man I loved, nearly died mastering the Sun-Shattering Strike. To save him, I traded my body for the royal elixir that mended his soul. When he awoke, he vowed to give me the grandest wedding our city had ever seen. Yet on the eve of our vows, he sent the gown I’d embroidered for months to my junior apprentice’s chambers. I found them laughing— “Three days as a pleasure-barge girl… Who knows how many men she entertained?” Caspian’s gaze turned to ice. “Your body is tainted. I am destined for godhood—how can I wed a whore?” He pulled Elara close. “She gave half her life for the elixir. I’ll marry her. At best, you can be my concubine.” I shattered our betrothal crystal and accepted the Crown Prince’s proposal. On the day the royal carriage came, Caspian dragged me out, sneering— “Your Highness, this prostitute dares impersonate the Crown Princess!” 1 The night before my wedding to another. Elara came to my chambers, wearing the gown I had poured my soul into for two months. Her face was a triumphant sneer. “Avalon, your reputation is in ruins. Everyone says you’re a defiled whore. Did you really think you could compete with me for Master Caspian’s heart?” she gloated. “All I had to do was say I was the one who got the elixir, and he believed me. All your desperate explanations just made you look like a pathetic clown.” Her eyes dripped with mockery, casting me as the tragic, defeated lover. She expected tears, a breakdown. Instead, I simply looked at her. “The gown fits you perfectly,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Keep it. A gift from your senior.” After all, I had no use for it anymore. Elara’s jaw dropped. Shock and disbelief warred on her face. “Avalon… why aren’t you fighting?” I gave a bitter smile. For the past six years, everyone in the Mage’s Guild knew I was hopelessly, obsessively in love with Caspian. If another woman so much as walked too close to him, I would throw a jealous fit. My fellow apprentices teased me, calling me Caspian’s “little bride-to-be.” I was a minor noble, a countess of a forgotten house, sent to the Guild by a cruel stepmother. It was Caspian who had soothed my loneliness, who had shown me kindness. I had fallen for him, hard and deep. For him, I had resolved never to return to my family, to dedicate my life to being his wife, to live out our days together within the Guild’s hallowed walls. But Caspian was impatient. His ambition outstripped his skill. He attempted the Sun-Shattering Strike, a forbidden rite of pure power, and it backfired, twisting his magic into a self-consuming fire. Even our Archmage, the head of the Guild, declared him beyond saving. I refused to believe it. I risked everything, fleeing back to the capital, begging the Crown Prince to grant me the one thing that could save him: a vial of undiluted Sun-Elixir from the royal vaults. Even if it meant selling my body to get it. But when I returned, my clothes in disarray, the elixir clutched in my hand, Caspian was saved. He awoke, while I collapsed from exhaustion. And Elara, my ever-present rival, seized her chance. She swore to everyone that she was the one who had procured the cure. And my absence? Several apprentices swore they had seen me during those days, working on a pleasure-barge on the nearby Serpentine River, servicing men. The rumors spread like wildfire. Caspian’s gaze turned colder, then disgusted. I found him with his arms around Elara, whispering, “Avalon’s body is sullied. I walk the path of a true mage. How could I marry a broken vessel like her? It would be a stain on my legacy.” Hearing those words, I had frozen, ice seeping into my bones. But thinking back on it now, it was all my own doing. I had been a fool. Elara, seeing my unnatural calm, didn’t believe it for a second. She deliberately brought Caspian to my courtyard, pressing against him, their bodies entwined in the most intimate display, all for my benefit. I simply averted my gaze and walked past them. “Avalon!” Caspian’s voice was sharp. “If you’re unhappy, just say it. But if you dare disrupt my wedding to Elara tomorrow, I will not be merciful.” I shook my head, my expression placid. “You worry for nothing, Master.” Not only would I not disrupt their wedding, I wouldn’t even be there. But the two of them weren’t finished with me. Elara’s pale hand snaked around Caspian’s neck, her smile a mixture of caution and contempt. “Master, she’s being so quiet. Do you think she’s planning to steal my gown tomorrow and pull some shameless bride-swapping trick?” she simpered. “Otherwise, how could she be so calm? Normally, she would have torn the whole Guild apart by now to stop you from marrying me.” A flicker of guilt crossed Caspian’s face. He hesitated. “Avalon… although your purity is lost and you cannot be my wife, for the sake of our years together… if you truly insist on marrying me, I will take you as a concubine.” “That won’t be necessary.” Caspian stared, dumbfounded. A faint smile touched my lips. “Don’t worry. I won’t cause you any trouble.” Because I had already accepted the Crown Prince’s proposal. I had just spoken to the Archmage, informing him of my departure from the Guild tonight. In three days, I would be married into the Royal House. I would never have to see them again. “Avalon, in the end, it was Caspian who failed you.” The Archmage sighed, pressing a heavy purse of gold into my hand and offering words of advice. I bowed to him one last time and left the Guild without a backward glance. The next day, Caspian, dressed in his wedding finery, was joking with his fellow mages. “Master Caspian and Elara are a match made in the heavens. If Avalon saw how perfect you look together, she’d surely cause a scene.” “I know, right? Last time, Master Caspian just spoke a few extra words to another apprentice, and Avalon was so angry she didn’t eat all night and smashed the girl’s lantern. A woman that jealous could never bear to see him marry someone else.” Caspian listened in silence, a knowing smile on his lips. As he waited for his bride to finish her preparations, he drank a little too much wine, his eyes occasionally flicking toward my empty courtyard. “What does it matter if she’s jealous? It’s a done deal. Master Caspian is marrying Elara. After all, when his life was on the line, it was Elara who saved him.” “And what was Avalon doing? She ran off to frolic with other men. The sounds from that boat were so loud… who knows how many men had their way with her…” Caspian’s face darkened. He crushed the wine goblet in his hand, his eyes filled with revulsion. “Enough. Avalon is nothing but a broken toy. I wouldn’t take her even if she were offered to me for free. Today is my wedding day with Elara. Speak only of good wishes, not of that faithless woman.” Though he said this, his gaze kept drifting toward my courtyard. But no one emerged. When Elara finally appeared in her crimson gown, Caspian stood up, an irritable edge to his voice. “Where is Avalon?” he demanded. “She’s always full of tricks. Her silence on our wedding day… what is she plotting?” “Master, perhaps we should just ignore her,” Elara suggested sweetly. “She’s probably hiding somewhere, crying because she couldn’t marry you.” “Yes, let’s begin! Don’t miss the auspicious hour!” another apprentice urged. Caspian’s brow was deeply furrowed. He refused to start the ceremony. “Wait.” A strange, inexplicable panic fluttered in his chest. He didn’t know why, but he had to wait. Finally, the Archmage spoke, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. “There is no need to wait. Avalon has left the Guild.” Everyone froze. Caspian looked up, his face a mask of disbelief. “Master, what did you say?” For six years, I had treated the Guild as my only home. Even the year I was so sick I nearly died, I had never spoken of leaving. Caspian’s face paled. “That’s… impossible. What new trick is she playing now? Is she trying to ruin my wedding day for her own satisfaction?” The Archmage shook his head wearily and presented Caspian with a wedding gift from me. “She is truly gone. The child Avalon asked me to give you this.” The moment Caspian opened the small, silken box, the color drained from his face. Inside, two objects rested on a bed of velvet. One was the betrothal crystal, shattered into a dozen pieces. He had given it to me in a moment of passion, swearing it was a family heirloom, passed down to the woman who would be his bride. The other was a letter, sent from a thousand miles away, the year he was on a dangerous mission for the Guild. Gravely wounded and believing he was about to die, he had bitten his own finger and written in his blood: Avalon, if I survive this, I swear I will marry you and protect you for the rest of my life. He had broken his promise. And I had no reason to keep these mementos. “She also said,” the Archmage added, “to wish you a happy marriage.” Caspian stumbled backward, collapsing into his chair. “Avalon is really gone? No… how could that be? She said the Guild was her home. She said she wanted to be buried on the back hill, that she would never leave… never leave me…” Before he could finish, the Archmage cut him off. “Caspian, remember your place.” The old man’s face was stern. “You have chosen to marry Elara. You have no more claim on Avalon. Whether she stays or goes is her own affair. Furthermore, she is still the Countess of Silverwood.” Caspian’s hand tightened around the box, the last traces of color gone from his face. Finally, the day of my true wedding arrived. I donned the phoenix coronet and imperial robes sent by the Prince and stepped into the royal carriage that would take me to the palace. Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside. “I told you, I’m looking for Avalon! She’s the Countess of Silverwood! Just tell me how to get to her family’s estate!” A jolt went through me. I knew that voice. It was Caspian. I instinctively drew back the curtain, and my eyes met his across the crowded street. “Avalon? It really is you!” Caspian’s face was a thundercloud of rage. He shoved his way through the crowd and stormed toward me, yanking me from the carriage. “Parading around in this wedding gown! Have you no shame left?” he roared. “So this is why you left the Guild! To come here and play these games of feigned indifference! Avalon, you are a broken, sullied thing. Did you really think dressing like this would make me take you as a concubine?” His voice was loud, drawing the stares of the common folk. In our kingdom, a woman’s honor was paramount. To lose it was to invite scorn. His public denouncement immediately drew whispers and pointed fingers.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392991”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The senior trip after graduation was where I met Ethan. It was like lightning striking kindling. I fell for him so hard it was almost a death wish. And it was, in a way. It ended when he threw a positive pregnancy test in front of my father. “Mr. Albright,” he’d said, his voice cold and steady, “your daughter is pregnant. The child is mine. And I’m leaving her.” Just like that, Ethan Thorne vanished from my world. It turned out our entire relationship had been nothing but a means to avenge his first love. After that day, my father died. My mother lost her mind. Ten years later, I met Ethan again. 1 I’ve been drinking. Come get me. Got two friends with me. The text was from Marcus. Okay, I typed back, adding a string of hearts and kissing emojis. Marcus is in his forties, but his needs are still… intense. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be coming home tonight. After telling Leo to finish his homework and put himself to bed, I left. Leo is nine now. He’s a good boy. He can sleep at home alone, make his own breakfast, and get himself to school without me. I couldn’t find a parking spot near the hotel. Marcus’s phone was off. I had no choice but to park on the street and walk to the address he’d sent. I heard his booming voice before I even reached the entrance. “Stunning, right? Great body, never complains. Eight grand a month. Cleaner than a hooker, less hassle than a girlfriend. And she comes whenever I call, faster than an Uber.” I pretended I hadn’t heard him talking about me. “Marcus,” I said, my voice even. He spun around. Seeing me standing there, a flash of discomfort crossed his face. He cleared his throat and made the introductions. “This is my old friend, Ethan Thorne, and his fiancée, Rachel.” He gestured toward me. “And this is… my, uh… friend, Valerie Albright.” “A pleasure, Miss Albright.” Ethan shook my hand, his grip firm and polite. Rachel just snorted, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The official girlfriends and wives—they always looked down on me. I never thought I’d see Ethan again in this lifetime. Ten years had stripped away his boyishness, replacing it with the polished confidence of a successful man. In those first few years, I used to fantasize about this moment every single day. How would I react? Would I be incandescent with rage? Would I hate him so much that I’d slap him, or sink my teeth into his flesh? But time and hardship have a way of sanding down all emotion. Seeing him again, all I could manage were two quiet words. “Hello.” 2 They had all been drinking heavily. The car filled with the sour stench of alcohol. On the way over, I’d already stopped to buy three bottles of yogurt drinks and some hangover pills. “See? My Valerie is so thoughtful,” Marcus boasted to Ethan. I’d been with Marcus for three years. He wasn’t a bad man, just had a big mouth. He owned a small advertising agency. He liked to call himself a CEO, but he wasn’t rolling in money. Being able to keep me for eight thousand a month was a point of pride for him. I didn’t see it as an insult. I never got angry about it. In the rearview mirror, I saw Rachel frown, her hand pressed against her stomach. At a red light, I handed her a disposable heat pack. “This might help.” It was only then that Ethan seemed to notice his fiancée’s discomfort. He asked her what was wrong, then had me stop at a pharmacy to buy her some medicine. Rachel’s house was the closest, so she was the first one out. Maybe it was the heat pack, but the initial hostility in her eyes was gone. She thanked me politely and said goodbye. She was pretty, the kind of girl you could tell was raised in a good family. The fact that we dropped her off in a gated community of civil servants’ homes only confirmed it. With just the three of us left in the car, Marcus started getting handsy. He was always like this after a few drinks, acting as if no one else could see, his hand creeping up my thigh. Ethan’s phone rang. “Yeah, I know. Okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up, his voice apologetic. “Marcus, my old man wants me to come over. Would you mind if your friend gave me a ride?” He seemed to know, with absolute certainty, that Marcus wouldn’t come along. When we reached Marcus’s apartment complex, he pulled me into a hug, his hands roaming over my body one last time. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear, his hot breath making me flinch. I couldn’t tell if it was because of Marcus, or the impending solitude with Ethan. 3 On the way to Ethan’s family home, he was silent for so long I almost forgot he was in the back seat. The truth is, I knew where the old house was. We had once kissed in front of its ivy-covered iron gate, a desperate, breathless tangle of limbs. He had cupped my face in his hands. “Valerie, can you feel how much I like you?” If it was all an act, why were his eyes filled with starlight? It was a real loss to the world of theater that he hadn’t pursued a career on the stage. A soft chuckle came from the back seat. “Valerie, are you really this cheap? You graduated from a top-tier prep school. Go ask your classmates if any of them would be caught dead earning less than twenty grand a month. And you sell yourself for a measly eight?” I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That thanks to him, my father, upon learning of my unwed pregnancy, had gone out drinking, stumbled into traffic, and been killed? That my mother, unable to bear the shock, had lost her mind? That I had never made it to my first day of college, my admission rescinded? He would be thrilled to know all that. He hated my family that much. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. When I didn’t respond, Ethan kicked the back of my seat. “Say something, damn it!” Fearing an accident, I pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Ethan,” I said, my voice weary, “what do you want me to say?” 4 The soft click of the door closing still woke Leo. I looked up to see him standing by his bedroom door, clutching a fruit knife, his small body tense and alert. A wave of sorrow washed over me. While I was beneath another man, while I was at the hospital with my mother, this was how my son spent his nights—alone and terrified. “Mom!” A smile broke across his face, and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around my waist. For so long, I thought of Leo as the symbol of all my suffering. If my father hadn’t died, my parents would have surely taken me to a clinic to end the pregnancy. But he was gone. Both my parents had lost their own parents early in life and had no siblings. If it hadn’t been for my father’s students, his funeral would have been a desolate affair. After the funeral, my mother started talking about suicide constantly. In her lucid moments, she would beat me, screaming that I was a shameless whore who had killed my father. Soon, her lucid moments became rarer. She ran out of the house and attacked a neighbor. We paid a hefty sum in medical bills, and with what little savings we had left, I admitted her to a psychiatric hospital. There, she was diagnosed with kidney failure. During a brief period of clarity, she learned of her diagnosis. Not wanting to be a burden, she threw herself from a window. She survived, but she was paralyzed from the waist down. There was no one to take me to get an abortion. Anyone reading my story up to this point would probably scoff. “She was eighteen, a legal adult. Couldn’t she have gone by herself?” The me of today wants to scoff at the me of back then, too. But the truth is, I couldn’t. I was too scared. Before I met Ethan, the most embarrassing thing I had ever done was take off my shirt for a physical exam before my final exams. I didn’t know how to walk into a women’s clinic and tell a doctor I was pregnant. I couldn’t imagine the look in their eyes. Would they hand me a form for a family member to sign? I had no family. On TV, miscarriages seemed so easy. A fall, a cold drink. I threw myself down the stairs, I punched my own stomach, I swallowed a whole bottle of herbal laxatives. Nothing worked. Every morning, I would tell myself, tomorrow. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Those days passed in a blur of caring for my mother—feeding her, cleaning her, enduring her beatings and curses when she was lucid. I was miserable, but the days flew by. And so, Leo grew inside me. I was so thin the pregnancy barely showed. It wasn’t until my father’s colleague, my high school homeroom teacher Mrs. Gable, came to visit my mother that anyone noticed. Mrs. Gable thought I was only five months along and was preparing to take me to a clinic. An examination revealed I was already eight months pregnant. Leo was born weighing only four pounds, small and fragile as a baby bird. Mrs. Gable cried. “Valerie, don’t you know? You’ve ruined your life.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392990”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A thousand years ago, the Luminar clan sacrificed their greatest mages to help the Sovereign imprison the Abyssals in the dark chasm at the world’s edge. A thousand years later, because the Abyssal princess casually remarked, “I’ve heard that Luminar marrow can cure my migraines,” my people were slaughtered to the last. I stood amidst the smoldering ruins of my home, a single thought echoing in the silence. “Mother,” I whispered to the ashes, “you always told me the realms were at peace, that the Sovereign was a benevolent ruler. You said my untamed power was a cataclysm waiting to happen, a danger to this fragile world.” “You had my magic bound, my true strength suppressed. Well, what about now? Do you still believe that?” 1 The day before the massacre, my little brother—still a formless, chittering ball of light—had been begging me to go to the mortal realm to buy him candied star-apples. He was being annoying, and I was about to swat him away with my paw. But Mother stopped me, her voice a gentle chide. “Lyra, that’s your brother.” “He is your closest kin in all the heavens and all the earth. You can’t treat him like some mindless beast.” Closest kin? I was born with a muted soul, the full spectrum of emotions a language I could not comprehend. But I always listened to my mother. I retracted my claws and promised to bring him his treat the next day. He was so overjoyed he tumbled across the ground in a dizzying spiral of light. I watched him, disgusted. “So noisy,” I muttered. But when the first rays of dawn broke, I was already soaring through the clouds, heading down to the mortal markets to buy his candied apples. 2 Now, I stood at the threshold of my home, the sticky-sweet apples still in my hand, staring into a nightmare. The ground was littered with the corpses of Luminars. My little brother, whose bright face had been turned up to me in laughter just this morning, now lay in two pieces. His head was severed from his body, his skull shattered, his brains pooling on the scorched earth. With trembling fingers, I pried open his tightly clenched fist. Inside was the lumina shard I had casually tossed to him on his hundredth birthday. I stared at the shard for a long, silent moment before my voice came out, a dry rasp. “You fool. You’re dead. Why were you still holding this?” “Then again,” I murmured, tracing the cracks in its surface, “the shard is warped. It must have hurt a great deal, didn’t it?” I sat there, frozen in the field of death, from dawn until the deepest dark of night. 3 When Lord Caelus, the Celestial of Mercy, arrived, his eyes widened in shock to see me alive. Then, a slow shake of his head. “Thank the heavens, a survivor. The Luminar line is not truly extinct.” I looked up at him, my mind a hollow void. “What do I do now?” I asked. It took him a moment to understand my question. He sighed, a sound heavy with practiced pity. “Rest easy, child. I will protect you.” “Sovereign Kaelan was… reckless this time. To cause such a catastrophe over a whim of the Abyssal princess… I have already reprimanded him.” “He won’t trouble you again.” The words didn’t make sense. “But… Mother told me there’s a law,” I said, my voice flat. “A life for a life. Why did you only scold him?” At my question, the benevolent mask on Lord Caelus’s face began to crack. A spark of anger ignited in his eyes. “Absurd! Do you have any idea who you speak of?” “He is the Sovereign of all creation! The one who vanquished the demons and quelled the monsters, who bought a thousand years of peace for these realms. He is the God-King!” “How dare you entertain the thought of deicide?” A crushing divine pressure slammed down on me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I opened my mouth to speak, but only a mouthful of warm, metallic blood spilled out. I gritted my teeth, forcing the words out. “You’re wrong.” “Mother told me. This peace was never his alone to claim. The Luminars gave nine-tenths of our great mages. The dragons were nearly wiped out. That is the price of this peace. It wasn’t his work alone.” With every word I spoke, the weight on my soul doubled. I could feel my bones grinding to dust, my very essence on the verge of being snuffed out from existence. Just as I was about to break, the world itself began to tremble. I felt them—a countless, overwhelming tide of my kind, of all the ancient beasts, their spirits rushing towards me from every corner of creation. “Lord Caelus, show mercy!” “Lord Caelus, stay your hand!” “Lord Caelus, have mercy!” The cries grew louder, a chorus of roars and shrieks and bellows. I could hear the roar of a dragon, the cry of a phoenix, the snarl of a great cat… Their collective will formed a protective barrier around me. And then, I sank into darkness. 4 When I awoke, I was in the Celestial Palace. Sovereign Kaelan looked down at me from his throne, his gaze that of a man studying an insect. “Elara’s migraines are much improved,” he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your clan has proven its use. Your existence was not entirely in vain.” “I will issue a decree. You will be granted the title of a Divine Maiden. Do not cause any more trouble.” Ignoring the deep, throbbing pain in my bones, I met his gaze stubbornly. “But my mother said a life for a life is the highest law.” “I don’t want to be a Divine Maiden.” “I only ask that the Sovereign respects the highest law.” Kaelan studied me for a long moment, then a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “Do you know who Elara is?” “If we are to speak of the highest law, then healing Elara is the most important duty in all the realms. A thousand years ago, Elara was a Celestial Goddess. She willingly sacrificed herself, her own flesh and blood, to mend this broken world.” “If we are to speak of laws and debts, then every living thing in this universe owes her their existence.” When he spoke of Elara, his eyes shone with a brilliant, fervent light. It was the same light I used to see in my father’s eyes when he looked at my mother. I lowered my head and said nothing more. I tried to think, to understand if what he said was true. But my mind is simple, and after a long time, I still couldn’t grasp it. If only Mother were here. She would have told me if he was right. Kaelan seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. He waved a hand, a gesture of dismissal. But I didn’t move. I stubbornly believed that the deaths of my mother, my father, my little brother, my uncles and aunts… they couldn’t just be forgotten. He was beginning to get annoyed. “What more do you want?” I thought for a moment, then held fast to the one truth I understood. “A life for a life.” The instant the words left my mouth, a bolt of pure energy slammed into me, throwing me across the polished floor. I coughed up a pool of blood. Kaelan’s voice dripped with scorn. “You are an ant. Only the strong have the right to speak their desires. Only the strong hold the power of life and death.” “And truth? Truth has always been a luxury of the victor.” I clutched my chest and staggered to my feet, nodding numbly. So, I have to be stronger than him to kill him. So, as long as I’m stronger than him, I can kill him. He should have just said so from the start. It would have saved me so much time. What a pity. My mother never taught me that might makes right. She only ever told me to win others over with reason. 5 As I stumbled out of the throne room, clutching my chest, I bumped into a woman in a green dress, her face alight with a joyful smile. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up. She threw herself at Kaelan. “Oh, Kaelan! There’s still one more Luminar!” “Quick, carve her brain out for me!” “Do it while she’s alive! The last one, the little one with the fiery crest, I ate him while he was still alive, you know. The effect was so much better!” Her words hung in the air. I couldn’t stop myself. I turned my head and looked at him. In the entire Luminar clan, only my little brother had a fiery crest on his head. Kaelan stroked her hair, his voice dripping with affection. “This is the last Luminar in the world, my love.” “We cannot kill her. Otherwise, the other beasts will be difficult to control.” Elara pouted. “It’s just one animal. What’s the big deal?” I didn’t listen to another word. I limped out of the celestial realm, my body a vessel of cold, hollow pain. Mother, you used to tell me that the gods loved all their children. But why… why does it feel so different from what you said? 6 When I returned to the mortal realm, Lord Dragon and Lady Phoenix were waiting for me at my ruined home. When they saw me return, battered and broken, they both trembled with a silent, helpless rage. Then, they sighed, their anger collapsing into grief. Lady Phoenix stroked my hair. “Lyra, child. Don’t provoke them again.” “Just live. Please, just live.” I looked at her, uncomprehending. “Why?” “Shouldn’t a life be paid for with a life?” “No,” she said, shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Living is what matters most.” “Lyra, you are the last of the Luminars. You are the last drop of their blood. Nothing is more important than your survival.” “Your mother… she would not have wanted you to seek revenge.” “She would only have wanted you to live.” I said nothing more. I turned, found a shovel, and began to dig. My father, my mother, my foolish little brother… they deserved a proper burial. As I held my brother’s severed head, I remembered Elara’s words—that she’d had his brain carved out while he was still alive. It must have hurt so much. It must have hurt terribly. No wonder the lumina shard in his hand was cracked and bent out of shape. This morning he was a vibrant, chittering life. Now he was as cold as a block of ice. No one would ever chirp “sister, sister” at me again. It was so quiet. Yes, it was quiet, but… it was too quiet. A gust of wind blew past, and my eyes stung. Why were there tears? Mother said I was born with a muted soul. It must have been the wind. Yes, that’s all it was… 7 After burying my parents, I leaned against the stone marker I’d erected. I began to talk, my words a low murmur. “Mother, you told me the realms were at peace, that the Sovereign was benevolent.” “What about now? Do you still believe that?” “Mother, I still believe a life should be paid for with a life.” “Mother, I’m going to the Whispering Glade. I’m going to take back the other half of my power.” “Mother, I don’t want to listen to you anymore.” “Mother, you can’t blame me for this…” “Mother… I just… I miss you a little. And I miss my brother, too.” “Mother…”

It was my son’s eighteenth birthday. He made a wish for his grandparents to live long and healthy lives. He wished for his father’s success at work. When it was my turn, I looked at him with anticipation. He knew that more than anything, I just wanted to be healthy. Instead, he shot me a glare. “I wish for you to get a divorce and stay away from us.” I was stunned into silence. My husband, Patrick, just laughed at me. “Well, that’s what you get for being so strict with him all the time. Serves you right!” Later, my son emigrated, taking the entire family with him—everyone except me. When I begged him, he shook my hand away. “I’ve already found a new, gentler partner for Dad. Don’t you dare show up and ruin things!” And so, I died alone of a preventable illness in a cramped, tiny room. When I woke up, I was back on the day of my son’s eighteenth birthday. 1 When the building management found me, maggots had already started to fester on my legs. I was barely breathing, hanging on by a single thread. For the first time, my small apartment was full of people. Management staff, social workers. A young caregiver gently fed me, urging me to keep fighting. Someone questioned, “This illness wasn’t hard to treat in the beginning. How did it get this bad? Where’s her family?” I couldn’t speak. They recognized my son from the photos covering the walls. “Wow, her son is that famous? The renowned entrepreneur, on the list of the wealthiest people.” “That’s strange. Why didn’t he take her with him when he emigrated? In his last interview, he said his whole family was by his side.” Soon, they managed to contact him. I struggled to lift my head, trying to get a clear look at the man on the screen. It had been nearly twenty years since I’d last seen him. He was a fifty-year-old man now, but in my eyes, he was still the boy I remembered. With every ounce of strength I had left, I managed to whisper his name. “Danny…” He frowned. “Why aren’t you dead yet?” Then, he hung up. A volunteer called him back. “How could you say that? Your mother is holding on by a thread just to see you one last time. The doctor says she doesn’t have much time. Shouldn’t you come back and handle her final affairs?” An impatient “Tsk” came from the other end. “Let me be honest with you. She’s just some old woman to me, a stranger. Whether she lives or dies has nothing to do with me. Bury her, scatter her ashes in the sea, I don’t care. Just stop bothering me.” Tears welled in my eyes. Flashes of memory flickered before me. My son’s life, from infancy to adulthood, replayed in my mind. Suddenly, one scene froze. I blinked, disoriented. I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, my face young again. 2 It took me a long moment to realize I had been reborn. Today was my son, Daniel’s, eighteenth birthday. Outside, the air was filled with joyous laughter—a picture of a loving father and a devoted son. In my hands, I held a birthday gift. It was an acceptance letter to a prestigious leadership camp in the United States, something I had pulled every string, exhausted every connection, and swallowed every ounce of my pride to get for him. The attendees were all children of the rich and powerful; being smart was merely the minimum requirement. In my past life, this camp was the opportunity that connected him with the right people, paving the way for his future success. “Eliza, what’s taking you so long? Daniel is about to make his wishes!” Hearing my husband’s call, I walked out. Just like before, my presence was like a blast of cold air, chilling the warm atmosphere in an instant. Daniel shot me a cool glance before clasping his hands together to make his wish. “Please, please let my grandparents live to be a hundred! “And please let my dad’s career be successful, with promotions and a seven-figure salary!” The three adults clapped, their faces beaming with pride, and presented their gifts. His grandparents gave him a basketball. His father gave him a pair of sneakers. Daniel accepted them gratefully, planting a kiss on each of their cheeks. The next second, he was about to blow out the candles. My mother-in-law pressed his hand down and shot me a look, an expression that screamed: If you don’t make a wish for her, she’ll throw another one of her fits. So, just like in my past life, Daniel reluctantly clasped his hands together again. “I wish for my mom and dad to get a divorce, and for this plague of a mother to get far, far away from us! It would be best if she never appeared in our lives again!” The exact same words. But this time, my reaction was different. I didn’t break down, I didn’t cry and ask him why. I didn’t kneel and offer him the gift in my hands, trying to win his favor. Patrick just laughed. “Well, serves you right for being so strict. Now he doesn’t like you!” My in-laws joined in with their own barbs. “A child knows when he’s grown. He knows his grandparents and his father are the ones who truly love him, not like some people who pretend they’re doing what’s best for the child while actually abusing him.” “If his mother was a gentle woman, our Danny would be even more successful!” I nodded. “Alright. Since it’s your birthday wish, I have no reason not to grant it. Let’s get a divorce.” The chatter stopped abruptly. Then, all four of them pursed their lips, trying to stifle their smirks. Patrick crossed his legs, teasing me. “Sure, whatever. It’s the first time I’ve seen you so agreeable. We can go handle the paperwork tomorrow.” I shook my head. “No, I’m busy tomorrow.” They laughed even louder. Daniel, with a look of smug certainty, sneered, “Here come the excuses. You don’t want a divorce at all. You’re just a control freak, a shrew!” I looked them straight in the eye. “What I mean is, it’s only noon. We don’t have to wait until tomorrow. We can get the divorce finalized this afternoon.” My mother-in-law glared at me. “Stop pretending. I’d sooner believe the sky is falling than believe you’d actually go through with a divorce! Just give Danny his gift!” She reached over and snatched the envelope from my hand. Daniel took it, tore it open carelessly, and muttered, “It’s so flat. Must be some cheap piece of junk. I don’t want it!” He ripped the packaging open with a violent tug. An admission ticket, sealed in a plastic sleeve, fluttered out. When he saw what it was, his eyes lit up like the sun. “It’s a ticket to the Saen Leadership Camp!” I snatched the ticket back. “Since you don’t want me as your mother anymore, you don’t get to have my things.” 3 The smiles vanished from their four faces. Patrick pointed a finger at me. “Are you serious? Always blowing things out of proportion! He’s your son! Who else would you give it to?” My mother-in-law’s words were laced with poison. “She must have a lover on the side. You can take the girl out of the sticks, but you can’t take the sticks out of the girl!” I’d heard those words countless times in my past life. Each time, they brought me to tears. But I endured it all, just so my son could have a complete family. In the end, my endurance became a joke. If that’s the case, why should I endure anything anymore? “Cut the crap. Are we getting a divorce or not?” Just as Patrick was about to speak, Daniel leaped to his feet, pointing and screaming at me. “To hell with you, you old hag! Divorce! Dad, divorce her! What’s the big deal about one stupid ticket? If you can get one, don’t you think Dad can? Or Grandma?” His nostrils flared with rage, his eyes like a wolf’s, burning with fury. Ever since he could remember, he’d said things like this. His dad was a sales manager who made good money. His grandparents were retired teachers, educated people. I was the only one from a small town with a community college degree, uncultured and empty-headed. All four of them treated my years of devotion as if they were nothing. I always thought, It’ll be better when he’s older. It’ll be better when he sees the world. Then he would understand how much I’d done for him. So, in my past life, I used this ticket to send him out to see that wider world. In the end, all I got in return was to be sent to a rundown building, to live out my final days in a semi-basement studio apartment. How pathetic. Hearing his words again, I didn’t argue. I just nodded. “Of course. They’re so capable, they can definitely get one.” The expressions on the other three changed. They looked like they wanted to say something but couldn’t. I took a deep breath. “Marital assets, fifty-fifty split. You get custody of the child. That’s it.” I walked into the bedroom to pack my things, not wanting to stay a second longer. Daniel was still shouting outside. My in-laws were coddling him like a little emperor, and their method of comfort was to tear me down. “Mommy is vicious, Mommy is bad. She’ll get what’s coming to her. Don’t be angry, Danny, it’s not good for you.” “Your mom would never leave you. She’s just saying that. You’re her only child. How could she survive without you? A small-town woman like her, so old-fashioned, she can’t make it on her own.” Daniel was still yelling. “I just don’t want her as my mom! Damn it, can’t she just go die?” A pang of pain still shot through my heart. By the time I had packed two large suitcases, it was quiet outside. Patrick opened the door. Hands in his pockets, he looked down at me with a smirk. “Putting on a good show, aren’t you? Fine, you want to act? Let’s go. We’ll go get divorced right now.” I pulled out my ID and marriage certificate. “Let’s go.” His smile froze. “You want a divorce? Fine. You leave with nothing, and I’ll sign. How about that?” I laughed. “Oh, so you don’t want me to leave after all. You’re just trying to provoke me into staying?” “Me, not want you to leave? What a joke! Where would you even go without us? Fifty-fifty, you said? Fine! I’ll give it to you! Don’t you dare back down now!” 4 It was only at the registrar’s office that I understood why Patrick had been so bold. He had transferred ninety percent of our marital assets. Even the house was in his parents’ names. My half of the remaining assets amounted to less than three thousand dollars. He signed the papers without hesitation. I sighed. I really didn’t want to waste any more time on them. I picked up the pen and signed my name just as quickly. Patrick’s expression shifted. “You’ll regret this impulsive little act of yours. You’re the one who’s going to suffer. Let’s see how you win back your son now! I’m not withdrawing this application unless you kneel and beg me. Just wait thirty days until you’re officially kicked out of my house!” He glanced down at my knees, expecting me to drop and apologize. After all, this had happened many times before. He would force me to file for divorce, then use our son to threaten me into kneeling and begging him to withdraw it. In the past, for Daniel’s sake, I could never go through with it. This time, I stood up, gave his knee a sharp kick, and walked out. He chased after me, calling me a “vicious hag.” I ignored him. I listened to his curses all the way home. The moment I opened the door, I sensed something was off. My in-laws were whispering to Daniel, nudging him forward. The next second, he walked toward me, his face a mask of resentment. “Hey. Give me the ticket, and I’ll forget what you did. I’ll… graciously let you continue being my mom.” I smiled and shook my head. “No need to be gracious. I quit.” He looked ready to explode. My mother-in-law quickly restrained him and showed me his glasses. “Eliza, stop this nonsense. Look how thick his glasses are. You know better than anyone how hard he’s worked for this. If he misses this chance to study abroad, he’ll have to take the standard exams like everyone else here and live a normal, hopeless life.” I raised an eyebrow. “How could that be? You and his father are so capable. You’ll find a way to get a ticket, won’t you?” They frowned. Patrick yelled, “If you can do it, of course we can! But we’re busy, we don’t have time. Besides, you already have one. If we don’t use it, you’ll just accuse us of hurting your feelings later!” Four pairs of eyes were locked on the ticket in my hand. I looked at my son’s stubborn, arrogant expression, and at the glasses that were indeed much thicker than last year’s. My heart softened, just for a moment. Fine. This is the last time. I took out the ticket and handed it to him. “From now on, we are even.” He snatched it away with a huff. “So dramatic! Now hurry up and go make some ice cream. I want blueberry! Otherwise, I’ll tell Dad to really divorce you!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392989”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My university roommates knew I was a yoga teacher, so they asked me to lead them in some classes. Ten dollars a session, four times a week. Then one day, no one showed up. No one would even answer my texts. That’s when I found out my best friend, Jessica, had stolen my little business. She was only charging eight dollars a class. But Jessica had only taken a handful of classes with me. She didn’t understand the first thing about yoga principles. Sure enough, a few sessions later, her aggressive hands-on adjustment broke a classmate’s leg. 1 Not a single person came to my class today. The dance studio, usually packed, was completely empty. A wave of disappointment washed over me. Was there some school event I didn’t know about? I packed up my mat and props and headed back to the dorm. When I got there, I found them all, already looking like they’d just finished a yoga session. I stood frozen at the door. “You didn’t come to my class. Where did you practice?” An outside yoga studio charges over a hundred dollars for a single class. Wasn’t my ten-dollar fee a much better deal? But no one even looked at me. They exchanged awkward glances and scattered. I suddenly felt like a complete fool. I grabbed my roommate, Lily, by the arm. “Lily, what’s going on? Did I do something wrong?” Lily turned her head, glaring at me angrily as she wrenched her hand free. “Get lost! And to think I called you a friend! You’re such a scammer!” I was utterly confused. “I didn’t do anything.” Lily took a step closer, her neck craned. “Didn’t do anything? You tell me! How much does an outside yoga teacher charge for one class?” This was a question I was more than qualified to answer. My family owns a chain of yoga studios. My mom and my aunt are both certified Iyengar instructors. I started training with them professionally at a young age. By the time I was in high school, I was already a qualified advanced yoga instructor. I rushed to explain. “For a corporate class of fifteen people, an instructor at a studio charges around $300 a session!” “Bullshit!” Lily shoved me, furious. “We looked it up! A yoga teacher’s fee is $100, max!” How was that possible? Where did she get that information? My heart pounded with anxiety. “My family’s…” “Your family’s what? Stop bragging! We checked! That ‘Serenity Yoga’ studio you talked about? It’s not yours! The legal owner’s last name is Chen!” Lily stormed off without giving me another chance to explain. But the registered legal representative of Serenity Yoga… was my grandmother. 2 Watching Lily’s angry retreat, a wave of hurt washed over me. She wasn’t a malicious person. Lily was straightforward, cheerful, and even a little naive. This wasn’t the first time she’d been used as someone’s pawn. This whole thing definitely didn’t start with her. Then who? My eyes fell on my best friend Jessica’s desk. There were several newly purchased, obscure-looking yoga books on it. A suspicion began to form in my mind. Just then, Jessica walked in carrying a washbasin. The moment she saw me, a flicker of something unreadable—shame and greed—crossed her eyes. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual bright smile. “Hey, sweetie, when did you get back?” I stared at her, silent. She put down the basin and took my hand. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” Tears suddenly started streaming down my face. She was my best friend. Seeing her like this, my sense of betrayal reached its peak. “Jess, did you…” Before I could finish, seven or eight other students stormed into our room. The one in the lead, Maya, yelled furiously, “So, Joyce’s back! You money-grubbing piece of trash! Ripping off your own classmates!” “Yeah! Were you raised by wolves? No manners at all?” I stumbled backward, terrified. Jessica ducked behind the crowd of students. Maya got right in my face, her expression menacing. “Joyce! You said you’d contact the factory for us, that you got us the cheapest yoga mats. Have you no shame?” I was trembling with anger. “The factory price was $68! And they threw in yoga blocks and a stretching strap for free.” Maya hurled two yoga blocks at my face. “Who wants your crappy, defective freebies! Take them back!” “Yeah! ‘Free gifts’? More like charity handouts.” Blood gushed from my nose. A flicker of fear crossed a few of their faces, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. I pulled out a few tissues and pressed them to my nostrils. “I have the chat logs with the factory owner,” I sobbed. “You can look at them.” “Pah! Chat logs can be faked! You’re all in on it together! Who would believe you!” Maya pointed a finger at me. “I’m telling you, stop playing the victim! Refund our money for the mats right now!” “Yeah! Refund!” “And refund the extra fees you charged us for the classes!” 3 The tears wouldn’t stop. “Fine! I’ll refund it! I don’t want friends like you anyway!” “Who wants to be friends with you, you greedy pig!” “Haha, yeah, that’s right! From now on, we’ll call her Greedy Joyce!” My nose was still bleeding, and I felt dizzy. “Give… give me back the… the yoga blocks and straps I gave you.” Maya laughed. “You scammed us. We’re keeping those as compensation.” “You’re going too far! You know how much yoga mats cost in the stores.” I cried, replacing the blood-soaked tissues. “Then how did Jessica find us mats for only $38?” At that, my heart sank. The tears stopped instantly. I looked up, past the crowd, to my dear friend, my best friend. Her eyes darted around before she pushed her way through the group. “Alright, everyone, calm down. Even if Joyce did something wrong, she did teach us for a while. We should be grateful for that.” “Grateful? For what? For overcharging us?” “Yeah, we’re all poor students. She’s so calculating, her heart must be black!” Jessica stood in front of me, as if defending me. “She’s been punished, hasn’t she? Look, she’s bleeding.” “Serves her right!” “Fine. For Jessica’s sake, we won’t kill you today.” Maya tilted her head at me. “But I’m telling you, you’d better refund our money before we go to bed tonight!” The group of them swarmed out of the room. Someone turned back to ask, “Jess, what time is class tomorrow?” Jessica shot a nervous glance at me, then whispered, “I’ll post a notice in the group chat. Just wait for it.” Then she too scurried out of the room. Lily, who had been silent this whole time, had her fists clenched tightly. Looking like she’d made a decision, she walked over to me. She handed me a warm towel. “Joyce… no matter what you did, I should have helped you just now. I didn’t know they would get physical.” I pushed the towel away. Lily looked crestfallen. I forced a smile. “This is all evidence. I can’t wipe it away.” “I’m sorry, Joyce. I was watching them. If anyone had tried to touch you again, I would have fought them.” Finally, a kind word all night. I shook my head at her. “I’m fine.” Then, I gathered all the bloody tissues, didn’t change my clothes, and called my mom. “Mom, call the police. I’ve been assaulted.” 4 Lily offered to walk with me, but I refused. She said, her voice filled with unease, “Joyce, maybe I misunderstood you. Just now, I didn’t see a single ounce of guilt in your eyes. Only fear and disappointment.” “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why should I feel guilty?” She nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, that’s right. But Jessica, on the other hand… her eyes were darting all over the place, like she was hiding something.” I gave a tired smile. Lily was finally thinking for herself. She grabbed my wrist. “Joyce! She was lying, I’m so sorry. But when I heard what she said about you, I was just so angry.” I patted the back of her hand. “Just take care of yourself.” A small smile finally appeared on her face. “What do you mean?” “When you go to her yoga class, don’t push yourself too hard.” “Okay, okay, don’t worry!” Just then, my mom called. “Joyce, come downstairs. We’re going straight to the police station.” I grabbed all my evidence and ran downstairs. As I passed the room next door, Maya spotted me. “Are you crazy, running out in the middle of the night?” she yelled. Then I heard Jessica’s shout from behind her. “Don’t let her get away! She’s trying to skip out on the refund! Everyone, after her!” I had just reached the second floor when I heard the thunder of footsteps behind me, like a mob chasing a thief. “Damn it, Joyce! Give us our money back!” “Refund! Don’t let her get away!” I reached the ground floor and sprinted for the east gate where my mom’s car was parked. I jumped in and slammed the door shut, watching as the girls stood there, furious, yelling curses at me. Jessica, out of breath, glared at me with pure hatred. A chill ran down my spine. Jessica was a scholarship student. She had once complained to me, “This world is so unfair. Some people have to walk miles to get to school, while others are born riding in cars.” At the time, I wanted to comfort her. But her next words stuck in my throat like a fishbone. “All rich people should just die!” 5 Jessica hid her true self so well. From the very beginning, she was never genuinely interested in just exercising. She had said that classes were tiring, that everyone’s necks were about to break. She heard yoga was relaxing, and since I knew how to teach it, why not lead a few sessions for everyone? A group of college girls, laughing and practicing together—it sounded like fun. So I agreed. I originally thought I would just be teaching a few people from our dorm. I never expected Jessica to book a dance studio and gather a group of over fifteen people. She even told everyone that they should give me a little something for my time, so I wouldn’t be working for free. She had looked at me with those big, innocent eyes. “Sweetie, how much do you think we should charge per person, per class?” I looked at the group; it was the same size as a small corporate class. I figured half price would be fair. So, a total of $150, which came out to $10 per person. My corporate classes were an hour long. For my classmates, I always taught for at least an hour and a half. I would carefully observe each person’s physical condition and tailor the practice to their needs. I would never rush them or push them into difficult poses just for show, wearing out their bodies in the process. I wanted my classmates to heal their bodies gradually. Pelvic alignment, spinal decompression, restoring the natural curve of the cervical spine. Jessica was one of those people who appeared very flexible. But any real practitioner knows that a “stiff” body is a gift. It means your joints are stable and your ligaments have enough elasticity to protect you from injury. But on the surface, it can look clumsy. Jessica was the opposite. In her very first class, she could already get into some advanced-looking poses. But on closer observation, I noticed she had a severe anterior pelvic tilt and hyperextended knees. If she wasn’t careful, she could easily fracture a bone. This is not uncommon in yoga practice. Looking back, I realized she never took my warnings seriously. In fact, she probably thought I was jealous of her. The other students were always praising her, calling her a natural, saying how amazing she was. I even vaguely remember someone saying, “Jess, you were born to be a yoga teacher.” “Yeah, look at Joyce, she’s been practicing for years and her splits aren’t as good as yours. You got it on your first try!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392988”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone said I was a fool. As a child, I drank a sip of poisoned soup meant for my mother and my mind was addled ever since. My fiancé, deeming me a simpleton, refused to marry me, yet he secretly tumbled in the sheets with my sister, leaving her with a child. Later, when my sister was chosen to be the Crown Prince’s betrothed, she pushed me in front of our father, her voice dripping with scorn. “The Prince is a dead man walking anyway. Just let Lyra marry him.” But I wasn’t a fool. “If sister doesn’t want him, Lyra doesn’t want him either.” My father coaxed and cajoled. “Lyra, my dear, the Royal Palace has delicacies beyond your wildest dreams.” My eyes lit up. “I’ll marry him!” They all sneered, convinced I was truly an idiot. But as I sat in the royal carriage on my way to the palace, my mind clear and my gaze steady, they would all come to regret it. Deeply. 1 “Don’t, Gareth. Not on the boat… the fool is watching.” My sister, Lady Annelise, feigned resistance, shooting me a disdainful glare even as her arms wrapped languidly around Gareth’s neck. Gareth scoffed. “What does that simpleton know?” He cast a cold, contemptuous look my way. “Lyra has been a fool for years. If she had a single thought in her head, she wouldn’t be sitting here watching her own fiancé with her sister.” “She’s just a mindless idiot.” Feeling Annelise’s fingers tracing patterns on his chest, he suddenly pulled her close, pinning her against the hull of the boat. They were soon lost in a tangle of limbs and whispers. I sat in the corner, contentedly eating my biscuits and trailing my fingers in the water. Hearing the commotion from inside the small cabin, I curiously peeked in. It was too dark to see anything. When I emerged, I was holding a piece of her silken lingerie. After they had finished, my sister couldn’t find her undergarment anywhere. She turned and saw me wearing it on my head, running around and giggling. Shame and fury contorted her face. The moment we returned to the manor, she had me locked in the woodshed. “You useless fool! Why didn’t you die with that wretched mother of yours? You’re an eyesore!” “You walked right into this yourself. Don’t blame me for teaching you a lesson…” She had the servants tie me up and beat me. I wailed and cried, but no one paid me any mind. Even my father, passing by, heard my cries and only shook his head with a sigh, quickening his pace. “Sister, don’t hit me! Whatever you want Lyra to do, I’ll do it…” Annelise’s expression shifted. “Stop.” The stout serving women immediately ceased. In the House of Verne, the word of the eldest daughter was more powerful than a royal decree. This was because her mother, the late Countess, had saved the King’s life ten years prior and was still honored in the royal crypt. After my own mother’s death, Annelise had wanted me dead too, but seeing my vacant-minded state, she kept me around as a plaything. Besides, she had her eyes on my fiancé, Gareth. She used the pretense of taking me boating on the lake to carry on her sordid affair with him. Now, she smiled languidly and yanked my hair. “You want to live, do you?” Annelise extended her foot. “Then lick my shoe clean. If I find a single speck of dirt, you can forget about keeping that pathetic life of yours.” I recoiled in disgust, but before I could even kneel, a servant kicked the back of my knees, sending me sprawling before Annelise. They forced my head down. “You little peasant! It’s an honor for you to lick the young lady’s shoe!” My body was a canvas of bruises from their kicks. I fought back the bile rising in my throat, ready to submit. Suddenly, a loud voice called from outside. “A messenger from the palace! My lady, the Lord requires your presence!” Annelise finally released me, but not before giving me one last vicious kick. “Lock her back in the woodshed. No food or water until I say so.” As I watched them leave, the foolish smile on my face slowly faded. Annelise. The real game is just beginning. Everyone said I was a fool. They didn’t know I was pretending. The poisoned soup that addled my mind? That was my past life. The Countess couldn’t tolerate my mother, her husband’s beautiful mistress, so she poisoned her medicine. I drank it by mistake. In my past life, I became a true simpleton, deeply in love with a fiancé who despised me for my foolishness while sleeping with my sister. I was a daughter of the house, yet I lived worse than a servant. Annelise not only tormented me to death but had me violated by a dozen stable hands before I drew my last breath. Thank the heavens, I was reborn. This time, I pretended to drink the soup, hoping to save my mother, but she was killed anyway. Since then, I’ve lived on, playing the fool, waiting for my chance at revenge. If I remembered correctly, it would be less than three days before Annelise herself came to beg me to come out. Just as I was about to faint from hunger, the woodshed door creaked open. “Sister…?” I looked up groggily. A man’s leering chuckle echoed in the shadows. It was the steward. “You wretch. You’re locked in a woodshed. The Lady Annelise is of high birth. You’re just a lowborn bastard. What right do you have to call her sister?” He spoke, but his eyes roamed over me with ill intent. I narrowed my eyes. Annelise had forbidden anyone from calling me “Lady Lyra.” I was to be called “wretch.” She had dismissed my personal maid, leaving me vulnerable to the staff’s abuse. In my past life, even the servants could enter my chambers at will. I was pregnant before I was even married. I remembered this steward’s disgusting face well. He rolled up his sleeves, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “Wretch, at least you’re pretty. Why don’t you have a little fun with me, and I’ll give you something to eat…” I tightened my grip on the dagger hidden in my sleeve, aiming for his throat. Just then, the door was thrown open. “You insolent dog!” Annelise stormed in with her retinue. The steward immediately fell to his knees, terrified. “How dare you disrespect the Lady Lyra! Drag him out and flog him!” Her guards rushed in and dragged the steward out, beating him half to death. He looked at her in disbelief. “My lady, but you ordered it! You said we could do anything to the wretch! Why are you…” Annelise smiled and helped me to my feet, ordering a change of clean clothes for me. “From this day forward, Lyra is reinstated as the second daughter of House Verne.” Everyone was stunned. Annelise, however, simply smiled and led me to our father. “Father, Lyra is of marrying age. Since the Crown Prince has requested a daughter of House Verne as his bride, let us send Lyra.” My father frowned, looking me over. “But Lyra is a simpleton. If she makes a fool of herself at the palace and offends the Prince, what then?” Annelise sneered. “Why worry, Father? That boy, Prince Alaric, is a dead man walking. He may hold the title of Crown Prince, but he won’t live much longer. The entire kingdom will belong to the Third Prince one day! If I am to marry, I will be a queen, not the wife of some short-lived invalid.” “Since he asked for a daughter of House Verne, well, Lyra, simple as she is, is still a daughter of this house, is she not?” My father sighed, his gaze falling on me as I greedily devoured a pastry. For a rare moment, his face held a hint of paternal affection. “Lyra, would you be willing to marry the Crown Prince?” I looked up at him, bewildered, then went back to my pastry, shaking my head firmly. “No. If sister doesn’t want him, Lyra doesn’t want him either.” The two of them exchanged a knowing smile. “But the Royal Palace has mountains of candied fruits and rivers of sweet wine,” my father said, pointing to the cake in my hand. “And every kind of delicious pastry you can imagine. Enough to last a lifetime.” My eyes instantly lit up. “I’ll marry him! Lyra wants to go to the palace!” With my consent, my father and Annelise began preparations for the wedding. The whole household knew: Lyra was no longer the despised bastard, but had been elevated to the status of a true daughter of the house. The day before I was to be married, Annelise took me for one last boat ride. I was cast aside while she rushed into the arms of Gareth, who was waiting nearby. “Gareth! I’ve missed you so much…” He held her, his face etched with worry. “Annelise, I heard the Prince had chosen a daughter of House Verne. I thought you would be the one to go. I haven’t slept for nights.” Annelise giggled. “Why would I marry Alaric? Of course, the fool is taking my place to marry that walking corpse. Everyone knows the Crown Prince is a sickly weakling, out of favor with the King. The King intends to make the Third Prince his heir. Marrying Alaric is a death sentence.” She placed a hand on her belly, her expression coy. “Besides, I’m carrying your child…” Gareth’s face lit up. “Truly? Then your… ‘chance encounter’ with the Third Prince must be moved up. Just… when you are the Third Prince’s wife, don’t forget me…” “And when our child inherits the throne, the whole kingdom will be ours!” I sat in the corner of the boat, munching on lotus seeds, leaving a pile of shells for them. And I heard every word. No wonder Gareth wouldn’t marry me. He was playing a much bigger game. Not only was he having an affair with Annelise, but he planned to pass his child off as royal blood. Once that child took the throne, he could be the power behind it. A bold plan. I wondered if it would cost him his life. The next morning, I was carried from my home in a royal palanquin. The moment I was inside, I began to vomit uncontrollably. Just moments before, in front of our father, Annelise had fed me a poison pill. “Lyra, remember,” she had hissed, “do not say what should not be said. If you betray father and me, this poison will be your end.” I shoved my fingers down my throat, forcing myself to retch until I coughed up the bitter pill. But a burning sensation lingered in my stomach, and I frowned, worried. After what felt like an eternity, the palanquin stopped. A fit of sharp coughs came from outside, and a long, slender, almost frail hand lifted the curtain. My face was covered by a red veil, but I could make out the figure of a sickly man, so weak he was seated in a wheelchair. “Lady Lyra. I am sorry you are burdened with marrying me.” His voice was deep and pleasant. This must be the Crown Prince. As I stepped down, I nearly stumbled, but the Prince’s hand shot out and steadied me. I was instantly alarmed. That grip… it was far too strong for a sickly man. This Prince, I realized, was also pretending. I dutifully followed Prince Alaric through the wedding ceremony. When the noise from outside finally died down, he slowly entered the bridal chamber. He paused in front of me, seeming to hesitate for a moment before lifting my veil and reaching to touch my face. I pulled away, meeting his eyes directly. “Your Highness, I have been poisoned.” He looked surprised, but I told him everything. “My father and sister do not favor you. To pledge their allegiance to the Third Prince, they have poisoned me. If you and I were to… consummate our marriage, your life would be in danger.” Alaric studied me for a long moment, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “You are remarkably honest. But you… why betray your own family to tell me this?” I lowered my head, my voice sincere. “Your Highness is my husband now. I only hope that when the House of Verne falls, you will protect me.” The look in Alaric’s eyes slowly changed. The initial suspicion vanished, replaced by a spark of amusement. “It seems that in refusing to send Annelise, they have sent me a treasure instead.” That night, the Prince slept fully clothed and did not touch me. He was a man of few words, silently observing my every move. The next morning, as I was about to prick my finger, he stopped me. “A lady should not have to do such things.” He took the dagger from my hand, sliced his own finger, and let the blood drip onto the white linen sheet on the bed. Sensing his gaze, I blushed. “Your Highness, please be assured. Once the poison is gone, we will not have to…” Alaric said nothing, simply turned and left. In the days that followed, I showed the Prince my complete loyalty. If I was going to drop the act of being a fool, I needed to secure my position by his side. I didn’t care that he was sickly, or that he spent his days in a wheelchair, half-dead. I served him with all my heart.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392987”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I beat my husband and mother-in-law after his affair —Because they hit me first. 1 In the two months before I found out, my husband, Dylan, who had never cared a lick about his appearance, started wearing cologne. A woman’s intuition is a powerful thing; it screamed at me that he was having an affair. A week ago, he stumbled home, completely wasted. I managed to haul his dead weight onto our bed and went to the kitchen to make him some warm broth. As I was stirring, his phone lit up on the nightstand. A single message glowed on the screen: I’m pregnant, Dylan. You’re going to be a daddy! Are you excited? My hands shook as I unlocked his phone. The screen illuminated a world of filth—explicit messages and crude banter that painted a sickening picture. I couldn’t reconcile the man in those texts with the Dylan I knew, the devoted husband and loving father who had promised me forever. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent, splashing onto the screen and blurring the vile words. I clamped a hand over my mouth, desperate not to make a sound, not to wake the monster sleeping in my bed. The image I held of him—the man everyone saw as utterly devoted to me—shattered into a million pieces. It all made sense now. The way his adoration had curdled into constant criticism, the flicker of revulsion I’d catch in his eyes. The man who once worshipped me now looked at me with disgust. He hadn’t just fallen out of love; he’d found someone new to adore. Wiping my face with a fierce swipe of my hand, I took a deep, shuddering breath and forced a cold calm to settle over me. I used my own phone to meticulously photograph every conversation, every detail about the other woman, including her name and address. Then, I placed his phone back exactly where I’d found it, erasing any trace of my discovery. I would pretend nothing had happened. The next morning, Dylan spritzed on his new signature scent, getting ready for work. I stood at the door, holding our son, Leo. “Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” I asked, my voice steady. He grunted, his focus entirely on tying his shoes. He didn’t answer. “It’s Leo’s birthday,” I pressed. “Please, come home for dinner.” He finally straightened up, offered a clipped, “Mmm,” and walked out the door without a single glance back. Watching his retreating figure, a shard of ice pierced my heart. That evening, the table was laden with a feast. Dylan sat with Leo on his lap, clapping and singing “Happy Birthday” with a broad smile. I raised my wine glass, silently toasting his performance as the perfect father. He shot me an irritated look. “Let’s eat,” he snapped. Then, the venom came. “All you’re good for is cooking. You were average-looking before, but since the baby, you’ve really let yourself go. You don’t earn a dime. Tell me, what use are you anymore?” His words hit me like a physical blow. I was stunned into silence, my mind reeling. Was this the same man who had cherished me? All our memories, our shared moments—was it all just an act? In that instant, something inside me broke. I slammed my wine glass down on the table, the sharp crack echoing in the room. I pointed a trembling finger at him. “Regretting it now? Were you blind when you married me?” “Lily, you need to remember your place,” he sneered, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare raise your voice or point your finger at me. You’re not some pampered princess anymore. Without me, you’d be on the street. This is my house, and I make the rules. You do what I say, or you get the hell out!” “Your house?” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Are you forgetting something, Dylan? This is my house! My parents bought it for me. Who the hell do you think you are, telling me to get out?” “Yours? Don’t be naive! When your family’s business went belly-up, who lent you the money? I did. And since you couldn’t pay it back, the house is the collateral! The only reason I haven’t thrown you out already is because you gave me a son!” “You’re shameless! Your money? That was my dowry, a gift from my parents! After we got married, you begged and pleaded, even went on a hunger strike, to get me to hand it over for you to ‘manage.’ And now it’s your money? You want me to pay you back? Go to hell!” The man before me was a stranger, a cruel, conniving snake. He was nothing like the man I’d fallen in love with. He was pure poison. He opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of Leo’s terrified wails cut him off. I snatched our son from his arms and rushed to the nursery, rocking him until his sobs quieted into soft, even breaths. As I watched my son sleep, a cold, hard thought took root in my mind. I was going to divorce Dylan. But first, I was going to make him suffer. I would return the pain and humiliation he’d caused me a thousand times over. I was going to destroy him. My plan began that night. Dylan had a habit of eating an apple before bed. I offered to cut one for him, but I also brought him a bowl of porridge. It wasn’t just any porridge; it was a special recipe, with my own little secret ingredient. I feigned an apology for my outburst, playing the submissive wife. He fell for it, swallowing every last bite and licking his lips. “That was amazing,” he said, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Make me a bowl of that every morning.” 2 I did as he asked. Every morning, I made him his “special” porridge, my smile as sweet and deceitful as the poison I was serving. My days fell into a new rhythm. After Dylan left for work, I’d take Leo to my mother’s house. I told her everything. She listened without a word, then went to her pantry and returned with a small bag of herbs. “If he wants another woman, then you shouldn’t stand in his way,” she said, pressing the bag into my hand. “A man is just a man. Let her have him. But when you go home, don’t fight. Make him a soup with these. Tell him it’s a restorative tonic, to help him… keep up his strength.” She squeezed my hand, her eyes telling me everything I needed to know. The emphasis on those last words was unmistakable. I took the herbs, my heart filled with a dark purpose. After leaving Leo with my mom, I took a cab to a Muay Thai gym on the other side of town. Dylan wasn’t the only one who needed to “keep up his strength.” I just had a different method in mind. My life became a circuit: home, my mother’s, the gym. And three times a week, without fail, I’d brew Dylan his special “restorative” soup. One evening, I passed by his study and heard him on the phone with his mother. He was telling her his mistress was four months pregnant and that he wanted his mom to come to the city to take care of her. He also told her to bring the deed to the house, so he could keep it safe. I heard his mother’s voice crackle with excitement at the mention of the deed, and she eagerly agreed. I timed my entrance perfectly, “casually” walking past the study just as he was about to emerge. He saw me and called out. “What? Do you need something?” I asked coolly. “My mom is coming to stay for a while. You should probably go stay with your parents.” I stared at him, my face a blank mask of confusion. He must have thought I was stupid, because he repeated himself. Before he could finish, I cut him off, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “And why would I do that? Let her come. What is she, the Queen of England? Afraid to be seen in public? This is a huge house with plenty of rooms. Is she an octopus? Does she need a separate room for each limb?” “Hey! Watch your mouth! I just know you two won’t get along. What happens if you get into a fight while I’m at work?” “I’m not a psychopath,” I shot back. “As long as she doesn’t start anything, I won’t finish it.” He saw the new steel in my spine and knew he couldn’t push me. He dropped it, letting me have my way. Two days later, his mother arrived, dragging a mountain of luggage behind her. She tried to assert her dominance the moment she stepped through the door, sticking out a dusty shoe and gesturing for me to kneel and remove it. I simply pointed to the guest slippers by the mat. “The slippers are right there, Carol. You can change yourself.” “I’m too old to bend over,” she grumbled. “Really? You seemed to manage just fine carrying all those bags.” I let the barb hang in the air before twisting the knife. “Honestly, I don’t know what Dylan was thinking, asking you to come help with the baby when you can’t even bend down to take off your own shoes. I’ll have to have a word with him. So unfilial.” “Nonsense!” she snapped, rushing to her son’s defense. “Dylan is the most filial, most successful boy from our town! My Dylan takes care of his mother. He promised to buy me a big house in the city, and look, he did!” Hearing her mention the house sent a fresh wave of rage through me. “Carol, let’s be very clear. My parents bought this house for me. We added Dylan’s name as a courtesy. Legally, since he didn’t contribute a single penny, he has no claim to it.” “What do you mean, no claim? What does a woman know about these things! What’s yours is my Dylan’s! A husband and wife shouldn’t keep score. Besides, what does a woman need with a big house anyway? Back home, a woman’s opinion doesn’t count for much. The man is the head of the household.” “You’re right, Carol,” I said, my voice syrupy sweet. “You know, I should go talk to Old Man Miller from your town. Tell him he should marry you right away. A woman like you shouldn’t be all alone, with no man to keep you in line.” Old Man Miller was the town bachelor. After Dylan’s father passed, he and Carol had a little thing going on, with him bringing her “groceries” at all hours of the night. It ended when Dylan found out and chased him for ten miles with a kitchen knife. I’d picked up that juicy little piece of gossip on my last visit. Carol’s face flushed. The memory clearly struck a nerve. She shot me a venomous glare, her face a mask of red-hot embarrassment. 3 One day, returning from the gym, I heard noises from the master bedroom. The unmistakable sounds of pleasure. I crept to the door, my movements silent, and slowly turned the handle, opening it just a crack. Through the gap, I saw them—two pale bodies tangled together on my bed. It was Dylan and a woman with long, curly hair, both naked, engaged in the most intimate of acts. A wave of nausea and fury washed over me. My first instinct was to burst in and slap the smug look off both their faces, but my mother’s voice echoed in my mind: Get proof. Hard evidence he can’t deny. Swallowing my disgust, I pulled out my phone and started recording, capturing every sordid detail for my growing collection of evidence. Suddenly, the woman’s cloying voice broke the rhythm. “What’s wrong with you, baby? You’re not lasting at all. You used to go for at least half an hour. Now you can’t even make it to twenty minutes! Tell me the truth, are you cheating on me with your wife?” “Of course not, my love,” Dylan panted. “How could I? You’re pregnant! We have to be careful, for the baby’s sake!” “Hmph. You wouldn’t dare,” she purred. “Speaking of which, have you found that witch’s deed to the house? You promised me a bigger place once we were together. Don’t tell me our baby will be born and we’ll be sleeping on the streets.” “Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he cooed. “Tomorrow, I’ll get my mom to pressure her. I’ll get that deed. I can handle one washed-up housewife.” Their conversation confirmed my worst fears. He had only ever been after my family’s money. Now that my family had faced financial ruin, he was making a play for the one valuable asset I had left. The house, a gift from my parents when we got engaged, had cost over a million dollars. In today’s market, it was worth at least two. I quietly closed the door and went straight to the attic. He would never think to look there. Before the wedding, my mother had warned me to be smart, that Dylan was not the simple, good-hearted man he appeared to be. I’d been a fool then, blinded by love, believing marriage meant total transparency. I’d learned my lesson. After discovering his affair, I’d moved the deed to the most secure, forgotten corner of the house. I took the deed straight to my mother’s and had her lock it away in her safe. A few days later, I was hanging laundry on the balcony when Carol approached me, her face plastered with a sycophantic grin. “Lily, dear…” I gave her a sidelong glance. “What? Don’t call me dear. We’re not that close.” “Oh, don’t say that! We’re family!” “Do you want something?” She fidgeted with a freshly hung bedsheet. “Well, I was just wondering… after all this time you and Dylan have been married… who handles the money?” “Why do you ask?” “Oh, no reason. I was just chatting with some of the ladies in the neighborhood, and they were saying that here in the city, the wives usually control the finances. Is that true? Do you manage Dylan’s money?” “No, I’m not so lucky,” I said flatly. “I couldn’t manage your son if I tried.” A triumphant smirk spread across her face. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You know, I’ve been wanting to say this for a while. You do have a bit of self-awareness. Your luck really is terrible. Your family went bankrupt just a few years after you got married. Your parents should have had a son, not a daughter who’s nothing but a drain on resources! Look at my Dylan! So successful, a general manager already, living in a house this big!” “His luck is good, you’re right,” I retorted, my voice like ice. “But he wouldn’t be living in this big house if it weren’t for the good fortune of this ‘drain on resources.’ Without me, that boy from the countryside would be working his whole life and still not afford a place like this.” “You—!” She was about to fire back, but she caught herself, remembering her mission. Her face shifted back to a mask of false sweetness. “Yes, yes, you’re right, Lily. My Dylan owes everything to you. If it weren’t for you, he might not even be married today.” “Carol, just get to the point. You don’t need to beat around the bush.” “Alright, I’ll be direct. The deed to the house… you have it, right?” “I do. Why?” “It’s no big deal. It’s just… you’re so busy with the baby, and a deed is such a valuable thing. It would be safer if I kept it for you.” “What? Did I hear you correctly? Why on earth would I give it to you? You didn’t pay for the house. And frankly, it’s safer anywhere than in your hands.” “Hey! You watch your tone with me! Are you choosing the hard way? You married into our family, so you will listen to your mother-in-law and you will listen to your husband! Your husband is your sky! You do not defy the sky, or you will be struck by lightning!” “Oh, so I married into your family to face a trial by fire, is that it? Struck by lightning? If your son is so powerful, let’s see him try and strike me down!” Her face turned the color of liver. She grabbed a nearby clothes hanger and raised it to strike me. “You insolent girl! If you make me unhappy today, I’ll have Dylan divorce you tomorrow!” “Go ahead! Do it! The second we’re divorced, he won’t get a penny from this house! And you go ahead and hit me. I’ll get a medical report and call the police so fast your head will spin. You’ll be rotting in a jail cell!” The threat of the police stopped her cold. The last thing she wanted was a trip to the station over a house deed. She forced a sickly smile, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “I was just trying to scare you, dear. I wouldn’t really hit you! You city girls are so delicate. One little scare and you want to send your poor mother-in-law to prison. What would the people back home say about the kind of wife our Dylan married?” “Good. As long as you understand. This is a society of laws, not your village where you can just hit people whenever you feel like it. Assault has consequences.” I glared at her, snatched the hanger from her hand, and walked away.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392986”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was married to Julian Astor for ten years. In that time, I met every single one of his girlfriends. Whenever he grew tired of one and wanted to move on, I was his perfect excuse. He’d say to each of them: “If you marry me, you’ll end up just like her. Eventually, we’ll become so familiar that every spark of novelty will die.” On our tenth wedding anniversary, I was drying the tears of the college girl he’d just dumped, while he was at the movies with his new flame. As I used up the last tissue, I saw a reflection of my younger self in her tear-streaked face. And so, I asked Julian for a divorce. For once, he seemed genuinely perplexed. “You’re not going to wait a little longer? What if I’m about to turn over a new leaf?” I offered a faint smile and no answer. I just booked a flight to the other side of the world. I couldn’t wait for you to change. So I took the first step myself. 1 Marrying a philanderer requires a certain kind of spiritual discipline. The thought floated into my mind as the tissue packet in my hand grew thinner. The girl across from me, a college senior named Zara, had been crying for two solid hours since she walked in. Her whirlwind romance with Julian had lasted all of a month. It hardly seemed worth the mascara-stained devastation. I opened my mouth to offer some comforting words, but she looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and sharp. “He said I was a bit like you. Looking at you now, I see it.” I froze. None of his other girlfriends had ever said that. Zara sniffed, dabbing at the corner of her eye. Her voice was laced with a bitter sarcasm. “I don’t need your pity. You’re far more pathetic than I am.” She wasn’t wrong. All of New York knew Julian Astor had a saint for a wife. A wife so virtuous she was cheated on time and again, yet still cleaned up his messes by placating his ex-girlfriends. I called every girl he saw after our wedding his “ex.” I had long since abandoned any pretense of pride. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Julian. [Julian: Is it done yet? The movie’s about to start.] I placed the phone face down on the table and met Zara’s freshly reddened eyes. “Whatever you want as compensation, just name it. I’ll make sure you get it.” I’d delivered this line countless times, as smoothly as a seasoned HR manager laying someone off. She scoffed and shot to her feet. “I don’t want anything.” I sighed. “You should take something. Money, a car, a condo. Something tangible you can hold onto.” Her gaze turned colder. She picked up her now-icy coffee and, with a slow, deliberate motion, poured it over my head. “I’m pregnant,” she said, her voice flat. “And I’m keeping it.” I just stared at her, stunned into silence, the words of persuasion dying on my lips. A bitter smile flickered across my face, so faint it was barely there. Julian, I thought. You haven’t kept a single one of your promises to me. 2 I slid into the passenger seat, dripping wet. Julian was on the phone, his voice low and intimate. I didn’t need to guess; he was talking to someone new. My hand tightened on the seatbelt, my nails digging into the fabric until my fingertips ached. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said, but it made him smile, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Alright, alright. I’ll come see you tonight.” He hung up, started the car, and then turned to me. The casual glance hardened in an instant as he took in my state. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Did she do that?” he demanded. I was already dabbing at my hair with a tissue. Seeing my silence, he leaned over and took the tissue from my hand. “Don’t move.” I instinctively recoiled, but he pulled me into his arms with a sharp command. He was surprisingly gentle as he dried my hair, but his brow was furrowed, his expression dark. “You just sat there and let her pour coffee on you? Clara, what happened to the fire you used to have? The one you always aimed at me?” Used to have… The feeling of freefall that had gripped me since meeting Zara intensified, spreading through my chest. I pulled away from his embrace, my face a cold mask. “I could hardly lose my temper with a pregnant woman, could I? What do you think?” He looked sheepish but stubbornly continued to blot my hair. The rest of the drive was silent. He drove, and I stared out the window, though I could feel his questioning glances on me from the corner of my eye. The ripples of disappointment, which had long ago crested into a tidal wave of despair, had finally subsided, leaving only a vast, numb emptiness. The movie was a blur. Julian spent most of it hunched over his phone, texting. The so-called ritual of our anniversary celebration had crumbled into dust long before the credits rolled. The real joke was that I still had to sit beside him at the dinner party afterward and watch him perform. The invitations for the Astor family gathering had gone out weeks ago, summoning all our closest friends and family. Amid the clinking glasses and polite chatter, Julian played the doting husband, personally peeling shrimp for me. A small mountain of them piled up on my plate, but I couldn’t eat. My eyes were fixed on the wrist he’d exposed by rolling up his sleeves. A tiny, colorful hair tie was wrapped around it. A wave of nausea washed over me, killing what little appetite I had. A man who peels shrimp for you doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who remembers your anniversary for ten years doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who never takes off his wedding ring, not even in the shower, doesn’t necessarily love you. I had Julian to thank for teaching me all of this. 3 Childhood sweethearts. A perfect match. Destined for each other. All of these descriptions were meant for Julian and my older sister, Amelia. Even as a young girl, with only a vague understanding of love, I knew the Astors and the Greys were meant to be united. I’d seen the blush on my sister’s cheeks when she came home from dates with him. I’d seen the notoriously wild Julian Astor become quiet and gentle in her presence. Why else would I have secretly tucked away the rare vinyl records I had spent months collecting for him? In their trio, I was always just Amelia’s shadow. When their love was at its zenith, there was no room for me. The world turned upside down the year my sister turned twenty. The ever-composed, graceful Amelia skipped her own engagement party and boarded a flight that would never land. Her diary was discovered, and with it, the truth. The carefully constructed façade of the Grey family shattered, exposing the ugly reality of our impending ruin. Her shyness had been an act, a role she was forced to play as our parents’ bargaining chip. The marriage was never about a perfect love story; it was about my parents’ desperate, greedy schemes. The one time she chose to live for herself, it cost her her life. I was pushed into an engagement, then a marriage, bearing the last hope of the entire Grey family. I was the patch for the Astors’ wounded pride and the savior of the Greys’ failing business. The whole process was a whirlwind, and I never had a moment to figure out whether I felt more sorrow or joy. Even as a substitute, I was marrying the boy I had secretly loved since I was a teenager. But when we exchanged rings, I was the only one whose heart was pounding. At the altar, when he was supposed to kiss the bride, his lips brushed mine like a whisper of wind, leaving me with a single, haunting sentence that would echo between us for years. “If you didn’t want this, why did you agree to it?” We made a deal then: a marriage of convenience. Each of us would get what we needed. But in ten years of marriage, I was the one who overstepped. He gave me everything, performed his role to perfection, but he never gave me his love. 4 The dinner ended after midnight. I couldn’t tell if it was the wine or a simple headache, but my head was throbbing. I drifted in and out of a drowsy sleep in the car. Vaguely, I heard Julian on speakerphone, flirting with the new girl. The same sweet nothings, the same tired lines. I was sick of hearing them, even if he wasn’t. During a pause, I felt his hand on my forehead. The car screeched to a halt. He cursed under his breath. “Damn it, Clara, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?” He hung up abruptly and fumbled to cover me with his jacket. I thought I heard him whisper my nickname, “Clara-belle.” It must have been the fever. A bitter smile touched my lips. He always used my full name, as if shortening it would give me the false hope that I was the Grey sister he had wanted to marry all along. Sickness makes you vulnerable, but it also makes you clear-eyed. A profound weariness washed over me—a weariness of him, of this unrequited love. The car started moving again, accelerating into a disorienting blur of speed and weightlessness. He seemed to be on the phone constantly, his words fragmented. Almost there… doctor… it’ll be okay… Or maybe it was all just a fever dream. The car stopped again. I forced my eyes open and watched him unbuckle his seatbelt and leap out of the car. He ran toward a slender figure standing at the hospital entrance. He wrapped Zara in a tight embrace. And then, the fragmented words from the car ride pieced themselves together into a coherent whole. “Wait for me… don’t do anything rash… we’re almost there… it’s going to be okay, I promise.” Every word had been for her. From across the short distance, I could hear her choked sobs. I could hear his gentle reassurances. “How could I ever let you do something that would hurt your body?” “It’s okay, it’s okay… we’re not breaking up. We’ll figure out the baby thing together, from now on.” The pain twisted inside me, pulling a memory from the deepest part of my heart. Six months into our marriage, we had a child.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392985”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In front of the orphanage, Lauren Murphy, the charity case I’d sponsored for years, stared at me with pure disgust. “If you don’t let Aaron get in the car, I’m not going to your house either.” If this had been before, my love-addled brain would have caved instantly. I would have meekly given in. But this wasn’t before. I had been reborn. Looking at the two people who had orchestrated my brutal death, a tidal wave of fury crested within me, transforming into a cold, sharp smile. “Then stay. You can rot here with your precious Aaron.” My voice was laced with ice. “After all, trash belongs in the trash heap.” … Everyone froze. They were used to the old me, the loyal lapdog who followed Lauren Murphy around, practically begging her to live at my house. The old me who, just to make her happy, had come here with her to invite Aaron to become the adopted young master of the Sterling family. The same two people who, when I fell ill, conspired to murder me and seize my inheritance. I remembered my last days, sick and helpless, as Lauren Murphy, heavily pregnant, stood over my hospital bed with Aaron at her side. “Did you really think this baby was yours?” she’d sneered. “If I hadn’t been pregnant with Aaron’s child, do you think you would have ever had the chance to be my husband?” Aaron had wrapped his arm around her, his face a mask of mockery. “How could my Murphy possibly carry the child of a moron like you? It would probably be born an idiot.” Now, seeing them standing before me, alive and well, I wanted nothing more than to tear them limb from limb. Go to my house? Go to hell. Aaron’s arrogant expression flickered with panic for a second before he regained his composure, looking down his nose at me. “Julian Sterling, so what if your family is rich? It’s all inheritance your father left you. You think you’re so great, flaunting the money he died for? If it weren’t for Murphy, I wouldn’t waste a second of my time on a brainless fop like you.” In my past life, he had said the same thing. I’d thrown away my pride and begged him for half an hour before he’d “reluctantly” agreed to come home with us. He’d acted as if he were the true heir to a great fortune. I let out a derisive snort and dropped the suitcase I’d been holding for him. It burst open, spilling a few designer clothes onto the pavement. In my past life, I’d carried his luggage like a servant while he and Lauren Murphy had swaggered into my car as if they were the masters of the house. After getting them settled, I had been about to get in the car, drenched in sweat, when Lauren Murphy had slammed the door shut. “I hate the smell of sweat,” she’d said. “You can ride in another car.” She was never kind to me, but she always justified it by saying, “I’m only so blunt with you because I see you as one of my closest friends.” Funny how she never used that “bluntness” on her dear “brother” Aaron. I kicked at the scattered clothes on the ground. “Is the orphanage that well-funded these days? Or are these just some high-quality fakes bought by someone desperate to look rich? You pretend to despise money, yet you’re obsessed with brand names. You really want to have your cake and eat it too, don’t you, Aaron?” His face flushed red, and he opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a dismissive glare. “My father’s death was an accident, but the money he left me is more than I could spend in several lifetimes. Other people can only watch and be jealous.” Seeing the envy twisting his features, a weight lifted from my chest. “What can I say? I was born lucky. Unlike some people, born to be thrown away by their parents.” I remembered him in my past life, sitting by my bed, sipping the nourishing broth meant for me. “Julian, you’re dying anyway,” he’d said with a click of his tongue. “No amount of this stuff will help you. I’ll enjoy it for you. No need to thank me.” The urge to kill him right then and there was overwhelming. The sight of him made me sick. I turned to get in the car, but Lauren Murphy grabbed my sleeve, her face dark. “Julian Sterling, how could you say that to Aaron? Apologize to him right now! Or I’ll never forgive you!” I shoved her away as if she were something filthy. She thought she still had me under her thumb. “Can’t you just put away your spoiled rich-boy attitude for once?” she snapped, her voice rising with impatience. “We had a deal to bring Aaron home. Are you backing out now just because he opened the car door for me? If you’re going to be this selfish and petty, then I have nothing more to say. I’m not leaving Aaron here by himself. You figure it out.” In my past life, whenever I displeased them, she would threaten to leave, and I would always cave. She thought it was her irresistible charm, but my concessions were born of a love that had made me blind and foolish. Lauren Murphy had spent a lifetime chipping away at my love until nothing was left. Now, she was nothing more than a pile of sickening filth to me. I rolled my eyes, mimicking her tone of disgust. “You’re the one who needs to figure it out. Go back to the Sterling mansion and enjoy your life of luxury, or stay here and suffer with your precious Aaron. The choice is yours. But I’m sure a person as loyal and righteous as you would never abandon her dear brother, right?” She was cornered, speechless. Just then, the orphanage director, Mr. Hoffman, chimed in. “Julian, this is your fault.” Mr. Hoffman was not only the honorary director of the orphanage but also the chancellor of our university, with a seven-figure salary—all funded by my family’s Sterling Group. Yet here he was, lecturing me. “The paperwork is all done, and now you’re backing out. Have you thought about the trouble you’re causing? You’re in your twenties, yet you’re still so immature! Is this what we teach you at the university? Now, stop this childish tantrum and take Lauren Murphy and Aaron home. No more nonsense!” After my father’s death when I was just a teenager, Mr. Hoffman had subtly inserted himself into my life as a father figure. Over time, he’d started to believe he actually was my elder and could scold me as he pleased. Looking at his self-righteous face now, I could only laugh. “Mr. Hoffman, as they say, don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Is Lauren Murphy paying your multi-million-dollar salary? Is Aaron? No. The Sterling family is.” In my past life, under their influence, I’d developed a people-pleasing personality, always backing down, always giving in. They’d walked all over me. Now, I was going to make it clear that they couldn’t just take what they wanted anymore. “Mr. Hoffman, if you can’t remember your place, if doing your job is too much trouble, you can resign. Or I can fire you.” I slammed the car door, leaving them staring in stunned silence, and told the driver to go. As the trees blurred past the window, the fury in my heart began to subside. I thought of my father, of the empire he had built, and I slapped myself, hard, several times. In my past life, I was a lost cause, a love-sick fool. I had failed them. This time, I would not repeat my mistakes. But when I got home, I found Lauren Murphy, Aaron, and my mother, Cassandra, sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world like a happy family. Before I could say a word, my mother stood up, walked over, and slapped me across the face. “Bullying your peers, disrespecting your elders! Julian! You are a disgrace to your father’s name! Do you think you can just do whatever you want out there with no consequences? As long as I’m alive, you will not use your power to bully people! First, apologize to Murphy and Aaron! Then, go to Chancellor Hoffman’s house and bow to him!” My cheek burned, swelling instantly. Lauren Murphy shot me a look of contempt, while Aaron’s eyes glinted with provocation. I pushed my tongue against the inside of my throbbing cheek and looked at my mother, my voice cold. “Use my power? I am the rightful heir of the Sterling family. I am the power. But you… you hit your own son for the sake of outsiders, without even asking what happened. What kind of mother are you? I’m not apologizing to anyone. Now, get this trash out of my house!” My father had established the orphanage to build good karma for me, and as a child, my parents often took me there to volunteer. I used to chase after Lauren Murphy, while my mother took an instant liking to Aaron. She’d even wanted to adopt him back then, but my father had refused. “I have one good son, Julian,” he’d said, hugging me. “That’s enough.” My mother was a kept woman, a canary in a gilded cage. She didn’t dare defy her benefactor, so she’d just bring Aaron extra gifts every time we visited. The designer clothes in his suitcase were from her. In my past life, when I’d asked her to adopt Aaron to please Lauren Murphy, she had smiled at me with genuine happiness for the first time. But now, I would not allow these vipers to defile my home. I told them to get out, but Aaron just smirked, stood up, and took my mother’s arm. “Mom, he’s just a spoiled brat. Don’t mind him. Let me give you a shoulder rub. Getting angry is bad for your health.” Lauren Murphy looked at me as if she were delivering a royal decree. “Auntie has already adopted Aaron. From now on, you and Aaron are brothers. You’re both young masters of the Sterling family, so stop trying to one-up him all the time. Oh, and Aaron will be starting at our university soon. You know how snobbish everyone is there, so Auntie and I have decided to tell everyone that Aaron is the younger Sterling son, who was raised abroad and just returned.” She then took Aaron’s arm, smiling sweetly. “Come on, let me show you your room. Auntie had them give you Julian’s old room. It’s the biggest and sunniest in the house.” Their shamelessness was astounding. I raised an eyebrow and stopped them. “Stay right there.” My voice was dangerously low. “Who gave you the audacity to be so presumptuous in my house?” I put extra emphasis on the words “my house.” Aaron’s brow furrowed. He strode over to me. “Julian, you’re being incredibly childish! Mom has already agreed. When an elder has spoken, you have no say in the matter!” Lauren Murphy chimed in with a huff. “Julian, I know you’re just jealous because Aaron is so much better than you. You’re afraid that Auntie and I will like him more, so you’re trying to stop this. But being so domineering will only backfire.” She stared at my face, a smug look on hers. “It will only make… us… despise you even more.” She waited, expecting to see me crumble, like a dog being disciplined. In my past life, their constant emotional abuse had turned me from a cheerful boy into a sensitive, insecure wreck. I’d even convinced myself that my life was only meaningful if they liked me. But my life was not theirs to dictate. I crossed my arms and gave them a mocking smile. “Oh, really? Well then, go ahead. Despise me all you want. Just get out of my house first. Then you can despise me to your heart’s content. Like I give a damn.” Lauren Murphy blinked, stunned. Aaron’s eyes were like daggers. “Julian, you’re just trying a new trick to get Murphy’s attention, aren’t you? But I suggest you quit while you’re ahead before you make a fool of yourself. You don’t want to end up crying and begging for her to look at you again, like a pathetic dog. It’s so embarrassing. Oh, right, you’ve never had any shame when it comes to chasing Murphy. I heard everyone at school calls you the ‘Simp Master,’ right? What a disgrace to the Sterling name.” Buoyed by his own twisted logic, Lauren Murphy lifted her chin again, confident that she had seen through my “hard to get” charade. “Some people are born into money, but they still reek of cheapness. Not like our Aaron. He’s so charming and well-liked wherever he goes.” I had no interest in arguing with dogs. My gaze fell on Cassandra, who had remained silent. “Are you just going to stand there and listen to these outsiders slander your own son?” Cassandra’s face was pale. She gritted her teeth. “Outsiders? I told you, I’m adopting Aaron. You deserve to be scolded for being so arrogant!” Seeing me raise an eyebrow, she quickly added, “But if you can get along with Aaron from now on, there’s still a place for you in this family. Julian, your father is gone. You have no other relatives in this world. I’m adopting Aaron to keep you company. Don’t be so ungrateful…” In my past life, Cassandra had trapped me in a vortex of emotional neglect, making me cling to her like a drowning man to a life raft. But when Lauren Murphy and Aaron had intentionally run me over with a car, and I had screamed for her help, she had simply turned up the volume on the TV, annoyed that my cries were disturbing her show. She’d even given a false testimony, claiming I was a jealous lunatic who had thrown myself under the car. She’d used the Sterling Group’s legal team to help the two murderers walk free. Now, she was trying the same trick again. But I wasn’t falling for her lies anymore. “Well, Mom, since you have a new son, why don’t you and your new son get out of my house together? And you don’t need to go to the company anymore either. After all, everything the Sterling Group owns was left to me, and me alone.” Not just the house, but all the assets of the Sterling Group, all the shares—my father had left them all to me. All Cassandra got was a room full of designer bags and clothes. In my past life, she had managed my assets until I came of age. I had been so lost in the emotional prison they had created for me that I’d never even thought about my inheritance. But I understood now. I had the money. That was enough. Before coming home, I had already been to the family trust and taken control of my assets. From now on, Cassandra would need my approval to spend a single penny of the Sterling family’s money. I clapped my hands twice, and two teams of security guards entered the room. “Throw this trash out.” Lauren Murphy and Aaron were still shouting, not understanding what was happening. As Lauren Murphy was being dragged away, she screamed at me, “Julian! You’ve gone too far this time! I’ll never forgive you, not even if you get on your knees and beg!” I clicked my tongue, and someone immediately gagged her. Aaron roared, “Stop! Do you know who I am? I’m the young master of the Sterling family! I’m your boss! Who dares to touch me! Don’t you want your jo— ah!” The guards were more efficient with him. A single punch to the face, and he spat out blood and two teeth. Cassandra was white with rage. “Julian! How dare you do this to your own mother! You will be struck by lightning! Aren’t you afraid of being cursed by everyone? Aren’t you afraid of divine retribution?!” She raised a hand to point at me, but a guard grabbed her finger and bent it back. A sharp scream echoed through the room. After they were thrown out, I had all their belongings burned in a bonfire on the lawn. Seeing her luxury goods go up in flames, Cassandra tried to rush into the fire, weeping. Aaron, still in the dark, held her back. “Let him burn it! Mom, I’ll buy you new things!” Lauren Murphy, furious, jumped up and down outside the gate. “Julian! If you want my forgiveness, you’ll have to piece this pile of ash back together!” I ordered the guards, “Take these barking dogs and dump them in the middle of nowhere.” That night, I fell asleep in front of my father’s memorial tablet. I woke up the next morning and lit three sticks of incense, bowing my head reverently. I had a feeling my father had given me this chance at a new life.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392983”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My grandfather, Arthur, had always looked down on my grandmother, Eleanor, despising her for her lack of education and subjecting her to a constant barrage of criticism. When she asked me to buy her a box of hair dye online, he flew into a rage. In front of the whole town, he bellowed: “You’ve got one foot in the grave, what’s the point of all this? You think dyeing your hair will make you immortal?” “An old woman trying to look young—it’s pathetic! You’re just a waste of money!” But this same old man, who thought every penny spent on my grandmother was a waste, soon went online and ostentatiously bought 999 roses. The recipient was another old woman. … 1 My grandfather came home while I was in the yard, dyeing my grandmother’s hair. She was only in her early sixties, but her hair was already completely white. If not for her sturdy constitution, you’d think she was pushing eighty. She rarely bothered with her appearance, but her old friend’s birthday was next week, and they had all planned to take a commemorative photo together. “Nina, they won’t laugh at me after this, will they?” The older generation dreaded gossip, and now her confidence was wavering. I kept my hands moving, quickly and efficiently applying the dye to her hair. “What’s there to laugh at? Everyone in the city dyes their hair. If they laugh, it just shows how ignorant they are! Don’t worry, Grandma, it’ll look great! You’ll look at least twenty years younger, I promise!” Women of all ages want to feel beautiful. Though she was a little embarrassed, I could see the anticipation sparkling in her eyes. “You silly girl, you and your wild ideas…” But before she could finish, a sharp voice cut her off. “What is this?” My grandfather, back from his calligraphy class in the city, stood at the courtyard gate, his brow deeply furrowed. “Is this how you waste your money on useless things?” Everyone in our small town knew my grandparents didn’t get along. The sound of their arguing drew a crowd. It was hard to say whether more people came to mediate or to watch the show. Surrounded by onlookers, my grandmother fidgeted, her face flushed red as she tried to explain. But my grandfather had no patience to listen. He pounded his cane on the ground. “Is there any point? No amount of dye will change the fact that you’re halfway to the grave! Instead of wasting money on this foolishness, you should be buying fertilizer for the fields!” In stark contrast to my grandmother’s weathered appearance, my grandfather, who did no physical labor, was robust and full of vigor. He was nearly seventy but looked fifty. When he cursed, his voice was strong and resonant. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stepped in front of my grandmother, who was stammering and trying to shrink away. “Grandma does all the work and earns the money. What’s wrong with her dyeing her hair? There’s a limit to how much you can freeload off her. Why don’t you use the money from your calligraphy classes to buy fertilizer?” To my surprise, my grandfather didn’t get angry. He laughed. “What do you know? If it weren’t for her, do you think a college graduate like me would be trapped in this godforsaken town? She works because her conscience is guilty! Because she knows she owes me and wants to make it up to me!” I wanted to say more, but my grandmother tugged on my sleeve, her eyes pleading. “Don’t… don’t say any more…” But seeing her reaction, my grandfather seemed determined to twist the knife. He pointed at the crowd, his voice growing louder with every word. “Look at them! A college graduate married to an illiterate farm girl! Don’t you think every single one of them is laughing at me in secret? You’re concerned about your pride now? Where was your pride when you used your dirty tricks to force me to marry you?” Faced with his accusations, my grandmother’s lips trembled. Words rose to her lips, only to be swallowed back down. Her cloudy eyes filled with tears, which she fought back with gritted teeth. I knew there was a story behind their marriage, but this clearly wasn’t the time to dig it up. My grandmother didn’t want to fight, so I could only help her inside. But my grandfather’s voice followed us, relentless. “An old woman acting so indecently, wasting money. Eleanor, aren’t you ashamed of embarrassing me even more?” I closed the door. When I turned around, my grandmother looked like a child who had done something wrong. She clutched my sleeve, her eyes brimming with tears. “Nina, can we return the unopened box? I don’t want to dye it anymore.” 2 I shook my head. “It’s your money. No one can tell you how to spend it. Your friends are waiting for you to look beautiful for your picture. Grandma, don’t let other people’s opinions change you. You’ve never done anything wrong.” I don’t know which words struck a chord with her, but after a moment of silence, she slowly nodded. After removing the plastic wrap and washing her hair, I held up a mirror. A smile finally touched my grandmother’s swollen, red eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was about to say something else to cheer her up when her expression darkened. “Nina, do you really think I’ve done nothing wrong?” I was taken aback, then nodded vigorously. It suddenly occurred to me that, aside from me, perhaps no one had ever affirmed her in all these years. My grandfather, the self-proclaimed intellectual, never lifted a finger around the house. He looked down on the town, and he looked down on her even more. Not insulting her was the best she could hope for; approval was out of the question. Besides me, on my school holidays, she had no one to talk to. She was lonely, her confidence constantly shaken. I rushed to comfort her, a stream of reassuring words tumbling out. She listened quietly, wiping the corners of her eyes. “You’re a modern college student. You know more than your grandfather. Hearing you say that makes me feel better.” Her words reminded me of what my grandfather had said earlier. I hesitated, wondering if I should ask. But she seemed to read my mind and sighed, her gaze drifting off into the distance, as if she were looking back many years. “Your grandfather is right. If not for an accident, he wouldn’t have married me.” More than forty years ago, the town had produced two college students: my grandfather, Arthur, and my grandmother’s best friend, Vivian. The three of them had grown up together. My grandmother had a secret crush on my grandfather, but she knew she wasn’t good enough for him. When she saw that he and Vivian had feelings for each other, she quietly stepped aside. Everyone said they were a perfect match. They were about to get engaged when Vivian, whom she hadn’t heard from in a long time, suddenly asked to meet. “You like Arthur, don’t you? Let me help you.” My grandmother, unsuspecting, drank a cup of tea and lost consciousness. When she woke up, she was in bed with my grandfather, both of them barely clothed, both of them passed out. Villagers burst in and found them. In those days, in a town like ours, reputation was everything. The engagement was called off. My grandfather, scorned by the community, was forced to marry my grandmother. From that day on, he hated her. He believed she had schemed to ruin his life. As she told me this, my grandmother’s face was calm, but her eyes held a sorrow that words couldn’t describe. There were still holes in the story. If I could just figure them out, maybe I could resolve their conflict. I asked, “What happened to Vivian?” “She—” The door was kicked open with a loud bang. My grandfather stood there, his face dark, his teeth gritted. “Are you trying to be some tragic heroine, dredging up this old dirt over and over? Aren’t you ashamed? Stop poisoning the child’s mind with your nonsense!” My grandmother flinched, instinctively shrinking back. She might not have known what a “tragic heroine” was, but she knew it wasn’t a compliment. She swallowed her words and forced an awkward smile at me. And in that moment, I finally understood. The conflict between them wasn’t unresolved because my grandmother didn’t want to fix it. It was because my grandfather never gave her a chance to explain. 3 We didn’t speak of it again. After the New Year, it was time for me to go back to school. My grandmother, perhaps sensing my worry, squeezed my hand, then let it go. “Don’t worry. I’ve made it this far. What could possibly happen? Just study hard. That’s the best way you can repay me.” I didn’t dare look back as I left, afraid to see the reluctance in her eyes. I never imagined that this ordinary farewell would almost be the last time I saw her. After the holidays, another snowstorm hit the state. On a whim, I opened the security camera app for our home, wanting to see what my grandmother was doing. All I saw was my grandfather, alone in the yard, practicing his Tai Chi. I was about to switch camera angles when I noticed a pile of spilled feed near the pigsty. My grandmother was lying motionless in the snow nearby. I didn’t know how long she had been there. Only her dog was pacing anxiously around her. I was horrified. I thought perhaps my grandfather hadn’t seen her, so I was about to turn on the two-way audio to alert him. But then, in the next second, he coldly stepped over her and went inside, without so much as a glance in her direction. By the time I rushed from my school to the hospital, my grandmother was out of danger but still unconscious. My grandfather saw me, his expression cold. He grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and started to leave. “If the medical staff hadn’t required it, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here. I’m leaving. I have a calligraphy class tomorrow. An old woman like her, falling down like that. This hospital stay is just going to be another waste of money. Useless.” Before he left, he shot an impatient glare at my grandmother on the bed. I watched him walk out of the room. I had no desire to stop him. Growing up, it always felt like there were three people in our house, but at the same time, it felt like there were only two: me and my grandmother. My father had died young, and my mother had remarried. It was my grandmother who had raised me. My grandfather was like a ghost, a lodger in his own home. As long as I could remember, they had slept in separate rooms. No one was allowed in his room. I had snuck in once as a child and had seen it was filled with old photographs, all of a strange woman. I never told my grandmother, but now, I suspect she knew all along. I was well aware of my grandfather’s cold-heartedness. I wasn’t disappointed, just heartbroken for my grandmother’s years of suffering. I went to tuck her in, but I saw her eyes were open. I didn’t know how much of my grandfather’s tirade she had heard. Her expression was neutral, and I was relieved. I didn’t want to upset her by asking. Holding her hand, I finally felt the fear catch up to me. Her fall hadn’t been that serious, but if the ambulance hadn’t been called in time, she could have frozen to death in the yard. But looking at her tired eyes, I swallowed the words I wanted to say. To my surprise, she was the one who broke the silence, her voice unexpectedly calm. “When I fell, I didn’t pass out right away. I called for him to help me. He ignored me. I thought that after all this time, it would be in the past. But after a lifetime together, he still hates me. Hates me enough to watch me freeze to death. Why? Aren’t people supposed to have hearts?” She stared blankly at the ceiling, her face full of confusion, as if she were speaking to herself, questioning fate. I couldn’t imagine what she must have felt when he ignored her pleas for help. And I had no answer to her question now. All I could do was squeeze her hand, fighting back my own tears. 4 My grandfather never visited her once before she was discharged. After I finished the discharge paperwork, she finally looked away from the hospital room door. She didn’t say anything, but I could see the disappointment on her face. I tried to distract her, telling her the car would be there soon and suggesting she look at her phone. A few moments later, she leaned over, pointing at the screen. “Nina, what does this say?” I looked. It was a video posted on my grandfather’s account. A massive bouquet of flowers was being carried out of a car by two people and presented to an elegantly dressed woman. Time had been kind to her, adding a certain charm to her features. It was Vivian. She beamed, throwing her arms around my grandfather, who stood beside her. And this old man, who I had only ever known to be stern and unsmiling, was looking at her with a tenderness I had never seen before. My hands trembled as I tapped on the caption. A long, dense block of text, a forty-year ode to unrequited love. In that moment, I was incredibly grateful that my grandmother couldn’t read. Because at the end of the caption, a single, dismissive line—no other love could ever compare—erased forty years of her devotion and suffering. But even without the caption, the video said it all. Even I could guess who the woman was. I couldn’t believe that my grandmother, as her old friend, wouldn’t recognize her. I forced a smile. “It’s nothing, Grandma. Don’t ask.” Perhaps my smile was too strained. She nodded quietly, then reached up and cupped my face with her rough palm. “I won’t ask, I won’t ask. It’s okay, Nina, my sweet girl. Don’t cry.” But I could feel her own hand trembling. She wasn’t a strong woman. When faced with trouble, she would have a good cry before figuring out what to do. But since the hair dye incident, it seemed her tears had run dry. On the way home, I tried to make conversation several times, but her absentmindedness always cut me short. I was worried she might do something foolish. But I soon realized my fears were unfounded. As we reached the town entrance, she suddenly grabbed my hand, her voice hesitant but tinged with a new determination. “Nina, you’re educated. I want to ask you something.” “What is it?” “Can people our age get a divorce? Do old people in the city get divorced?” I was stunned, then overjoyed. I had always been afraid she wouldn’t want to go through the trouble at her age, afraid of the gossip, so I had never suggested it. I never imagined she would come up with the idea herself. Fearing she might change her mind, I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Lots of old people in the city get divorced! Grandma, are you thinking…” When she spoke again, her voice was much firmer. “This has haunted me my whole life. I’m tired of it. She was the one who pushed Arthur on me against my will. Now that she’s back, I’m giving him back to her!” On the walk home, her steps grew more and more resolute. When we reached the gate, we saw my grandfather heading out, carrying a beautifully wrapped box. “I need to talk to you.” He ignored her, as usual, not even sparing her a glance. As he was about to walk away, my grandmother’s voice rang out, louder and more determined than before. “Arthur, I want a divorce!” My grandfather finally stopped. He turned and gave her a sarcastic sneer. “You’re the one who shamelessly used dirty tricks to marry me. What kind of game are you playing now?” “I saw the video you posted.” My grandmother was unfazed by his insults. She repeated, her voice firm, “I want a divorce!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392981”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel