It was their wedding anniversary, and my son and daughter-in-law were insisting that my husband and I brave the freezing, single-digit temperatures to leave the house. They needed their “alone time.” I looked at my husband, Robert, who was lying in bed, too weak to even sit up. A heavy, suffocating knot formed in my chest. “Your father is sick, Connor,” I said, my voice barely more than a plea. “He’s resting. Just for this year, could we please stay in for your anniversary?” Connor looked at me, his face twisting into a mask of pure exhaustion and annoyance. “Mom, these are the boundaries Madison set. We agreed to this when you moved in to help with Mason. On holidays and anniversaries, you and Dad give us the house so we can have some space. It hasn’t even been that many years, and you’re already trying to back out of the agreement?” Listening to my son’s words, a profound, bone-deep weariness washed over me. “Fine,” I whispered. “Let me finish washing the dishes. Then I’ll help your father up, and we’ll leave you two to your alone time.” That very afternoon, I took the last eight hundred dollars to my name and bought two Amtrak tickets back to our hometown. 1 The moment I conceded and agreed to leave the house, the icy glare vanished from Madison’s face. She turned on her heel and retreated into their master bedroom. Seeing his wife walk away, Connor made a point to raise his voice, throwing a few more sharp reprimands in my direction to ensure she heard him defending her territory, before he hurried down the hall after her. I stood alone in the kitchen, staring at their retreating backs, my hands covered in the iridescent foam of dish soap. Without warning, the tears spilled over. Hearing the muffled sound of my crying, Robert shuffled out of our small guest room. His face was a terrifying shade of gray. “Go lie down, Martha,” he rasped, reaching for the sponge. “I’ll finish these.” Looking at his pale, sunken cheeks, that knot in my chest tightened until I could barely breathe. “No,” I said, gently pushing his hands away. “You’re sick. I’ve got it.” I wiped my face with the back of my arm and plunged my hands back into the hot water. Robert didn’t argue. He just pulled out one of the dining chairs and sat down heavily. “How much money do we have left?” he asked quietly. My throat felt tight. “Eight hundred.” “It’s enough. Let’s go home.” “But—” “Enough, Martha,” he interrupted, his breathing shallow. “Mason is about to start first grade. We’ve given them enough of our lives. They want their space so badly? Let’s give them all the space in the world.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was seized by a violent, rattling coughing fit. Every time I heard that cough, panic flared in my chest. He had been coughing like this for six months. Half a year ago, I had begged Connor to help us navigate the insurance maze and get a referral to a top pulmonologist in the city. Connor had promised me he would handle it. But the appointment never materialized. Yet, when little Mason had a minor case of the sniffles, he was rushed to the pediatrician three times in one month. When Madison’s mother, Barbara, complained about some mild menopausal symptoms, Connor personally booked her a consultation at a boutique women’s wellness clinic and paid out of pocket for her specialized hormone treatments. Sometimes, I really didn’t want to keep score. I didn’t want to be that kind of mother. But these little things—these tiny, everyday dismissals—felt like sewing needles being driven directly into my heart. Finally, I closed my eyes and nodded. “Okay,” I said. “We go home tomorrow.” 2 That night, Robert and I began to pack. It didn’t take long. We had almost nothing to our names anymore. From the moment we moved to this expensive, sprawling city to help Connor, our entire retirement income had been funneled directly into his household. It went to their groceries, Mason’s endless extracurriculars, and the crushing mortgage on their suburban home. Between Social Security and Robert’s modest pension, we brought in about six thousand dollars a month. Virtually none of it was spent on us. Before we moved in, I used to enjoy the little things. I’d buy myself a nice blouse on sale, or a decent moisturizer. But ever since Connor called me in tears, begging us to move across state lines to save them from the cost of daycare, everything changed. If I dared to buy a sweater that cost a little more than average, Madison would make sure I heard about it. “I don’t even buy clothes that expensive,” she would say, her tone dripping with passive-aggressive sweetness. “Mom, how can you just throw money away like that?” And inevitably, Connor would corner me later. “Mom, we’re supposed to be a team here. We have to pull together. How are Madison and I ever supposed to afford a house in the Oak Creek school district for Mason if you’re bleeding money on unnecessary things?” Tired of the constant reprimands and desperate to keep the peace, I simply stopped buying things for myself. I became invisible, minimizing my footprint to avoid my daughter-in-law’s disdain. The one luxury I had left was a single set of Estée Lauder skincare, gifted to me by an old friend back home. But the moment Madison spotted it on my bathroom counter, she picked it up with a bright smile. “Oh, Mom, this formula isn’t really meant for mature skin. It’s actually much better suited for my age group.” Without waiting for an answer, she took it. I was hurt. I pulled Connor aside later and expressed my frustration. He didn’t even hesitate. He just exploded. “Mom, it’s just face cream! Do you really have to be this dramatic?” “Look,” he hissed, glancing nervously toward the hallway. “Complain to me if you have to, but keep your voice down. If Madison hears you, she’s just going to think you’re being petty and cheap again.” I stood there, trembling with a rage I had to swallow whole. Before he got married, I had prepared myself for the standard mother-in-law friction. I thought we might bicker over how to load the dishwasher or what to feed the baby. I never imagined that becoming a live-in grandmother meant forfeiting my fundamental human rights. I was expected to work. I was not expected to speak. I was not allowed to complain. I was not allowed to have feelings. Just like today. If Connor and Madison demanded we vacate the house for their anniversary, we had to vanish. No excuses. No returning early. We had to wander the freezing streets or sit in a coffee shop until they officially texted us that their “alone time” was over. Only then were we permitted to turn the key in our own front door. My chest ached with the weight of the memories. Suddenly, our bedroom door was thrown open. Connor stood in the frame, his face flushed with anger. “What is going on in here?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Why are you two up in the middle of the night with the lights on? You know Madison is a light sleeper. Do you want to wake her up?” My fingers tightened around the handle of my overnight bag. Along with the mandatory evacuations for holidays, Madison had instituted a complex web of “boundaries.” I was strictly forbidden from entering their master bedroom. Except, of course, on Mondays, when I was expected to go in and deep-clean it. Any other time, I had to text her for permission before even knocking on her door. But our door? Connor could throw it open whenever he pleased. Madison could wander in without a word. If Robert and I wanted to visit relatives back home or just take a day trip to the city, we had to submit a request for Madison’s approval. Our time was entirely beholden to her schedule, required to step in the second she felt “touched out” by motherhood. Even our sleep was policed. We weren’t allowed to toss and turn too loudly. We had to be in bed by ten. We were discouraged from using our en-suite bathroom in the middle of the night because the sound of the plumbing might disturb Madison’s delicate sleep cycle. Yet, if it was 4:00 AM and Madison was in the living room blasting the television, Robert and I weren’t allowed to utter a single word of complaint. If we even looked tired the next day, Connor would be furiously knocking on our door. “What do you want from us?” he would accuse. “Are you just trying to tear my marriage apart? Is that what will make you happy?” Every single time, Robert and I swallowed our pride. We stayed silent. I understand that different generations have different ways of living. I really do. But what I couldn’t understand was why Robert and I were the only ones doing the bending. Why did we have to twist ourselves into knots to accommodate them? We gave them our money. We gave them our labor. And in return, we swallowed every indignity. Did we spend our whole lives working, raising a son, just to spend our twilight years as indentured servants with no voice in our own home? The injustice of it burned my throat. A tear slipped down my cheek. Seeing me cry, Connor let out an exasperated groan, marched over, and snatched the bag right out of my hands. “Tears. Always the tears,” he mocked. “How exactly am I abusing you, Mom? Please, tell me why you’re acting like such a martyr.” “Just stop,” he ordered, throwing the bag back onto the bed. “Stop making noise. I am so sick of the crying and the drama.” He didn’t offer a single word of comfort. He just turned around and slammed the door shut behind him. Robert let out a long, heavy sigh, staring at the closed door. “Leave the rest of the packing, Martha,” he said softly. “It’s not like any of this is worth anything anyway. We leave first thing in the morning.” I wiped my cheeks. “Okay.” 3 At the crack of dawn, Robert and I boarded an Amtrak train heading back to our home state. Throughout the entire journey, my phone remained silent. Connor didn’t call. I did, however, see his social media updates. He and Madison were having a spectacularly busy anniversary. First, a photo of an artisan couples’ brunch. Then, a check-in at Barbara’s house to pick up Mason. From there, the whole family—including Madison’s mother—went to the zoo. After the zoo, Connor posted a picture from a high-end jewelry store, showing off a gold necklace he bought for Barbara, and a two-thousand-dollar designer leather belt he bought for Madison’s father. His caption read: “Thank you for raising such an incredible daughter, and trusting me to be her husband.” I stared at the screen, and then my eyes slowly drifted down to my husband’s waist. Robert was wearing a cheap, synthetic belt. The faux leather was peeling off in large, jagged flakes. I sat in silence for a long time as the winter landscape blurred past the train window. “When we get back,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “I’m going to ask my niece to help us get you an appointment at the university hospital. And then… we’re going to the mall. I’m buying you a new belt.” It was a sick, tragic joke. Before he retired, Robert had been a mid-level manager at a logistics firm. He had always taken immense pride in his appearance. Always wore a sharp suit. And now, after giving everything to our son, he didn’t even have the money to replace a disintegrating belt. Oddly enough, staring at that ruined piece of leather, the crushing sadness in my chest suddenly evaporated. We brought a child into this world. We raised him. We did our duty. Surely, our obligation to him was finished now. It wasn’t until noon the next day that my phone finally rang. Connor sounded elated. He’d had a fantastic day. “Mom, you and Dad can come home now,” he announced cheerfully. “Madison and I are done celebrating. You’re clear to come back.” My grip on the phone tightened. I forced down the rising panic, took a breath, and said, “Connor, your father and I went back to Ohio.” There was a dead silence on the line. Then, I heard the sharp intake of breath before the explosion. “You went back to Ohio?!” he screamed, the sound echoing out of the receiver. “Who gave you permission to leave?! Who said you could go back?” “You just left? Who the hell is going to drop Mason off at school? Who’s making dinner? Who’s cleaning the house?” “Mom, I just wanted one night with my wife! Are you seriously so petty that you ran away back home just to spite me?” Listening to his furious, rapid-fire accusations, my nails dug into my palms. Why didn’t I tell him we were leaving? Because I couldn’t bear another screaming match. Connor and Madison celebrated everything. Connor’s birthday was an excuse for “alone time.” Mason’s birthday meant they needed “family-of-three time.” Even when it was Barbara’s birthday, Connor would invite his mother-in-law over and declare it was time for the five of them to have an intimate dinner—which meant Robert and I were exiled. And every time, we had to leave. Sometimes, they finished early, and we’d only have to wander the neighborhood until 8:00 PM. But sometimes they stayed out late, or Connor simply forgot to call us. We’d spend hours sitting in a 24-hour diner, nursing black coffees just to stay warm. The worst of it had been last Christmas Eve. When we left the house that morning, Connor had been all smiles. He told us to go to the mall, catch a movie, buy some nice clothes. Just stay out until they finished hosting Christmas Eve dinner with Barbara and Madison’s extended family. It stung. It was Christmas Eve. Who wants to be kicked out of their own home on a holiday meant for family? But Connor explained that Barbara only had one daughter, and she didn’t feel comfortable celebrating with “outsiders” present. He said our house had the best dining room for hosting, so it just made sense. I didn’t understand why Barbara insisted on hosting her family in our son’s house, effectively banishing us into the cold. But for Connor’s sake, we went. That night, Connor got drunk. He never called. By midnight, the temperature had plummeted, and Robert and I were freezing to death. We finally took a cab back to the house, only to find the code on the smart lock had been changed. We knocked, we rang the bell, but no one answered. Robert and I huddled together in the breezeway of their front porch for the entire night. We sat on the concrete, the freezing wind cutting right through our coats. It wasn’t until 7:00 AM, when Barbara stepped out in her silk robe to throw away wrapping paper, that she found us. She looked down at us, shivering and blue-lipped, and sneered. “Are you two idiots? Just sitting out here freezing your asses off to save a buck? You couldn’t just go check into a Holiday Inn?” We had been freezing all night, terrified and exhausted. Hearing Barbara’s mocking tone snapped something inside Robert. He lunged forward, his face flushed with fury, raising a hand as if to slap her. “You changed the code, didn’t you?!” he roared. “You heard us knocking last night and you just let us freeze!” Seeing Robert’s uncharacteristic rage, Barbara immediately began to shriek, playing the victim. “Connor! Connor, get out here! Your psycho father is trying to attack me!” “I curse the day I let my daughter marry into this trash family! Connor, get out here and control your animal of a father!” Hearing the screaming, Connor burst out the front door, looking panicked and hungover. He immediately shoved himself between Robert and Barbara, acting like a human shield. “Put your hand down right now!” Connor screamed, pointing a finger directly in his father’s face. “If you lay one finger on her, I swear to God…” Seeing the venom in my son’s eyes—the way he looked at his own father as if he were an enemy—I felt something inside me break. Maybe that was the exact moment I lost hope for the boy I had sacrificed everything to raise. Tears freezing on my cheeks, I looked at my son. “Connor, we sat out in the snow all night. Your dad is freezing, he just lost his temper. Why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you let us in?” Connor didn’t even blink. “There are only three bedrooms. Mason’s, ours, and Barbara took the guest room. There was nowhere for you to sleep.” My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. I felt Robert’s hand tighten into a fist beside me. And then, Connor delivered the final blow. “How was I supposed to know you were stupid enough to sleep on the porch instead of just getting a hotel room?” Hearing those words, whatever maternal instinct was left in me withered and died. Our combined income was six thousand a month. Three thousand went to their groceries and bills. Just a week prior, Connor had asked me for the remaining three thousand, claiming Mason’s private kindergarten tuition was short. I gave it to him without a second thought. Our next checks weren’t arriving for ten days. Between the two of us, Robert and I had less than three hundred dollars to our names. It was Christmas Eve in a major city. The cheapest, filthiest motel was charging four hundred dollars a night. The tears just kept falling. Beside me, Robert’s shoulders slumped. In that one moment, he seemed to age ten years. “Your mother and I are going back to Ohio,” Robert said, his voice hollow. “You can raise your own son.” Connor went ballistic. “Going back to Ohio?! You’re leaving?! Just because I let my mother-in-law stay over for one night, you’re abandoning us?! You guys are so toxic! You know Madison and I have to work! Who’s going to watch Mason?!” For the first time in my life, I couldn’t hold back the venom. “You have a mother-in-law right there! Let her do the free babysitting!” I said it out of pure spite. But God, I meant every word. Just then, Madison appeared in the doorway. She leaned against the frame, clutching a mug of coffee, looking at me with pure disdain. “Fine,” she sneered. “If you guys walk out that door, I’m divorcing your son.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400770”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My best friend, Sylvia, tells everyone I’m out of my mind. And maybe she’s right. I am, at my very core, profoundly and unapologetically lazy. I know my husband is keeping a mistress on the side. I’ve known for years. But honestly? I just couldn’t be bothered to deal with the drama of it all. For ten years, the two of them have been playing house, playing corporate power couple, while I stayed home, entirely checked out. And the truly miraculous part? These two overachievers actually took my father’s dying, debt-ridden boutique firm and hustled it all the way to a public offering. I was perfectly content to keep playing the absentee wife and the silent owner until I died. But I suppose greed has a funny way of making people impatient. This year, they finally called a meeting. My husband slid a legal document across the table. “Ten million dollars. Sign it, and walk away clean.” I looked at the paperwork, then thought about a company with a market cap well over a hundred million. And I smiled. “I think,” I said softly, “you two are fundamentally misunderstanding the situation.” 01 The air conditioning in the cafe was set to a freezing, artificial chill. Sitting across from me was my husband, Harley, and his mistress of ten years, Camilla. They sat close, leaning into each other with the practiced intimacy of seasoned business partners. They were draped in tailored, bespoke wool and silk. Identical limited-edition Rolexes peeked out from their cuffs. And then there was me. I was wearing a loose, wrinkled linen dress and a pair of slip-on flats, looking every bit like a tired housewife who had accidentally wandered into a Fortune 500 boardroom. Harley pushed the manila folder toward me. Next to it rested a cashier’s check. Ten million dollars. “Betty, let’s be adults about this,” Harley said. His voice was deadpan, dripping with that specific brand of condescension reserved for men who think they hold all the cards. “For a decade, you haven’t lifted a finger. Crestview Holdings is what it is today because Camilla and I built it from the ground up. Blood, sweat, and tears.” He paused, generously allowing me a moment to digest his brilliance. “There hasn’t been anything between us for a long time. Dragging this out isn’t good for anyone’s mental health.” Right on cue, Camilla offered me a soft, apologetic smile. She was the ghost of his idealized first love made flesh—sweet, pristine, and seemingly harmless. “Betty, Harley really is just looking out for your peace of mind,” she cooed, her voice practically dripping with faux-sincerity. “With this money, you can live the rest of your life in total comfort. You’ll never have to stress over a single thing ever again.” Ten years. Ever since I tossed the keys of my father’s half-dead company at Harley, I had effectively been living in early retirement. I knew he was sleeping with his “indispensable” Vice President. I just lacked the energy to blow up my life over it. As long as they grew the margins and the dividends hit my accounts every quarter, I couldn’t care less how many Camillas he entertained on company retreats. Sylvia used to scream at me over martinis, warning me that I was raising a wolf in my own backyard. I’d just smile and sip my drink. You have to let the livestock get fat before the slaughter. I didn’t touch the divorce papers. I didn’t even glance at the check. Instead, my fingers slowly, deliberately stirred my coffee. The silver spoon chimed against the porcelain. Clink. Clink. Clink. In the suffocating quiet of the private booth, the sound was deafening. Harley’s brow twitched. My absolute lack of reaction was deeply offensive to him. In the script he had written in his head, I was supposed to have a hysterical breakdown. I was supposed to beg, or scream, or greedily try to negotiate for fifteen million. I wasn’t supposed to be sitting here, completely placid, as if I were listening to a boring podcast about a stranger’s life. “Ten million. Walk away clean,” I repeated softly, letting the words roll around on my tongue. “Harley, you’ve been running a publicly traded company for a decade, and this is the absolute best strategy you could come up with?” Harley’s face darkened. “Don’t get greedy, Betty. Have you ever put a single hour of work into that firm? Do you even know what floor our corporate offices are on?” Camilla immediately chimed in, a sharp edge of disdain finally bleeding through her sweet facade. “Betty, the company is valued at over a hundred million, but that valuation exists because of our sacrifices. Offering you ten million is an act of grace.” I finally stopped stirring my coffee. I looked up. I looked right into their eyes. And then, I laughed. It wasn’t a bitter laugh, or a mocking one. It was genuine, bubbling amusement. “I think you two are fundamentally misunderstanding the situation.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it made both of them freeze. “From the day this company was incorporated, I have been the sole legal entity. One hundred percent of the shares sit in a trust with my name on it. You two? One of you is my legally authorized proxy, and the other is a glorified W-2 employee.” I watched the color slowly drain from their faces, and my smile only widened. “When did I ever give you the impression that my company somehow belonged to you?” Harley’s face turned an ugly, mottled purple. “You—! Betty, without us, that company is an empty shell!” “Which is exactly why I should be thanking you,” I nodded agreeably. “And as a token of my gratitude, I haven’t withheld a single cent of your salaries or your exorbitant bonuses. Camilla, your year-end distribution last December was over three million dollars. I assume that’s what paid for the matching Rolex?” Camilla went ghostly white. I stood up and grabbed my purse. “I’m not signing the divorce papers. And I won’t be parting with a single penny of my assets.” I looked down at them, suddenly realizing they were nothing more than a pair of cheap hustlers playing dress-up. “The annual shareholder meeting is next month. I’ll be attending. As the Chairman of the Board.” “I can’t wait to see how you plan to move a single dollar of corporate funds without my signature.” I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving them suffocating in the chilled air. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, the bright afternoon sun hit my face. My smile vanished instantly. My blood ran ice-cold. I got into my SUV, locked the doors, and hit a number on my dashboard screen. “Arthur. It’s me.” A deep, gravelly voice answered on the first ring. “Mrs. Fordham. Are we ready?” “Yes.” I stared at the rearview mirror, watching Harley and Camilla burst out of the cafe doors, looking frantically up and down the street. My eyes were dead. “They played their hand. Initiate the protocol.” The pig had been fattening up for ten years. It was finally time for the slaughter. 02 Arthur Prescott was a shark. He was one of the most ruthless, high-tier corporate litigators on the East Coast. Ten years ago, the moment I decided to check out of reality, I put him on retainer. Back then, I had just inherited the company after my father’s sudden fatal heart attack. The firm wasn’t massive, but it was bleeding cash, drowning in liabilities, and teetering on the edge of Chapter 11 bankruptcy. My father’s dying wish, whispered through an oxygen mask, was for me to save his legacy. But I was exhausted. I was grieving. And I possessed exactly zero business acumen. Harley was just a hungry, aggressive junior executive back then. He had nothing to his name but a cheap suit and a burning, desperate ambition. He pursued me relentlessly. He treated me like a queen. But I wasn’t stupid. I saw the raw, starving greed in his eyes. I needed a workhorse to save my father’s legacy. He needed a ladder to climb out of his tax bracket. We made a quiet, unspoken pact. Before the wedding, I made Harley sit down in Arthur’s mahogany-paneled office. Arthur drafted a prenuptial agreement so draconian it was practically medieval, alongside an ironclad Corporate Proxy Agreement. The paperwork explicitly stated that ownership of Crestview Holdings remained entirely mine. Harley was granted operational control. As my husband and proxy, he could run the day-to-day, but any structural changes, major acquisitions, or equity transfers required my physical signature. His base salary and performance-based equity phantom shares were laid out in black and white. Blinded by the zeroes on the page and the illusion of power, Harley signed everything without blinking. He honestly believed that once the ring was on my finger, I—and my empire—would ultimately belong to him. He was remarkably naive. I didn’t believe in the fairy tale of marriage. I believed in legally binding contracts. For ten years, I played the fool. I stayed home, baked sourdough, and read novels. But every single quarter, Arthur’s couriers dropped a sealed box of financial audits and board minutes at my door. I knew about every book Harley cooked. I knew about every board member he bought off with luxury vacations. I knew exactly how he and Camilla were slowly trying to dilute my power. I even knew about the shell companies registered in Delaware under Camilla’s cousin’s name, where they were quietly siphoning off liquid capital. I knew all of it. I just didn’t move. I was waiting. Waiting for them to inflate the balloon to its absolute maximum capacity. Waiting for them to feel utterly invincible. And then, I was going to take it all back, with interest. The timer just went off. “Arthur, they tried to buy me out for ten million,” I stated flatly over the Bluetooth connection. Arthur let out a low, dry chuckle. “It appears they’ve suffered a severe bout of amnesia regarding their actual tax bracket.” “They forgot who owns the house. Let’s remind them.” “Give me the green light, Betty.” “Phase one: Serve the papers. Notify the Board of Directors and the SEC that I am permanently revoking Harley’s proxy privileges. All corporate seals, financial authorizations, and signatory rights are frozen immediately, pending a full audit.” “Phase two: File the injunctions. Freeze every single personal and business bank account tied to Harley, Camilla, and their Delaware LLCs.” “Phase three: I want a formal complaint filed with the federal authorities. Wire fraud, embezzlement, and corporate malfeasance against the current acting CEO.” I rattled off the orders with clinical precision. I could hear Arthur typing frantically. “Copy that. Betty, you still have the original Founder’s Charter in your possession?” “I do.” It was my nuclear code. It was the original founding document my father had drafted decades ago. Buried deep in the legalese was a ‘Golden Share’ clause: The Founder, or her direct heir, retains an absolute veto over any and all Board resolutions. This clause exists in perpetuity and cannot be diluted, amended, or bypassed. Harley and his cronies thought my power began and ended with my 100% equity, which they had been trying to maneuver around. They had no idea I held the kill switch. I pulled into the driveway of the sprawling estate Harley and I had shared for a decade. He wouldn’t be coming home tonight. Good. I didn’t want the smell of his cologne in the foyer. I walked straight into my walk-in closet, spun the dial on the wall safe, and pulled out a heavy, fireproof document bag. I ran my thumb over the old wax seal. My chest tightened. Dad, I didn’t let it burn. I’m keeping what’s ours. And I’m going to ruin anyone who tries to take it. By 9:00 AM the next morning, Arthur’s firm executed a bloodbath. Cease-and-desist letters and proxy-revocation notices slammed into the inboxes of every single board member at Crestview Holdings. Simultaneously, federal court summons and asset-freeze mandates were hand-delivered to Harley and Camilla’s desks. I could only imagine the sheer terror on their faces when the process servers walked in. My phone started ringing. It didn’t stop. Numbers I didn’t recognize. Harley. Camilla. I swiped them all to voicemail. I took a long shower, put on a silk blouse and a pair of tailored slacks, and drove downtown to Sylvia’s art gallery. She was in the middle of critiquing a student’s canvas when she saw me. She dropped her arms, her jaw hitting the floor. “Well, look who decided to join the land of the living. Did hell freeze over? You’re out of sweatpants.” I smiled, dropping onto the velvet sofa in her office. “I have some news.” “Spill.” “I’m going back to work.” The paintbrush in Sylvia’s hand snapped in two. She stared at me like I had just grown a second head. “You? Work? Are you having a stroke?” “No stroke.” I picked up a glass of sparkling water from her desk and took a sip. “Harley and Camilla tried to force me out of the company.” Sylvia’s face darkened instantly. She always knew that bastard was a snake. “How the hell did they think they could pull that off?” “They thought because I was quiet, I was stupid.” I set the glass down. The laziness that had defined my posture for a decade evaporated, replaced by cold steel. “So, I decided I’m done resting.” “I’m taking my empire back. And I’m throwing them out on the street with absolutely nothing.” 03 Monday morning. Crestview Holdings, 36th floor. The executive boardroom. The massive mahogany table was packed with the company’s directors and senior VPs. Almost all of them were Harley’s loyalists—men and women he had promoted, bribed, or coerced over the last decade. Right now, the room smelled like cheap coffee and panic. At the head of the table sat Harley. His face was a sickly shade of gray, the veins in his eyes red and inflamed. Beside him, acting as his ‘Special Executive Assistant,’ Camilla looked like a wilted flower. Her usual flawless blowout was messy; the designer makeup couldn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes. Friday’s legal carpet-bombing had hit them like a Category 5 hurricane. Subpoenas. Frozen accounts. SEC whistleblowers. Harley couldn’t wrap his mind around it. How did the woman who spent the last ten years watching Netflix and tending to a rose garden suddenly execute a corporate assassination with sniper-like precision? Worse—how did she know about the Delaware shell companies? The books had been cooked to Michelin-star perfection. “Harley, what the hell is going on here? Why did Betty revoke your proxy?” one of the older directors demanded, his voice cracking with anxiety. Corporate accounts were frozen. Half a dozen major development sites had halted construction. The stock ticker was bleeding out in pre-market trading. Harley took a ragged breath, trying to project authority he no longer possessed. “Everyone, please, calm down. This is merely a domestic dispute that has unfortunately bled into the office. I assure you, my wife and I will have this sorted out quietly.” “A domestic dispute?” An elderly man near the end of the table scoffed. It was Richard, one of my father’s original founding partners who Harley had sidelined into irrelevance years ago. “A domestic dispute involves throwing plates, Harley. It doesn’t involve the federal authorities freezing our operational liquidity. You better start talking!” Camilla leaped in, putting on her best fragile-but-brave voice. “Richard, please. It’s a massive misunderstanding. Betty is just… she’s having an emotional episode. A breakdown.” “A breakdown?” Richard glared at her. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like you two finally got caught with your hands in the cookie jar!” The boardroom erupted into chaos. Men in expensive suits shouting over each other. Right at that moment, the heavy double oak doors swung open. I stepped into the room. I wore a razor-sharp, ivory power suit and a pair of stiletto heels that clicked against the hardwood like gunfire. Arthur Prescott shadowed me, carrying a leather briefcase. The shouting died instantly. The silence was absolute. Every pair of eyes locked onto me. Shock. Confusion. Hostility. Fear. I ignored all of it. I walked a straight, unhurried line toward the head of the table. Harley stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a rabid kind of hatred. “Betty. What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400769”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The man I had loved for a decade came home with my older sister for Thanksgiving this year. That night, nobody in the house slept. Through the painfully thin drywall of my childhood bedroom, I listened. I listened to my boyfriend, Cameron, play the innocent, bashful guest. And then, I listened to my sister be anything but. The rhythmic, agonizing squeak of the guest bed springs felt like a metronome ticking down the last seconds of my sanity. I looked down at the glowing screen of my phone. My text thread with Cameron had stalled out yesterday afternoon. So exhausted from the drive, babe. Crashing early. Then, twelve hours later, he materialized in our foyer, his fingers laced through my sister’s, his other arm loaded with expensive wine and artisanal pastries. “Harper, Roxy said you love these…” The exact moment our eyes locked, the bakery box slipped from his fingers. The pastries hit the hardwood with a sickening splat. My sister, Roxy, swooped in instantly to save him. “He’s just a little jittery. It’s his first time meeting the family, after all.” She looped her arm through his, looking at me with perfect innocence. “You don’t mind, do you, Harp?” I forced a smile that felt like shattered glass against my lips. Roxy squeezed my shoulder. “Wait, didn’t you say you were bringing your boyfriend this year? Where is he?” “Dead,” I blurted out. “He died right before the holidays.” A heavy, suffocating blanket of grief instantly fell over the room. No one asked another question about the man I’d supposedly been dating. And yet, later that night, after Cameron and my sister had exhausted themselves in the guest room, my phone buzzed in the dark. A text from him. I still love you. Before my brain could even process the sheer audacity of it, my bedroom door creaked open. The hallway light spilled in, outlining my mother. “Get dressed, sweetie,” she whispered gently. “We’re going to go pay our respects at his grave.” … 1: Going Home I stared at my mother, panic rising in my throat like bile. God, I regretted it. I’d forgotten that my mother was a woman of absolute, uncompromising action. A woman who loved fiercely and grieved deeply. I never should have claimed my boyfriend was dead just to spare myself the humiliation of a holiday confrontation. A grave! Where the hell was I supposed to find a grave? Mom and my stepdad were already bustling around the kitchen, pulling out a thermos of coffee and packing up a basket of whatever offerings they deemed appropriate for a grieving girlfriend to take to a cemetery. I locked myself in the bathroom, my thumbs flying across my phone screen as I desperately posted on a local Reddit forum. [URGENT] Does anyone know a cemetery nearby with a grave of a guy around 27 years old? Preferably with the last name Foster. I just need to stand in front of it for ten minutes. Please help!! I braced myself for the incoming wave of internet trolls. I deserved it. But I also knew my parents. They were the kind of people who wouldn’t rest until they’d seen things through. And because I had spent the last few years under the delusion that Cameron and I were heading toward marriage, I had told my parents everything about him. They knew his age, his career, his last name. Before Roxy had walked through that door, I had literally been preparing to show them the couple’s portraits Cameron and I had taken. Thank God I’d thought the lighting was a bit harsh and decided to run them through a filter first. If I had sent them to the family group chat… this Thanksgiving would have been a bloodbath. A knock rattled the bathroom door. “Harper, let’s go!” my mom called out. “Roxy and her boyfriend are dressed and waiting in the car. We’re all going to support you.” What?! I immediately pulled up Cameron’s contact and fired off a text. Do you know whose grave my mom is dragging us to visit? A single question mark popped up. Yours, I typed back. A split second later, a muffled, panicked yelp echoed from the front hallway. My phone vibrated violently. A massive wall of text from Cameron flooded the screen. Stripped of its frantic rambling, the core message was: Why the fuck did you tell them I’m dead? I typed back, my thumbs trembling with a mix of rage and adrenaline. What was I supposed to say? That you’re currently screwing my sister? Silence on his end. Outside the bathroom door, I could hear my parents whispering, entirely oblivious to the absurd tragedy unfolding. “I remember Harper mentioning him a few times. Last name Foster, right? I can’t remember his first name,” my stepdad muttered. “He promised to spend the holidays with our girl, and then he just passes away so suddenly. It’s a tragedy. We have to be there for her,” Mom replied softly. Then came Roxy’s voice, thick with a feigned, dramatic sympathy. “You’re so right, Mom. Sometimes a wound needs to be exposed to the air before it can heal. Otherwise, you carry it forever. Right, Cameron?” “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, absolutely,” Cameron choked out. 2: Waiting I sat on the closed toilet lid, praying to whatever patron saint watched over desperate, lying women that some chronically online local would come to my rescue. What if? I thought. Just what if? I hit the flush handle to buy myself time. The moment the water rushed, a notification dinged. A direct message. It was a Google Maps pin to a local memorial park, along with a plot number, a row identifier, and a name. I nearly wept with relief. Whoever this was, they were a modern-day hero. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver, I typed frantically. Can I get your Venmo? I owe you a massive drink for this. The read receipt popped up, but no reply came. I stared at the screen. Was this a prank? But as I unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, I knew it was the only card I had left to play. I was all in. I fed the address to my stepdad as we piled into his SUV. The atmosphere in the car was suffocatingly solemn. “I had a lovely gift card set aside for him,” Mom murmured from the passenger seat, staring out the window. “Such a shame. Remind me, sweetie, how did it happen?” My mind blanked. I scrambled for the most tragic, blameless exit. “Cancer,” I said quietly. “He kept getting these headaches, but he refused to go to the doctor. By the time they caught it… it was too late.” In the driver’s seat, my stepdad let out a heavy sigh, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. “That’s the problem with being young. You think you’re invincible. You think you have time. Let this be a lesson to you, Harper. You feel something wrong, you get it checked out.” I nodded, playing the part of the dutiful, grieving daughter. Beside me in the backseat, Roxy reached over and laced her fingers through mine. Her face was a portrait of deep, sisterly concern. We weren’t biologically related. I was Mom’s kid from her first marriage; Roxy was my stepdad’s daughter from his. We only saw each other a few times a year, but we’d always clicked. She had always treated me like real blood. Which was why this betrayal felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. She squeezed my hand, struggling to find the words. Finally, she looked at me softly. “If I had known your boyfriend had passed, I never would have brought Cameron home. I wouldn’t have wanted to rub it in your face.” I shook my head, my chest tight. “It’s fine. I’m not upset.” I glanced at my mother, then at my stepdad. The truth was, I loved this family. After my biological father died—a man who had been nothing but cruel to us—my stepdad had stepped in and treated me as his own. He paid for my college. He never asked me to change my last name. But my own lingering insecurities always made me keep them at an arm’s length. I never wanted to be a burden. I rarely asked for money, and I kept my visits brief. Sitting in this car, we had exchanged more words than we had in the entire past year. I offered a bitter, fragile smile. My mom caught it. “Don’t dwell in the dark, Harper,” she said softly. “Some things are just out of our hands. He didn’t have the luck to stay in this world, but maybe he’ll have better luck in the next. Like those articles say—sometimes the truest form of love is letting go.” A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped my lips. I guess those sappy Facebook quotes my mom read actually had their uses. My stepdad smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “We just want you to be happy, kiddo. When your mom is happy, I’m happy.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Up front, Cameron sat rigidly, radiating the energy of an absolute intruder. He hadn’t dared to breathe too loudly, let alone speak. Then, Roxy broke the silence. “Harp, I have to ask… after he passed, his parents didn’t give you a hard time, did they?” I shook my head slowly, leaning into the lie. “They’re dead too.” In the passenger seat, Cameron violently whipped his head around to stare at me. I tilted my head, meeting his panicked gaze with dead eyes. “What is it, Cameron? Did you have a question about my late boyfriend’s family?” Cameron forced a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “No. No, of course not. Just… what a tragic story for the poor guy.” I nodded, turning back to Roxy. “His background wasn’t great. His parents didn’t work, he supported them from the day he got his first paycheck,” I said, my voice steady, weaving the very real insecurities Cameron used to throw in my face into my narrative. “And then they decided I wasn’t good enough for him. They said my family was practically broke, that my freelance career wasn’t a ‘real’ job. Whenever I went over for dinner, they’d literally feed me table scraps.” Smack. My mom hit the dashboard so hard the plastic groaned. The entire car went dead silent. “Then they deserved to rot,” Roxy snarled, her protective older-sister instincts flaring up. In the passenger seat, Cameron looked like he was going to throw up. And then, my stepdad—the quietest, most mild-mannered man I knew—spoke up. 3: Setting Off “The sheer audacity,” my stepdad growled, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “To look down on my daughter when they didn’t even have jobs themselves? We own our home. We put you through school. Your sister makes good money. The three of us could have bought and sold that boy. It’s a good thing he’s in the ground, Harper. Because if he were breathing, I’d be driving to his house right now to beat the living hell out of him.” My breath hitched. For a decade, I had swallowed Cameron’s subtle put-downs about my background. I had absorbed them because my biological father had never once stood up for me. Whenever I had come home crying as a kid, my real father’s response was usually to scream at me for being too sensitive, or worse. I had been conditioned to digest my pain in silence. Hearing my stepdad—a man who owed me nothing—defend me with such visceral, unhesitating rage… it broke something open inside me. A sob tore from my throat. And once I started crying, I couldn’t stop. Panic ensued. Roxy and my mom were tearing apart the car looking for tissues. Within seconds, the three of us women were holding hands across the seats, sobbing collectively. Even my stepdad had to pull over onto the shoulder for a minute to aggressively wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. Amidst the tears and the stopping and starting, we finally arrived at the coordinates the stranger had sent me. It was a small, quiet, beautifully maintained cemetery on the edge of town. A place my parents had never even heard of. I checked my phone constantly, pretending I was intimately familiar with the sprawling lawns, leading them down the winding gravel paths while my heart hammered against my ribs. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Cameron. I gotta hand it to you, Harper. You’re a fucking psychopath. How did you even find this place? I deleted the text without replying. As we walked, my stepdad put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re turned around, aren’t you? It’s okay, kiddo. Grief does that to your memory.” I nodded, forcing two fresh tears to spill over my lashes. My mom wrapped her arm around my waist, guiding me forward until we reached the exact row and plot. It was a fresh grave. Perfect, I thought, mentally promising my internet savior an embarrassing amount of money. The bronze plaque looked brand new. My parents stepped closer, peering at the name and the dates. “So young,” my mom whispered, her voice cracking. “It breaks your heart, doesn’t it?” I kept my head bowed, playing the role of the shattered lover. Roxy, ever the dramatic powerhouse, stepped forward. She pulled out an expensive bottle of bourbon she’d bought for our stepdad and poured a generous splash directly onto the grass in front of the headstone. “Listen to me, Foster,” Roxy said to the dirt. “You got a raw deal. If you were still here, I was fully prepared to haze you like a proper older sister. But you’re gone. So drink up, wherever you are. And know she’s safe with us.” She stood back up, brushing her hands off, before turning her sharp gaze onto Cameron, who was hovering awkwardly at the edge of the path. “Well?” Roxy snapped. “Don’t you have anything to say to the guy who came before you?” Cameron blinked, looking like a deer in the headlights. “I—uh. I don’t…” “Get on your knees, Cameron,” Roxy demanded, pointing at the grass. “Show some respect. Don’t act like a coward.” Cameron stammered, his eyes darting to me for help. I looked away. Without warning, Roxy kicked the back of his knee. Cameron buckled, stumbling forward until he was kneeling directly in front of the headstone. “Bow your head,” she ordered. “And tell him you’ll take good care of his girl.” Cameron squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. Slowly, humiliatingly, he bent forward, resting his forehead against the cold edge of the stone. “Good enough,” I muttered, honestly feeling second-hand embarrassment. “Hold on for a few more seconds,” Roxy commanded him. “Let the man hear you.” Cameron stayed frozen, his dignity entirely stripped away on the manicured lawn. Finally, he scrambled back to his feet, dusting off his designer jeans with trembling hands. “I’m fine. We’re good.” Meanwhile, my parents were busy arranging a bizarre, high-end picnic at the base of the grave. They had brought the best cuts of cured meats, expensive imported fruits, and a box of high-end cigars my stepdad had been saving. The kind of spread you’d offer a new son-in-law. “We bought all this when Harper said you were coming,” Mom said tearfully to the headstone. “You didn’t make it. But we couldn’t just leave it at the house. It belongs to you.” Watching them carefully lay out the offerings, a sharp pang of guilt finally hit me. They were pouring so much genuine love into a lie. I looked down. My phone vibrated. Cameron: You owe me so much money for this therapy bill. You literally killed off my entire family. 4: The Incident I had to suppress the urge to turn around and shove him into an open plot. For my sister and my parents’ sake, I held it together. I crouched down in front of the bronze marker. “I don’t know who sent me your information,” I whispered to the cold metal, “but you really saved me today. I’ll come back and visit you for real. We’re the same age. We probably would have been friends.” I took a small, resilient succulent I’d brought from my windowsill and nestled it into the fresh dirt near the base. “This thing is impossible to kill,” I told him softly. “I hope wherever you are, you have that same kind of stubborn life in you.” I finally read the name on the plaque. Nathaniel Foster. It was a strong name. Quiet. Enduring. There was a small QR code etched into the bottom corner of the bronze. I had seen them before—modern memorials that linked to a digitized obituary or a video tribute. Driven by an morbid, compulsive curiosity, I pulled out my phone and opened the camera. My parents stared at me, slightly horrified. “Harper, is that… appropriate?” Mom asked. “Oh, let her,” Roxy said dismissively. “It’s her boyfriend.” The phone chimed. The link opened. I instantly knew it was a bad idea, but my thumb had already tapped the play button. A video filled my screen. A young man with tired but incredibly kind eyes smiled directly into the camera. “Hey. I’m Nathaniel,” his voice drifted from my phone speaker, raspy but warm. “If you’re watching this, I’m guessing I’ve been dead for about a year. I can’t believe someone actually came to visit!” My hands started to shake. “I’m really glad you did,” the digital Nathaniel continued. “Do you think you could come back sometime? Because… my friends and my family, they’re all gone, too. It’s just me.” All the air rushed out of my lungs. When I had been spinning those lies in the car about his family being dead—I hadn’t known. I felt a horrifying wave of nausea, convinced I had somehow manifested this tragedy. Before I could even process the horror, Nathaniel offered a bright, brittle laugh. “Anyway, make sure you eat well today. Be happy. That’s the most important thing. You’re my only connection left to the living world, so you better live a long time for the both of us.” The video ended. Behind me, the dam broke. My parents—who rarely cried at even the most manipulative Hallmark movies—were openly sobbing. Roxy was letting out a sound that was half-wail, half-howl. They hadn’t even clocked the discrepancy in the timeline. They were too deeply immersed in the tragedy of it all. It took Cameron and me ten minutes to corral them back to the SUV. My stepdad was crying too hard to see the road, so Cameron had to take the wheel. About halfway home, Cameron pulled into a gas station. “I need to use the restroom,” he muttered, throwing the car into park and practically running toward the convenience store. The moment the store’s glass doors slid shut behind him, my stepdad instantly stopped crying. He sat up straight, wiped his eyes perfectly dry, unbuckled his seatbelt, and vaulted over the center console into the driver’s seat. He slammed the car into drive and floored the gas pedal. I whipped around in the backseat, completely stunned. After five minutes of speeding down the highway, I finally found my voice. “Um. I think we left someone behind.” Roxy let out a dark, vicious scoff. “Good. Let the bastard rot at the Sunoco. He deserves it for what he did to you.” “Your sister saw the texts he sent you,” my mom added calmly from the front. “She told us the second we got in the house.” Roxy grabbed my hands, her eyes fierce. “Harp. Look at me. I might not be your biological sister, but I would never do some twisted soap opera bullshit and steal your guy. Mostly because I’m way out of his league, but also because… his contact in your phone is literally ‘Uber Eats Driver.’ I just thought he was dropping off your dinner.” I let out a breathless, broken laugh. Roxy smiled ruefully. “I knew something was off last night. Why would an Uber Eats driver have the exact same profile picture as you? I checked the details while he was sleeping. I saw it all.” My parents nodded in agreement. They had orchestrated this entire morning the second they found out. “I gotta ask,” I said, smiling through a fresh wave of tears. “If I hadn’t found a random grave on the internet, were you guys just going to start digging a hole in the backyard?” They were absolutely unhinged. And I loved them so much. As the warmth of my family enveloped me, my phone buzzed in my hand. The stranger from Reddit had finally replied. They sent a phone number. I quickly added the contact and sent a text. Hi, I’m Harper. Thank you so much for today. A bubble popped up immediately. Hi. I’m Nathaniel Foster. What?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400768”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My roommate was a kept woman. The kind who collected designer bags and slathered her face in five-hundred-dollar La Mer creams, playing house on someone else’s dime. I would stare at my own reflection in the mirror, tracing the lines of my face, knowing full well she wasn’t even half as beautiful as I was. And so, with cold, calculated precision, I maneuvered my way into Tristan Roth’s bed. I played the game perfectly. Right up until the night I stood hidden in the shadows of a velvet-lined corridor at an exclusive Upper East Side social club, listening to Tristan laugh with his friends. “Camille? Please. She’s basically a high-end escort who actually convinced herself she’s Manhattan royalty,” Tristan’s voice dripped with aristocratic disdain. “She’s even more pathetic than that roommate of hers. Throw her a few scraps and she wags her tail. You should see how she begs when she’s naked in my bed. It makes me sick.” The clinking of their scotch glasses echoed off the mahogany walls. “A gold digger like her? Toss her a few million and she’ll disappear. She isn’t even fit to tie my shoes.” I kept my head lowered in the dark. My fingertip traced the string of zeroes on the cashier’s check he had left for me, a cold, silent smile curling my lips. He was right, of course. I was entirely, unapologetically insatiable. So, it was time to find a more generous bidder. 1. I stepped out of the shadowy corridor, the thick wool carpet absorbing the sharp click of my stilettos. Pushing through the heavy brass-and-glass doors, the crisp bite of the autumn New York wind hit my face. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for a private wealth management branch in Midtown. In the hushed, mahogany-paneled VIP room, I slid Tristan’s signed check across the marble counter. Five million dollars. The banker’s manicured fingers danced across the keyboard, printing out the deposit receipt without a blink. Once the funds cleared, I slipped my new platinum card into my purse, walked out onto Fifth Avenue, and headed straight for Bergdorf Goodman. When I walked into the Hermès boutique, the sales associate gave my tailored but obviously off-the-rack trench coat a single, sweeping glance and remained rooted behind the counter. I didn’t say a word. I simply pointed to the latest cashmere coat in the window and a matte black Birkin on the display shelf. I handed her the card. I left my old clothes in the fitting room. When I pushed open the door to my shared apartment, Paige was sitting on the thrifted sofa, meticulously painting her nails a violent shade of red. She glanced up, her eyes immediately locking onto the silhouette of the Birkin in my hand. A cruel smirk twisted her lips. “Tristan finally pay out your severance package?” I ignored her, walking straight into my bedroom to pull out my largest suitcase. “You should have known your place,” Paige called out, blowing on her wet nails. “A family with the Roths’ pedigree was never going to let a broke college kid climb into their family tree.” I opened my closet, pulling out the few silk camisoles worth keeping, and swept the rest of my wardrobe straight into the trash bags. Paige stood up, leaning against my doorframe. “Just pack up and crawl back to whatever Midwest trailer park you came from. You got dumped.” I zipped the suitcase shut, straightened my spine, and met her eyes with dead, unwavering calm. “My half of the rent is paid through the end of the month. You’re on your own for the utilities.” I grabbed the handle of my luggage and walked past her. Behind me, I heard the sharp intake of her breath before a glass tumbler smashed against the doorframe, shards glittering as they rained down near my new leather boots. I stepped over the broken glass, pulled the door shut, and left that life behind forever. An hour later, I was sitting in a high-end real estate brokerage. I signed a lease for a glass-walled penthouse in Tribeca. Fifteen thousand a month. I paid the entire year upfront. When I finally pushed open the door to my new sanctuary, the sprawling floor-to-ceiling windows framed the bleeding neon and steel of the Manhattan skyline. I sank into the Italian leather sofa, the apartment utterly, beautifully silent. I pulled out my phone and permanently blocked every trace of Tristan Roth. Then, I opened an encrypted file on my tablet. It contained a meticulously curated list of the city’s apex predators—a dossier I had spent months compiling. My finger scrolled down the glowing screen until it stopped on a single name: Dominic Roth. Tristan’s uncle. The phantom architect of the Roth family empire. The man who actually held the strings. I tapped into his leaked itinerary. Tonight, at eight o’clock, there was an ultra-exclusive, closed-door gala at The Baccarat Hotel. I glanced at the brass clock on the wall. Three in the afternoon. Plenty of time to secure a seat at the table. I made a call to a high-society fixer I knew. Fifty thousand dollars later, a peripheral, no-name invitation was transferred to my phone. With the digital barcode secured, I went to my stylist. I didn’t choose the pure, innocent white dress Tristan always liked me to wear. I chose a custom crimson gown. Plunging back, second-skin fit. I was wearing my ambition like armor. 2. At exactly seven-thirty, I stepped into the opulent lobby of The Baccarat. The bouncer scanned my digital pass, and a waiter guided me into the grand ballroom. The Baccarat crystal chandeliers threw fractured, blinding light across a sea of tailored tuxedos and diamond-draped necks. I took a flute of champagne from a passing tray and retreated to the shadow of a marble pillar, letting my eyes sweep the room. The double doors opened. Tristan walked in, Paige clinging to his arm. She was wearing a white lace dress—the exact style he used to buy for me—and a diamond tennis necklace that practically screamed new money. They gravitated toward the center table, holding court with the usual trust-fund crowd. One of the heirs turned, catching a glimpse of my red dress through the crowd. He elbowed Tristan. Tristan turned. His eyes locked onto mine. His face darkened instantly. Tearing himself away from his sycophants, he marched toward me, pulling Paige along in his wake. “How the hell did you get in here?” Tristan hissed, his voice a lethal whisper. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my champagne. “Through the front door. Like everyone else.” Paige leaned against his arm, covering a giggling sneer with her hand. “Camille, you don’t belong here. Did you seriously use the breakup money Tristan gave you to come hunt for a new sugar daddy?” Tristan’s eyes raked over my crimson gown with utter disgust. “Was five million not enough to buy your dignity? You just had to come here and embarrass yourself?” He snapped his fingers, signaling a waiter. “Get security. Have this trespasser thrown out.” The waiter hesitated as security guards began to approach. I reached into my clutch, pulled out the heavy, gold-embossed invitation I had just bought, and slapped it flat onto the nearest cocktail table. “Registered guest. Under my own name,” I said, my voice carrying just enough to turn heads. Tristan stared at the name printed on the card, a muscle in his jaw ticking furiously. “You are such a parasite, Camille. There is no gutter too low for you to crawl through for a dollar, is there?” I stepped into his personal space, the cloying scent of his Tom Ford cologne hitting my nose. “Tristan, in this room, everyone only answers to the dollar. Don’t pretend you’re sitting on some moral high ground.” Suddenly, the ambient hum of the ballroom died. The silence rippled outward from the entrance like a shockwave. The crowd parted instinctively, leaving a wide, empty aisle. I followed their gaze. Dominic Roth had arrived. He walked in wearing a bespoke, midnight-black suit, his features carved from cold granite. He was exceptionally tall, radiating a chilling, absolute authority, flanked by four security details in earpieces. The temperature in the room plummeted. Tristan, who had been sneering at me seconds ago, immediately straightened his spine. He dropped Paige’s hand and practically jogged forward to grovel. “Uncle Dominic. You made it.” Dominic didn’t even grant him a glance. He walked right past his nephew and took his seat at the head of the main table. The power brokers of the city immediately swarmed him, offering eager toasts. I stayed exactly where I was, my champagne glass steady in my hand. The distance was too great to bridge right now. I was waiting for the breathing room. The quiet moment. Halfway through the evening, the sycophants began to bore him. Dominic waved off a CEO mid-sentence, rolling an unlit cigar between his fingers. His security detail seamlessly formed a wall, blocking anyone else from approaching. This was it. I placed my champagne glass on a passing tray, slipped a folded manila envelope from my purse, and walked directly toward the head table. A bodyguard immediately stepped into my path, a massive hand raised. “Back away, ma’am.” I didn’t stop. I simply held the envelope out to the guard. “Tell him it’s the fatal flaw in the environmental impact report for the Southport Harbor Redevelopment.” I raised my voice just enough to cut through the jazz playing in the background. “I didn’t stumble upon this. I spent months piecing together Tristan’s drunken rants and the shredded documents from his home office. The soil toxicity samples for the East Sector were falsified. The real data is in this envelope.” The movement of the cigar in Dominic’s fingers stopped. He lifted his gaze. Cold, predatory eyes bypassed his security wall and locked onto my face. I held his stare. I didn’t blink. “Let her through,” Dominic commanded. The bodyguard stepped aside. I walked up to the table, pulled out the chair directly beside him, and sat down. A collective, audible gasp echoed from the surrounding tables. A few yards away, Tristan was staring at me, his face practically vibrating with rage. He took a step forward, ready to intervene, but one of Dominic’s guards simply placed a heavy hand on Tristan’s shoulder, pinning him in place. I pushed the envelope across the linen tablecloth. Dominic opened it, his eyes scanning the first two pages. “How did you get these numbers?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. “That doesn’t matter,” I replied, holding his gaze. “What matters is that this document just saved you three billion dollars in federal penalty fees.” Dominic slowly closed the folder. “What do you want?” “Money. A lot of it. And the exclusive procurement rights for the entire Southport Harbor supply chain.” 3. I laid my absolute bottom line on the table. He let out a low, dark chuckle. “Tristan wasn’t lying. You really are insatiable.” Hearing that, I knew Tristan had already painted a picture of me to his uncle behind closed doors. I didn’t bother defending myself. “As long as you can afford my price, Mr. Roth, I’ll prove I’m worth every penny.” Dominic picked up a heavy silver lighter. With a sharp click, a blue flame erupted. He lit his cigar, taking a slow, measured drag, the smoke curling around his sharp jawline. “Tonight. Nine o’clock. My suite.” He gave me the room number, stood up, and walked out of the ballroom. The entire room turned to look at me. The air was thick with venomous jealousy, disgust, and morbid curiosity. I smoothed the silk of my red skirt and prepared to leave. Tristan lunged into my path, his face flushed purple. “Are you out of your psychotic mind? That is my uncle.” He leaned in, spitting the words. “You think he’s some benevolent sugar daddy? He plays with people for sport. He will crush you like an insect.” I brushed his trembling hand away. “Don’t worry about me, Tristan. At least Dominic pays what I’m worth. Unlike you.” Tristan raised his hand, fully intending to strike me across the face. I didn’t flinch. His hand froze in mid-air. He knew better than to cause a physical scene at The Baccarat with half of Wall Street watching. I walked around him, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the penthouse. At exactly nine o’clock, I knocked on the mahogany door of the presidential suite. It was unlocked, left slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped into the dim interior. Only a single floor lamp was lit. Dominic was sitting on the velvet sofa, a crystal tumbler of amber scotch in one hand. On the coffee table in front of him rested a thick, legally bound contract. “Sit.” He nodded to the armchair opposite him. I sat. He pushed the contract toward me. “You manage the material supply for the Southport project. You take twenty percent of the net profit.” It was a far more astronomical figure than I had calculated. I skimmed through the dense legal jargon and liability waivers, my blood rushing at the sheer scale of the cut he was offering. I picked up the Montblanc pen, ready to sign. His large, heavy hand clamped down over the pages. I stopped and looked up at him. “Before we finalize this, I need a demonstration of your… unique skill set,” he said softly. “Tristan is currently heading the M&A deal for Rothstone Pharma. He’s been quietly running a shadow ledger to siphon company funds. I want the real ledger.” I frowned slightly. Rothstone Pharma was the crown jewel of the Roth family. Tristan kept those books under lock and key. “You want me to commit corporate espionage.” “Are you afraid?” He withdrew his hand, leaning back into the shadows. I didn’t hesitate. I pressed the pen to the paper and signed my name. “As long as the wire transfers clear, there’s nothing I’m afraid of.” Dominic stood up, stepped into my space, and gripped my chin. His thumb traced my jaw, the skin of his hand rough with calluses. He forced me to tilt my head up, exposing the vulnerability of my throat. “I don’t tolerate failure,” he murmured, his eyes searching mine. “If you don’t bring me that ledger, everything you just signed is ashes.” I reached up and firmly removed his hand from my face. “You’ll have the ledger on your desk within seven days.” I picked up my copy of the contract, turned on my heel, and walked out. Back in my quiet Tribeca apartment, I took a scalding shower, letting the adrenaline wash down the drain. Then I sat at my desk in the dark. Tristan was paranoid right now. Approaching him directly was suicide. I needed a wedge. I picked up my phone and scrolled through Paige’s social media. Her latest post was a gloating selfie behind the wheel of a limited-edition Porsche—Tristan’s latest bribe—tagged at an exclusive private club in the Meatpacking District. I tossed my phone onto the desk. I had my wedge. 4. The next afternoon, I parked my rented car across the street from The Onyx Club. This was Tristan’s playground, and Paige had been practically living there lately, playing the devoted girlfriend. I sat in a coffee shop across the street for three hours. Finally, Paige emerged from the brass doors alone. She looked frantic, her eyes darting nervously down the street before she hailed a yellow cab, completely ignoring the Porsche parked at the valet. I immediately tailed her. The cab pulled up to a discreet, high-end private women’s clinic on the Upper East Side. Paige hurried inside. I waited in my car for thirty minutes. When she finally walked out, she was clutching a small paper pharmacy bag. Her face was the color of chalk. Once her cab disappeared around the corner, I walked into the clinic and slid a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills across the pristine reception desk. “What kind of tests did the girl who just left order?” I asked. The receptionist discretely palmed the cash, tapped her keyboard, and lowered her voice. “Pregnancy blood panel. Positive.” I walked out of the clinic, the cold air filling my lungs. It was the ultimate leverage. There was absolutely no way Tristan would allow a liability like Paige to bear his firstborn right now. He was currently in the final stages of orchestrating a blue-blood marriage with Madeline Sinclair, a billionaire heiress. A bastard child would nuke the merger. I pulled out a burner phone and sent an anonymous text to Paige. Attached was a photo of her back as she walked into the clinic. 3:00 PM. The Plaza food court. Come alone. I dropped the burner back into my purse and started the engine. At exactly three, Paige walked into the café, hidden behind oversized Celine sunglasses and a silk scarf. She looked around like a hunted animal before sliding into the booth in the darkest corner. I walked over with a black coffee and sat across from her. She pulled down her sunglasses, her eyes widening in horror. “Camille. It’s you.” I casually stirred my coffee, sliding a photocopied stack of her lab results across the table. “Congratulations. Nothing solidifies a trust fund quite like an heir.” Paige snatched the papers, her hands trembling so violently the pages rattled. “What do you want?” she hissed, her voice cracking. “How much?” I reached across, plucked the papers from her shaking hands, folded them neatly, and tucked them back into my bag. “I want the red leather-bound ledger hidden in the safe in Tristan’s home office.” Paige shot to her feet, her knee hitting the table and knocking over her water glass. The water soaked the front of her designer blouse, but she didn’t even flinch. She leaned over the table, her voice a terrified whisper. “Are you insane? He’ll kill me.” I calmly handed her a napkin. “If you don’t get it for me tonight, these lab results will be sitting on Madeline Sinclair’s vanity by tomorrow morning. How accommodating do you think the Sinclair family will be to your little miracle?” Paige collapsed back into the leather booth. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her Birkin. “I don’t know the combination to the safe,” she choked out, tears finally spilling over. “He never lets me near it.” I leaned in, holding her panicked gaze with absolute stillness. “The code is Madeline Sinclair’s birthday. Try it.” Her eyes widened. “How could you possibly know that?” I didn’t answer. I had paid Tristan’s recently fired executive assistant a small fortune for that piece of psychological insight. “Tristan has a private dinner at eight tonight,” I instructed, my voice flat and clinical. “You get the ledger, and you bring it to the alley behind his townhouse. Hand it to me, and I swear to you, this secret dies with me.” Paige bit her lower lip so hard a bead of blood welled up. She gave one frantic nod, grabbed her bag, and practically ran out of the café. At eight o’clock, I idled my car in the dark, narrow alleyway behind Tristan’s West Village townhouse. The autumn wind carried a bitter chill. I pulled a slim cigarette from my purse and lit it, not smoking it, just watching the glowing orange cherry pulse in the pitch black. At eight-thirty, the heavy iron security door cracked open. Paige slipped out, hugging a thick manila envelope to her chest like a shield. I stepped out of the car. She practically shoved the envelope into my hands. “Take it. Delete the photos. Wipe everything,” she hyperventilated. I opened the clasp, sliding the red ledger out just far enough to catch the dim amber light of the streetlamp. I flipped to the center pages, verifying the catastrophic offshore transfers. It was exactly what Dominic wanted. The arterial bleed of Rothstone Pharma. I closed the book, pulled out my phone, and formatted the encrypted drive right in front of her face. “A pleasure doing business.” Paige stumbled backward, her face pale with terror, and slammed the heavy iron door shut. I turned back to my car. Suddenly, a blinding beam of light hit me, washing out the alley. A black Maybach glided silently into the narrow corridor, its massive grill completely blocking my exit. The doors opened. Tristan stepped out of the blinding halogen glare. Behind him, four massive security contractors stepped onto the pavement. “You really thought I was that stupid, Camille?” Tristan’s voice echoed in the brick canyon. He walked toward me, his eyes locked hungrily on the envelope in my hands. “Grab her. Break both her wrists.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400767”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My best friend and I got sucked into the romance novel I wrote. We were living the absolute dream. We had the two male leads—one a broad-shouldered, tailored-suit god, the other with stamina that defied human biology. We were practically drowning in perfection. Until another girl crossed over into the manuscript. Because of her, my best friend was strapped to a human roulette wheel, enduring torture that caused her to miscarry. Five separate times. I became this girl’s personal blood bank, submerged in a giant vat of liquor as a “vintage beauty,” served up for a crowd of degenerates to taste. And our two perfect men? They slowly, inexplicably, changed their hearts. The manipulative little bitch flaunted it in our faces. “So what if your babies died? So what if you’re drained of blood?” she purred, her smile razor-sharp. “One phone call. That’s all it takes for your husbands to drop everything and come running to me. Tell me, which one should I let share my bed tonight?” My best friend, Maddie, gripped my hand. She didn’t have any tears left to cry. “Heather,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s just pull the plug. Let’s die here so we can wake up in the real world.” I stayed completely silent. The rule was simple: finish the plot, and the System would grant our deepest wishes. I didn’t care about the eight hundred million dollars I had wished for anymore. But Maddie? In the real world, Maddie had terminal cancer. Going back early meant going back to die. I ground my teeth together, grabbed her arm, and shoved her behind me. “I’ll pull the plug. I’ll die,” I told her fiercely. “You stay alive. You survive the plot.” “The second I wake up on the other side, I’m opening my laptop and rewriting this whole damn thing. Share her bed? I’m going to scatter her ashes to the wind!” … 1 “I’m going to write a scene where she falls into a cesspool seven times. I’m going to make her run naked through the streets. I will torture her to death on the page for you, I swear to God.” A faint, desperate flicker of light finally returned to Maddie’s deadened eyes. Just for that flicker, I needed to die. Right now. I spun around and sprinted straight for the window. I was just about to throw my leg over the sill when my peripheral vision caught movement down in the courtyard. A tall, chillingly handsome man was kneeling on the pavement, tying a woman’s shoelace. Six-foot-two, sharp jawline, lean muscle. It was a silhouette I knew better than my own reflection. My husband. Declan. I ground my teeth, mentally calculating the distance to the ground. Part of me wondered if I should just aim my trajectory to crush them both on impact. Declan must have sensed something. He looked up. His eyes locked onto me, dangling halfway out the second-story window. His pupils contracted violently. “Heather!” he roared. “Get back inside right now!” I stretched my mouth into a cold, hollow smile and flipped him the bird. I closed my eyes and leaned forward into the empty air. Suddenly, something tight wrapped around my waist. A brutal force yanked me backward, dragging me violently onto the carpet. Declan’s secretary was clutching me, chest heaving, his face pale with raw panic. Seconds later, Declan burst into the room. He was ashen. “Are you out of your mind, Heather?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with rage. “Throwing a tantrum with your life?! Do you have any idea how high that is?!” He stood there panting. Then, his eyes flicked to the girl standing timidly behind him—Isabelle. Instantly, a chilling calm washed over him. “They were right. You’re becoming an absolute embarrassment,” he sneered, adjusting his cuffs. “Pulling a stunt like this in front of a guest. It’s pathetic.” I leaned back against the wall. A breathless, broken little laugh escaped my throat. “Oh. So I’m an embarrassment.” I looked at him. “And here I thought you were actually worried about me.” He stiffened, his gaze darting away uncomfortably. “Enough. It’s rare for Isabelle to visit. Stop causing a scene.” He turned his back to me. “She loves mangoes. Go cut a plate and be a decent hostess for once.” Maddie stared at him, absolutely paralyzed with shock, before turning her heartbroken eyes to me. I froze, too. Then, I smiled. A bright, compliant smile. “Sure.” Down in the kitchen, the bright, heavy mangoes sat on the cutting board. I picked up the knife. A passing maid happened to glance over. The color instantly drained from her face. She screamed, dropping her towels, and practically tackled me away from the counter before running hysterically toward the living room to beg Declan for mercy. “Mr. Declan, I am so, so sorry! The new grocery shopper didn’t know—they didn’t know Mrs. Heather is deathly allergic to mangoes! Please don’t be angry, I’ll throw them all out right now!” Declan froze. It hit him. Just touching the skin of a mango would send my throat into anaphylaxis. In the past, if a single mango ever crossed the threshold of our house, he would fire the entire kitchen staff. A complicated storm of emotions flickered in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping to a freezing register. “Does she not know her own allergies? She has a mouth, doesn’t she?” He scoffed. “She just had to wait until an audience was watching to get close to them. Who is this performance for?” The corners of Isabelle’s mouth twitched upward before she quickly suppressed it. She clung to Declan’s arm, looking up at him with wide, tearful eyes. “Declan, please don’t be mad at Heather. As a woman… I understand how she feels.” She let out a delicate little sniffle. “She’s definitely doing this on purpose. She thinks if she puts herself in danger, you’ll feel sorry for her, and then… and then you won’t want to see me anymore. If she hates me being here this much, I should just go!” She was incredibly good at crying. It was the kind of crying designed to break a man’s heart. Declan’s brow furrowed in deep distress. “Apologize to Isabelle,” he demanded. Here we go again. Over the last few years, if Isabelle dropped a glass, it was because I startled her. If she rolled her ankle, it was because I pushed her. If she picked a fight with Declan, it was because I manipulated them. I’d apologized eight hundred times. If they weren’t sick of hearing it, I was certainly sick of saying it. I raised my hand and pressed the cold steel of the kitchen knife flush against my own neck. “I’ll apologize with my life,” I whispered. “Is that enough?” Declan just rolled his eyes, utterly exhausted by me. “Not this again! Heather, when are you going to get it through your head? These psychotic tantrums only make me despise you. They don’t make me pity you!” The blade rested against my pulse, but the freezing cold went straight down to my soul. I suddenly remembered a time, years ago, when I nicked my finger slicing a strawberry. Declan had practically had a panic attack. He held my hand, blowing on the tiny cut, tearing apart the bathroom to find a band-aid, and then kissing the plastic once he wrapped it. I had laughed at him. Is this really necessary? It’s just a scratch. It is, he had said, looking at me dead serious. When you hurt, I hurt. But now, holding a butcher knife to my own throat was just a “psychotic tantrum.” He had the exact same face. The exact same voice. But where did my Declan go? I looked across the room at the man staring at me with nothing but cold disgust. I smiled, letting two hot tears spill down my cheeks. “Declan,” I breathed. “I really miss you.” His eyes violently trembled. I closed my eyes and slammed my neck toward the blade. 2 A large, heavily-knuckled hand slammed over the sharp edge of the blade, stopping it dead. The metallic tang of blood instantly filled the air. “Heather, are you out of your goddamn mind?!” My older brother, Colin, glared at me, his eyes blazing with furious disbelief. He raised his uninjured hand and swung it hard toward my face. Maddie threw herself in front of me. The slap landed across her cheek with a sickening crack. Colin froze, staring at his palm. But a second later, the anger morphed into something uglier. “Maddie, look at what you’ve done to my sister!” he roared. “She throws her life around like it’s a joke! If you don’t even respect your own life, how do you expect anyone else to love you?!” His chest heaved. He struggled to catch his breath before spitting out the final, venomous words: “You’re both pathetic idiots!” I stared at him, and a hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up in my chest. This was my second male lead. The man I wrote to be gentle, refined, the ultimate protector. In my original outline, “idiot” was the absolute harshest word his character was even capable of saying. I never thought he’d use it as a weapon against us. “She doesn’t respect her own life?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dead, icy calm. “Do you have any idea how desperately she tried to protect herself and her babies?” The first baby. Isabelle “accidentally” dropped saffron into her soup. Hemorrhage. Gone. The second baby. Colin was too busy fixing a leak at Isabelle’s apartment, so he made Maddie walk home alone in a thunderstorm. She slipped. Miscarriage. Gone. The third. The fourth. The fifth… “Colin, use your goddamn brain,” I snarled. “Who exactly is it that doesn’t respect her life?!” Beside me, Maddie was shaking violently, silent sobs wracking her frail body. A flash of raw guilt crossed Colin’s eyes. He raised his hand, instinctively reaching out to wipe Maddie’s tears. But Isabelle gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in innocent horror. “Five babies? Lost?” she whispered. “That’s… well, maybe it’s just natural selection? If the genetics were that flawed, bringing them into the world would have just been cruel.” She tilted her head, her eyes wide. “Besides… isn’t it a little strange? Five times? Do you think she… maybe she did it to herself, just to get your attention?” Maddie flinched as if she’d been shot. She turned, her eyes bloodshot, screaming from the depths of her lungs. “What the hell are you saying?! I would never kill my own children for a man’s love!” “Wouldn’t you?” Colin’s hand dropped. It was obvious. He believed Isabelle. He looked at Maddie, a cold, clinical disgust rising to the surface of his eyes. Then, he turned to Isabelle, his voice softening into something like velvet. “Izzy, I’m so sorry. I never should have brought you to this house today. Let’s go to that private kitchen you like. I’ll cook for you myself to make up for this.” Isabelle hooked her left arm through my brother’s. She grabbed Declan’s hand with her right. She looked back at us, smiling. Sweet. Triumphant. The heavy front door slammed shut. It sounded like a gunshot. I pulled Maddie to my chest, running my hand down her back, over and over. “It’s okay. They’re just characters on a page. It’s okay. Don’t be sad.” I was lying. It felt like my ribs were caving in. Declan and Colin were the men Maddie and I had built from the ground up. We poured our ideal types into them, meticulously designing every trait, every flaw, every tender moment. They were born into this universe specifically to be our perfect matches. But my love felt like he’d been hollowed out and replaced by a parasite. I held Maddie tighter, rocking her, trying to soothe her—trying to soothe myself. “It’s going to be okay. As soon as I die and log out, I’m rewriting the manuscript. Everything will go back to normal.” I dug through Maddie’s purse and pulled out her sleeping pills. I poured a handful into my palm. I was just about to swallow them dry. Suddenly, the front door burst open. A group of furious executives stormed into our living room, pointing straight at Maddie. “You absolute psycho! You run that account, don’t you?!” 3 My brother’s corporate social media had exploded. Two weeks ago, a young woman had posted a picture of her new tattoo. The official corporate account had replied to the thread, publicly accusing her of being a sex worker. The ensuing cyberbullying had been so severe the girl had committed suicide. Now, her family and their lawyers were standing in our living room. Maddie shook her head, terrified and confused. “No, it wasn’t me. The account manager is—” “Stop lying! Your own company just released a statement! You murdered my daughter, and I’m going to make you pay!” A phone was shoved inches from our faces. It was a statement. Posted by my brother. “Due to reckless statements made by my wife while managing the corporate accounts…” At that exact second, Maddie’s phone buzzed. A text from Colin. “Maddie, Izzy is fragile and terrified. I need you to take the fall for this for now. I’ll figure something out later.” Maddie stared at the screen, her eyes wide, unable to process the absolute magnitude of the betrayal. Before she could even breathe, the mob lunged. I threw myself over Maddie, wrapping my body around hers, screaming over the chaos. “Isabelle was running the account! Go check the IP! It was Isabelle!” “Isabelle is just a junior assistant. Why would she have top-tier clearance for corporate socials?” Declan’s voice cut through the room like a glacier. He was standing in the doorway, shielding Isabelle behind him, his eyes sharp and unforgiving. “I can personally testify,” Declan said smoothly. “That account has always been managed jointly by Maddie and Heather.” Behind his broad shoulders, Isabelle shot me a wicked, victorious smirk. In that moment, whatever was left of my heart finally flatlined. The blows started raining down. Fists, boots, briefcases. Maddie and I were desperately trying to shield each other, scrambling to take the brunt of the hits. But her body was weak. I was stronger. I made sure I took every single hit. The dull, sickening thuds echoed through the room as shoes connected with my ribs. Maddie was wailing, a sound of absolute despair. “Heather, stop! Stop protecting me! I know this is breaking your heart more than mine!” she sobbed. “I don’t want to suffer anymore! Let’s just go home. I don’t care how long I have left in the real world, it’s fine, I just want to—” Gag. My body finally gave out. I violently coughed up a massive mouthful of dark blood, staining Maddie’s white shirt red. My vision tunneled into black. The world went completely silent. The exit door back to reality slowly began to materialize in my mind. But suddenly, I felt someone sprinting toward me like a madman. Arms wrapped around me, crushing me to a chest, shielding me from the mob. Then came the rhythmic, sterile beep-beep of hospital monitors. And Isabelle’s grating, falsely tearful voice. “Declan, it’s all my fault.” A sniffle. “But Heather has always been so healthy. Do you think she’s faking it again? Just to make you feel bad?” Declan didn’t answer her. Instead, I felt hot drops of water landing on my neck. They burned. They made my heart physically ache. “Heather,” Declan whispered over and over again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen. Please wake up. I’ll give you anything you want.” His voice broke. “You always loved touching my abs, right? If you wake up, I’ll let you do it every single day.” A faint, ghostly laugh echoed in my own mind. Yeah. I did. Every night before bed, I’d reach over and feel for his stomach. It was a ritual. He used to pretend to be annoyed. He’d complain that my hands were freezing, that I was being clingy. But he would always lift his shirt and pull my hands against his bare skin anyway. That was my Declan. The man sitting next to this hospital bed wasn’t him. So, it was time to leave. I let my consciousness sink deeper into the dark. But just as I was slipping away, Isabelle’s cold, mocking whisper brushed against my ear. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do. And I’m not going to let you die that easily.” “If you keep sleeping… your best friend is going to be destroyed.” Maddie’s agonizing scream suddenly ripped through the air. 4 I jolted awake, gasping for air. Isabelle was leaning over the bed, holding her phone inches from my face. A video was playing. It was my brother, Colin. He had Maddie pinned against a wall by her throat. His eyes were bloodshot with rage. “You and Heather set her up, didn’t you?! You told that mob Izzy was running the account so they’d go after her!” he roared in the video. “Do you have any idea what she’s been through these past few days? Stalked outside the office, death threats blowing up her phone! She’s practically a kid! How could you be so vicious?!” Maddie’s face cycled through shock, pain, and finally, a hollow, devastating resignation. “I did it,” she rasped. “Heather had nothing to do with it. If you want revenge, take it out on me.” The video snapped off. I was trembling so violently the bed frame rattled. I lunged forward and grabbed Isabelle by the collar. “What did you do to her?!” Isabelle giggled. “Oops. You fell for it.” In a fraction of a second, her expression contorted into sheer terror, and she began sobbing hysterically. “Heather, please! Please don’t hurt me!” The door crashed open. Declan burst in, instantly pulling her behind him, his face etched with panic. Isabelle buried her face in his shoulder. “Declan, look. I wasn’t lying.” “She was faking the coma! Whenever you leave the room, she wakes up and beats me! Look at the bruises, she did this to me!” Declan stared at me, his eyes wide with revulsion. He kicked a metal chair across the room; it slammed into the wall. “Heather! What is your goddamn problem?! I sat by this bed for three nights without sleeping, isn’t that enough for you?!” “Can’t we just have a normal life?! Why do you insist on torturing her?!” I stared back at him. This face. I had stared at the computer screen and mapped out every angle of it. The sharp brow, the straight nose, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy. Now, those eyes held nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred. And strangely, that realization brought a terrifying calm over me. “Where is Maddie?” I asked evenly. Isabelle wiped a fake tear. “You and Maddie just went too far this time.” “Declan and Colin are too soft-hearted. I couldn’t bear to see you two manipulate them anymore. So I sent her to a correctional facility. To help her learn some manners.” A loud, deafening ringing filled my ears. I vaulted out of the bed and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Declan grabbed my wrist. He squeezed so hard I thought the bones would snap. “Heather!” he roared. I looked him dead in the eye and gave him a bloody, feral smile. “I guess I’ve gone too far, too. Why don’t you send me there to join her?” The “correctional facility” was an underground nightclub. The second they dragged me through the doors, I saw her. Maddie was strapped spreadeagle to a massive wooden roulette wheel. She was the needle. The outer rim of the wheel was painted with punishments. Shots. Needles. Cigarette burns. Wherever she stopped, that was what she got. She was covered in blood and burns. When she saw me, her swollen eyes immediately filled with tears. I screamed and tried to sprint toward the stage, but two massive bouncers slammed me into the ground, pinning my arms behind my back. Isabelle didn’t even bother acting anymore. She threw her head back and laughed. “Your bestie has had a rough night! Good thing you’re here. Want to help her carry the load?” “She spins, you take the punishment. Deal?” Before I could even open my mouth, she reached out and violently spun the wheel. Maddie blurred into a circle of motion. The G-force was too much; her eyes rolled back, and she passed out completely. I was thrashing against the guards, seeing red. The wheel slowly ground to a halt. The entire club erupted into cheers. “Vintage Beauty! Vintage Beauty!” the crowd chanted. Isabelle looked at where the needle had stopped. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face as she looked me up and down. “Looks like your luck just ran out, Heather.” 5 A crew of men wheeled out an enormous, reinforced glass tank. It was filled to the brim with amber liquor that sloshed heavily under the strobe lights. “This is the club’s specialty,” Isabelle announced to the room. “We’re going to use you to flavor the whiskey. Everyone here gets a glass. A little taste of high society.” The crowd roared as I was dragged up onto the platform. Isabelle leaned in close, her eyes glittering with malice. “You think you can just pull the plug and escape to rewrite the plot?” she hissed. “In your dreams. I am going to make sure you two beg for death, and I’ll never let you have it.” I froze. How did she know about the plot? Before my brain could process it, Isabelle shoved me hard toward the edge of the tank. A split second before I fell, I grabbed fistfuls of her shirt and yanked her with me. “I didn’t come here to be tortured,” I laughed right in her face. “I came here to drag you to hell with me!” Splash! The freezing alcohol rushed into my nose and throat. The burning and the suffocation were instantaneous. But I kept my arms locked around Isabelle like a vice, sinking us both. I smiled as the bubbles escaped her screaming mouth. Then, I heard a muffled, familiar shout from above the surface. Someone plunged into the tank. Strong hands grabbed my wrist. The grip was desperate. Terrified. Like they were holding onto their entire world. I forced my burning eyes open. Through the swirling amber liquid, I saw his face. Brows pulled together in panic, lips pressed tight. Declan. He came for me? My heart gave a pathetic, hopeful flutter. But in the next second… He systematically pried my fingers apart, one by one. He ripped Isabelle out of my grip, pulled her into his chest, and kicked off the bottom. He swam toward the surface. He never looked back. I sank back to the bottom of the glass. I watched their silhouettes break the surface and disappear into the glaring lights of the club. Fine. So this is how it ends. Just as the edges of my vision started to turn black, the glass tank groaned under the pressure. CRACK. The reinforced glass shattered. Thousands of gallons of liquor exploded outward, washing me violently across the concrete floor. I collapsed on my hands and knees, violently hacking up alcohol, my lungs screaming. A heavy hand patted my back. Colin. He was drenched, chest heaving. He looked at me, and for a fraction of a second, there was genuine, agonizing heartbreak in his eyes. “Heather, you absolute idiot,” he breathed. I spat out a mouthful of whiskey and gave a weak, breathless laugh. I couldn’t believe that didn’t kill me. Across the room, Isabelle was clinging to Declan, hyperventilating in a perfectly orchestrated panic attack. “I just came to see them… I just wanted to make peace with her, but Heather tried to murder me!” Instantly, two pairs of frigid eyes locked onto me. Declan and Colin immediately started shouting for doctors. They flanked Isabelle on both sides. Wrapping her in thick towels, vigorously drying her hair, holding a cup of hot water to her lips. Absolute, gentle devotion. All for her. Meanwhile, a bouncer grabbed me by the ankle, dragged me into a dark back room, and dumped me on the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest. My heart was beating erratically. Too fast. My face felt like it was on fire. My throat was tightening. Every breath was a struggle. Through the haze, a memory hit me. The IV bag at the hospital. Ceftriaxone. Cephalosporin antibiotics. I had just inhaled and swallowed a massive amount of alcohol. I instinctively opened my mouth to call for help. Through the cracked door, I saw Declan and Colin’s backs. They were leaning over Isabelle, whispering something soothing. She was smiling, her eyes curving into sweet little crescents. Out of the corner of her eye, she shot me a smug, triumphant look. I closed my mouth. The corners of my lips slowly turned up. I went through all that trouble to find a window to jump out of. Turns out, dying was actually this easy. In the dim yellow light of the back room, I curled myself into a tight ball. I kept my eyes fixed on the backs of the men I had created, and I quietly went to sleep. I don’t know how much time passed. Eventually, a doctor declared Isabelle was perfectly fine, and I heard the two men let out long sighs of relief. Declan finally remembered I existed. “Heather,” he called out, his tone dripping with frost. “Thank God Izzy is okay. Get out here and apologize.” The figure curled in the corner didn’t move. Annoyance flashed across his face. He strode into the room, bent down, and grabbed my arm to haul me up. The second his skin touched mine, his entire body went rigid. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting at my desk in the real world. I immediately pulled up the manuscript file, my fingers hovering over the keyboard to rewrite the nightmare. But then, my eyes snagged on the document history log in the sidebar. My brain short-circuited. I finally knew exactly who Isabelle was. No wonder she could manipulate my plot!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400766”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three hours before my wedding, my fiancé called to tell me he wasn’t coming. He didn’t just bail; he went straight to the courthouse and married Melanie Sandra—my supposed best friend. I stood there in my Vera Wang, heart-shattered, listening to the jagged whispers of three hundred guests. That was when Nigel, my fiancé’s uncle, pushed through the heavy oak doors of the hotel ballroom. He didn’t come to apologize for his nephew. He came with a fleet of black Escalades and enough long-stemmed roses to bury the scandal. He told me, in front of everyone, that he had loved me from a distance for years. He told me he’d been dreaming of the day I’d finally be his. Grateful for the lifeline, and perhaps wanting to burn my bridges with the man who humiliated me, I said yes. We’ve been married for three years now. In those three years, I’ve suffered through seven miscarriages. Each one took a piece of my soul. But then, I got pregnant again. Nigel was ecstatic. He’d spin me around the living room, whispering against my hair about how I needed to rest, how he’d protect me and this baby with his very life. He was the perfect, doting husband. Until I hit the twelve-week mark. I was headed toward his study to ask about dinner when I heard voices. Nigel was talking to our private physician, Dr. Aris. “Everything is on schedule, Mr. Montgomery,” the doctor’s voice was clinical, chilling. “Just like the last seven times. I’ve already added the abortifacient to her nightly milk.” A pause. Then the doctor spoke again, sounding genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. Melanie already has your child. Why can’t your wife be allowed to carry one to term?” I heard Nigel let out a self-deprecating, dry laugh. “Only a direct heir can inherit the Montgomery Group,” Nigel said, his voice devoid of the warmth I’d grown used to. “Jordan is sterile—everyone knows that. If I let Norma have a child, that child would be the competition. I can’t have Melanie’s life get complicated later. I won’t let anyone jeopardize her security.” The world tilted on its axis. Every “I love you,” every “be careful,” every late-night vigil by my hospital bed—it was all a curated performance. I wasn’t a wife. I was a placeholder, a sacrificial lamb on the altar of his obsession with Melanie. … “You realize,” the doctor said, hesitant now, “that by doing this, you aren’t just giving up the Chairmanship. You’ve sacrificed seven of your own children. You’ve had me falsify Jordan’s medical records for years; he doesn’t even know he’s infertile. When Melanie’s child is born, he’ll think it’s his. You’ll never be ‘Dad’ to that baby. Is it really worth it?” Nigel’s voice dropped, thick with a twisted kind of devotion. “What does it matter? I couldn’t have Melanie back then. The least I can do is curate her happiness now. No one is going to ruin her future. Not the board of directors, and certainly not a child I have with Norma.” “But sir,” the doctor pressed, “she’s had seven procedures in three years. Her body is failing. If she loses this one, she’ll likely never conceive again. The damage will be permanent.” There was a long silence. I gripped the door handle so hard my knuckles turned white, my breath hitching in my throat. “It’s fine,” Nigel finally said, his tone dismissive. “I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. She won’t need children.” I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I turned and fled, stumbling back to our bedroom. I collapsed onto the floor, my legs giving out. For three years, I blamed myself. I thought I was weak. I thought my body was a broken vessel. I felt guilty for “failing” Nigel, for not giving him the heir his father demanded. His father had made it clear: Nigel or his nephew Jordan—whoever produced the first grandson would take control of the family empire. And Nigel… Nigel didn’t even use protection. He let me get pregnant over and over again, knowing he was going to kill the baby every single time. He watched me bleed, watched me cry, watched me wither away, all to ensure Melanie’s child—his child with Melanie—had no rivals. “Norma? Why are you sitting on the floor, sweetheart?” Nigel was in the doorway. He rushed over, lifting me with a practiced tenderness that now made my skin crawl. “I’m okay,” I managed, my voice a hollow rasp. “Just… morning sickness.” He rubbed my back, his touch feeling like ice against my spine. “I know, baby. It’s hard work, isn’t it? Next time you feel like this, call me. Don’t suffer in silence. It breaks my heart.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “This little guy is already such a troublemaker. When he’s born, I’m going to have to give him a stern talking-to for making his mommy so miserable.” He reached for the nightstand. “Here. I brought you some warm milk. It’ll help you sleep.” I looked at the white liquid in the glass. My stomach turned. Will there even be a ‘next time’? I wondered. Every time before, he had been this way. A special late-night snack, a handmade fruit bowl, a “healthy” smoothie. I thought it was love. It was just a cold-blooded execution disguised as care. “Nigel, I really don’t like the taste of milk lately. Can I skip it tonight?” He smiled, that soft, indulgent smile that never reached his eyes. “Norma, don’t be a brat. The doctor said the things you crave the least are the things your body needs the most. If you don’t sleep, the baby doesn’t rest. You love him, don’t you? Do it for our boy. Here, let me feed you.” He pressed the glass to my lips. It wasn’t an invitation; it was a command. He held it there, firm and unyielding, until I swallowed every drop. Nigel, are you really that afraid my child would stand in Melanie’s way? Or do you just hate the idea of a child that isn’t hers? I closed my eyes as the bitterness slid down my throat. Less than thirty minutes later, the cramping started. It was a familiar, agonizing bloom of heat in my abdomen. I curled into a ball, sweat soaking my sheets. Nigel called the doctor immediately—the doctor who was likely already sitting in his car in our driveway, waiting for the signal. Even though I’d been through this seven times before, the soul-crushing weight of the loss never got easier. Through the haze of pain, I heard the doctor whisper: “Mr. Montgomery, the hemorrhaging is worse this time. I think… I think the damage is done. She won’t be able to carry again.” Nigel didn’t say anything. He just gathered me into his arms, his eyes red as if he were the one grieving. “It’s okay, Norma. I’m here. Even without children, I’ll love you forever. I’ll take care of you.” This man, a CEO who had never so much as boiled an egg, personally cleaned the blood from my skin. He held me tightly through the night, murmuring into the darkness as I drifted in and out of a feverish sleep. “Don’t worry, Melanie,” he whispered into my hair, thinking I was unconscious. “I’ll make sure you get everything you ever wanted.” The tears I’d been holding back finally broke. Years ago, at that disastrous wedding, he promised to give me a life of happiness. It was all a lie to keep me quiet, to keep me out of Melanie’s way. My entire marriage was a punchline to a joke I wasn’t in on. I waited until he fell into a deep sleep, then reached for my phone. I sent a text to my best friend, Regina, who was living in Paris. Remember when you asked me to go on that trip around the world? I’m in. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow. I put the phone down, the ache in my womb a dull, constant throb. I’d just lost another child—murdered by his own father. I locked myself in the bathroom, letting the water run to drown out my sobs. As I leaned down to pick up my phone after dropping it, I noticed something tucked far back under the vanity. It was wrapped in heavy silk, hidden away like a relic. I pulled it out. It was a thick photo album. I opened it to find hundreds of photos of Melanie. From the time she was fifteen until now. I recognized the cover. I’d seen a similar one in Nigel’s office, but he’d told me it was a portfolio for a project. Nigel loved photography—it was his one true hobby. Nigel was older than Jordan and me, but only by about six years. When we were kids, he was always the cold, distant “adult” watching us play, acting like our games were beneath him. But when Melanie moved into the neighborhood and joined our circle at fifteen, everything changed. That was when Nigel started bringing his camera everywhere. I thought he was just growing up. I didn’t realize he was falling in love. The photos captured every minute detail. Melanie laughing, Melanie pouting, Melanie simply tucking her hair behind her ear. Moments I hadn’t even noticed, but Nigel had frozen in time. Since we got married, Nigel hadn’t touched a camera. Once, I asked him to take maternity photos of me. He told me he’d lost his favorite Leica and suggested I hire a professional instead. He hadn’t lost the camera. He just didn’t want to waste his lens on someone he didn’t love. My eyes were dry. I had no more tears left for him. I put the album back exactly where I found it. Then, I pulled up my banking app, booked a one-way ticket, and began drafting a digital divorce settlement. If he wanted Melanie so badly, he could have her. The next morning, my eyes were swollen like bruised plums. Nigel was the picture of a grieving, devoted husband. He made me a nutrient-rich breakfast, poached eggs exactly how I liked them, and even used chilled spoons to help the swelling under my eyes. He was so convincing, I almost doubted my own ears from the night before. But the emptiness in my gut reminded me of the truth. When I didn’t eat, he sighed. “Norma, I know you’re hurting. I’m heartbroken too. But you have to take care of yourself. Your body has been through so much. Please, eat for me.” “Where is the baby?” I asked, my voice flat. “I want to see him.” Twelve weeks. He would have been formed by now. I wanted to see the life he had extinguished. His answer was the same as the seven times before. “I’ve already made the arrangements, honey. He’s been buried privately. You’re in no state to see that. It would only traumatize you further.” He paused, stroking my hand. “My parents heard about the… accident. They’re devastated. They want us to come over for dinner tonight. It might be good to get out of the house.” The moment we walked into the Montgomery estate, I saw Melanie. She was leaning against Nigel’s mother’s arm, preening like a prize cat. When she saw me, she shifted her stance to make her six-month-old bump even more prominent. “Norma! It’s been so long,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Come, sit. I heard about your loss. You really should be more careful at your age.” Ever since the wedding debacle, I’d cut ties with Jordan and Melanie. We only came to the estate when we knew they weren’t there. Tonight was clearly an ambush. I looked at her belly—at Nigel’s child—and felt a physical pang of nausea. He had never let my children live past three months. Nigel’s mother, a sharp-featured woman in her fifties, didn’t even look at me. “Useless,” she spat. “Can’t even hold onto a pregnancy. How many times is this now? I don’t know what my son was thinking, marrying a woman who can’t even provide an heir.” She was Nigel’s mother, but only Jordan’s step-grandmother. She was bitter that Jordan—the nephew—was currently in line for the chairmanship because he had married “the right woman” first. Usually, Nigel would defend me. But today, his eyes were locked on Melanie. He looked at her with such raw, naked longing that he didn’t even hear his mother’s insults. “Grandmother, don’t be so hard on her,” Melanie said, her voice a sugary trill. “Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers. It’s a tragic lack of luck, really.” “It’s a curse, is what it is,” the older woman grumbled. Melanie stood up, acting as if she were going to help me sit down, but she feigned a stumble. Even though she steadied herself instantly, Nigel reacted like a grenade had gone off. He shoved me aside—hard—to catch her. Ignoring his parents, he pulled her into his arms. “Melanie! Are you okay? Where the hell is Jordan? Why are you wandering around alone in your condition?” Melanie smiled, a slow, triumphant thing. “Jordan’s in New York on business. He’s so busy prepping for the CEO transition, you know how it is.” She looked at me, her eyes flashing with malice, then looked back at Nigel. “Nigel, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts…” Without a word, Nigel swept her up into a bridal carry and headed straight for the upstairs bedrooms, never once looking back at his wife. Nigel’s mother looked at me with pure disgust. “Can’t even keep your own husband’s attention. If Jordan hadn’t snatched Melanie up first, do you think Nigel would have looked at you twice? Get out of my sight. I have no appetite looking at you.” She’d always hated me. She saw me as Jordan’s “leftovers.” And because of the miscarriages, she saw me as a failure. I used to endure it because I thought Nigel was my shield. Now I realized he was the one who had sharpened her blades. I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I just walked upstairs. I found myself standing outside Melanie’s guest room. The door wasn’t fully closed. I peered inside. Melanie was lying on the bed, her clothes disheveled, and Nigel was pressed against her, his face buried in her neck. “Nigel,” she moaned, “you’re the only one who cares. Jordan is useless… he can’t even give me a child of my own. If I hadn’t used you, we’d never get the company. If Norma had a baby, everything would be ruined for us.” Nigel pulled back, his eyes dark with a desperate, hungry lust. “Does he treat you well? Does he touch you?” “He treats me like a queen because he thinks I’m carrying his legacy,” she giggled. “He even washes my feet. He’s so grateful.” Nigel’s expression was tortured. “As long as you’re happy. As long as you’re safe, I can live with the rest.” “Nigel,” she whispered, pulling his head down. “I couldn’t marry you, but I can give you this. Tonight, I’m yours.” I watched my husband—the man who was always so stoic, so controlled—lose his mind. I watched them disappear into each other. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled back to our room. Nigel didn’t return that night. The next morning, he appeared in the doorway, looking remarkably refreshed. “Norma, I’m so sorry about last night. My mother kept me up for hours talking about the estate. I couldn’t get away.” I didn’t call him out. I didn’t even look at him. I just went to the front door to wait for the car I’d called. But as I stepped onto the porch, a bucket of freezing, greasy kitchen scraps and dishwater was slammed over my head. Melanie stood there, an empty bucket in her hand, laughing. “Did you enjoy the show last night, Norma?” she sneered. She’d left the door open on purpose. “Losing a baby sucks, doesn’t it? But don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with that anymore. You’re dried up now. Did you really think you could compete with me for the title of Mrs. Montgomery? Nigel gave up his inheritance for me. He gave me a child. And all those little ‘accidents’ you had? They were just fuel for my fire.” I looked up, my voice trembling through the filth dripping off my face. “What did you say?” “Oh, didn’t he tell you? Every time you lost one, Nigel told you they were buried. But he actually brought the remains to me. A certain specialist told me that… well, certain tissues are excellent for a pregnant woman’s health. Think of it as your children finally doing something useful for the real heir.” A wave of visceral horror crashed over me. Nutrients? He gave her the remains of our children to… consume? The sheer, distorted depravity of it broke something inside me. How could a human being do this? “Don’t look at me like that,” Melanie laughed. “It’s your own fault for being so pathetic. A useless mother breeds useless fruit.” I lost it. I swung my hand, aiming for her smug, beautiful face. Smack. The blow didn’t land on her. Nigel had appeared out of nowhere, pulling Melanie behind him and taking the slap across his own cheek. He shoved me back so hard I fell onto the gravel driveway. “Norma! What the hell is wrong with you?!” he roared. Melanie dissolved into theatrical sobs. “Nigel, I was just trying to comfort her! I told her not to be sad about the baby, but she started screaming that I stole her life, that she wanted me to miscarry! She threw that bucket of water at me and I just dodged—it hit her instead! And then she tried to kill me!” Nigel looked at me, his face a mask of cold fury. “Norma, I had no idea you were this shallow. This vindictive.” “You couldn’t keep a child because you’re weak. Don’t take that out on Melanie. She was being kind. Stop dreaming about things that aren’t yours and apologize to her. Now.” I’m weak? I looked at him and realized I didn’t know this man at all. He was a monster wearing the skin of the man I loved. “Nigel,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Tell me one thing. Where are the bodies of my children?” He narrowed his eyes. “I told you. They were buried. We’ve been over this.” His acting was flawless. “You’re right,” I said, standing up and wiping the grease from my face. “I shouldn’t want things that don’t belong to me. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” I turned and walked away. Nigel stared after me, a flicker of genuine panic crossing his face for the first time. He started to follow, but Melanie grabbed his arm. “Nigel, I think I’m going to throw up. The smell… please, take me to the hospital.” He hesitated for two seconds. Then he turned his back on me to help her. I went home, packed a single suitcase, and threw every piece of jewelry and clothing he’d ever bought me into the fireplace. As I held our marriage certificate over the flames, my phone buzzed. It was a photo from Melanie. She was tucked into a hospital bed, looking radiant, eating a bowl of hand-cut fruit. Norma, I just said I felt nauseous and Nigel called in three world-renowned specialists. He even chartered a helicopter to bring in a doctor from the Mayo Clinic. Are you jealous yet? I didn’t reply. I watched the certificate turn to ash. I knew he wouldn’t be home tonight. Sure enough, he called an hour later. “Norma, Melanie had a scare. Jordan is out of town, so as the family head, I have to stay. Don’t be petty about it.” “I understand,” I said. “The baby is the priority. Stay as long as you need.” He paused, his voice softening. “Norma, I didn’t mean to be harsh earlier. I know you’re emotional. But Melanie is carrying the Montgomery bloodline. Since you and I… well, since we can’t provide that anymore, we have to protect her. For the family.” “Right. For the family.” “Be a good girl and stay home. Tomorrow is your birthday. I’ve booked the best suite at the Pierre, and I have a surprise for you. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400765”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Today was supposed to be our sixth wedding anniversary. It was also my oldest son Parker’s fifth birthday. We had planned a getaway to a secluded cabin in the Catskills, a day meant to be etched in our memories for all the right reasons. I never imagined Madeline would abandon us on that mountain without a word, taking with her the only medical bag that contained Parker’s emergency asthma equipment. I had been frantic, trying to reach her through her assistant, but the private transport and the security detail wouldn’t budge without her direct order. I watched, helpless, as the light left my son’s eyes. It was only after he took his last breath that I finally got through to her. She sounded tipsy, her voice slurred and distant. I couldn’t even get a word in before a man’s voice, sharp and full of life, cut through the line, vibrating with the joy of a long-awaited reunion. “Come on, Miles, don’t be so petty. I just landed back in the States today. You don’t actually mind if I take Madeline out for a ‘welcome home’ drink, do you?” I let out a soft, jagged laugh, my arms tightening around the cold, still weight of Parker in my lap. “I don’t mind at all,” I whispered. “Because as of this moment, my marriage to Madeline is over. Congratulations to you both.” … After we finally got off that mountain, I disappeared. I handled everything—the funeral arrangements, the cremation, the agonizing paperwork—entirely on my own. Meanwhile, Madeline’s social media, and that of Sebastian Rossi, were never silent. It was a non-stop parade of high-end bars and exclusive dinner parties. They were basking in the glow of their rediscovered spark. During those seven days, my mother tried calling Madeline a thousand times. Every call went straight to voicemail. My mother eventually dropped her phone onto the kitchen table, her voice trembling with rage. “That woman… her heart is made of ice.” It wasn’t until a week later, when I returned to our estate in the city carrying Parker’s urn, that I finally crossed paths with her. She wasn’t alone. Sebastian was right there with her, lounging in my living room. When they saw me—haggard, covered in the dust of the road, looking like a ghost of the man I used to be—Sebastian couldn’t even hide the smirk playing on his lips. “Miles, where the hell have you been? I’ve called you a dozen times today and you didn’t pick up once!” Madeline started, her tone a mix of a playful pout and genuine annoyance. The irony tasted like copper in my mouth. I didn’t even give them a glance. I walked straight past them toward the stairs. I was here for one thing: to pack my life into a suitcase and leave. This gilded cage of a house never belonged to a regular guy like me. I had reached too high, and I had paid the price in blood. But she wouldn’t let it go. She chased after me, grabbing my arm so hard I nearly dropped the urn. “Miles! What kind of temper tantrum is this?” Even now, she couldn’t see the wreckage. To her, I was just being difficult. I laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “My mother called you for a week straight. Why didn’t you answer?” Madeline frowned, reaching into her designer handbag and pulling out a shattered phone. “My phone broke, okay? The night I picked up Sebastian, we were out, and I ended up losing it in a bet during a game. It was a whole thing.” She lived for the game. And because she wanted to play, my son was gone. “Is this really worth getting this angry about, Miles?” Madeline noticed my face turning a sickly shade of grey and tried to soften her tone, shaking my arm slightly. “So I missed a few calls. I’ll go over to your mom’s place and apologize personally tomorrow, alright?” Then, my eyes caught something. The handcrafted sandalwood bracelet on her wrist—the one I’d spent months on—was cracked in several places. It looked like it had been slammed against something. Rage, hot and blinding, surged up my throat. I grabbed her wrist. “What happened to the bracelet?” I had hiked to a remote monastery three times to get that specific wood blessed for her protection. Parker and I had sat at the kitchen table for weeks, using tiny chisels to engrave the intricate patterns she loved. Madeline was born with a silver spoon. Clothes, cars, jewelry—nothing I bought her ever meant much because she could buy the store. I had to give her things that took time. Things that had a soul. My hands still had faint scars from the slips of the blade, scars that throbbed whenever they got cold. When I gave it to her, she’d cried. She said she’d wear it forever. Now, she just flipped her hand dismissively. “Oh, that? We were out drinking last night, and I was shooting dice with Sebastian. I must have hit it against the edge of the table. It’s just a bit of wood, Miles. Don’t make a federal case out of it.” “Parker and I made that with our own hands,” I said, my voice dangerously low. Sebastian chimed in from the couch, his voice dripping with condescension. “It’s the thought that counts, right? It’s a cheap wooden trinket. How much could it possibly be worth?” Madeline patted my shoulder. “Exactly. If it means that much to you, I’ll have some premium sandalwood shipped in from overseas. You and Parker can carve a new one. It’ll be a fun little project for you guys.” She knew exactly what that bracelet represented. But to her, our love and our effort were just “projects” to keep us busy while she lived her real life. I realized then that in her heart, I was probably just a hobby, too. Six years of marriage. This was the first anniversary we were actually supposed to spend together as a family. It was the first birthday Parker was supposed to have her full attention. And she threw it all away because a ghost from her past called her cell. Yes, Sebastian wasn’t just a friend. He was the one who got away, the college heartbreak she never quite healed from. But she was a mother. How could she not realize Parker’s condition? She brought him to a mountain peak covered in pine pollen and wildflowers—his worst triggers—and then left without making sure he had his rescue inhaler. She had left me to watch our son die. My mother had warned me. She told me not to bring Parker to the city, told me that Madeline would never prioritize a child over her own whims. I had laughed at her. I told her Madeline was his mother—how could she be that cruel? God, I was so wrong. “Thanks for the offer,” I said, wrenching my arm away. I turned to go upstairs, my face a mask of stone. Her temper flared at my coldness. “What is with the attitude today? What did I do that was so terrible?” she yelled at my back. “And where’s Parker?” I stopped dead on the stairs. The irony was a physical weight. This was the first time she had asked about him, and he was already gone. I remembered that afternoon on the mountain. I had stroked Parker’s hair as he struggled to breathe, whispering, “Mommy wouldn’t miss your birthday, buddy. She loves you so much. She’s probably just out getting you a huge surprise.” Well, it was a surprise, alright. “You remember you have a son?” I turned, a bitter smile curling my lips. “I thought you’d decided you didn’t want him anymore.” Madeline winced, then snapped back. “He’s my son! How can you say that?” “I get it. You’re still sulking because I left, right? Because I had to go help Sebastian?” She stepped toward the stairs, looking up at me. “But you know the situation, Miles. He just got back from years abroad. We hadn’t seen each other in forever, and he was dealing with a massive shipping crisis at the docks. He was stressed, he was hurt… I couldn’t just leave him to handle that alone.” She tilted her head, giving me that soft, manipulative look that used to work every time. “You can understand that, can’t you?” In the past, that look would have made me fold. It would have made me move my boundaries back another inch until I had no ground left to stand on. But my son was in a jar in my hand. I was done gambling. “Madeline,” I said quietly. “I want a divorce.” The words hit her like a physical blow. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating as she stared at me. “Miles… are you serious? You’d actually leave me over this?” “Yes. We’re done.” Madeline took a deep breath, her shock turning back into arrogance. “And what about Parker? You think you can raise him better than I can? You think you can give him this life? Your mother won’t even agree to this. Don’t turn our lives into a mess just because your feelings are hurt.” When I didn’t answer, she scoffed. “Fine. Go get Parker. Let him decide who he wants to live with.” “Parker isn’t coming,” I said. My voice broke on his name, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from sobbing. Madeline’s face twisted with sudden agitation. “What do you mean ‘he isn’t coming’? Where did you take him? Miles, if you’re using our son to get back at me, that is low, even for you.” She let out a sharp, indignant breath. “Don’t think you can threaten me with my child. I have my own life, Miles. I have my own friends. You wouldn’t understand that!” I looked at her beautiful, heartless face and realized I never knew her at all. I had raised that boy for five years. I was more of a parent than she ever dreamed of being. And yet, her first instinct was to assume I was using him as a bargaining chip. “Miles, stop torturing her!” Sebastian stood up, walking toward the stairs. “Just hand over the kid and stop acting like a psycho.” He sounded so protective, as if he were the one whose life was being upended. Madeline looked at him, touched by his “bravery,” and a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. “Miles, please. Just give me Parker back.” It was a performance. A sick, synchronized act. “And if I say no?” I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbing my collar. “Say it again! I dare you!” “Sebastian, don’t!” Madeline cried out, but she didn’t move to stop him. She stayed behind him, effectively choosing her side. I was shoved backward, stumbling against the banister. The urn wobbled in my hand, the lid nearly slipping off. I clutched it to my chest, a roar of protective instinct erupting in my lungs. If Parker hadn’t insisted on one last “memory” with his mother, I never would have brought him back to this house. “I’ve wanted to say this for a long time,” Sebastian said, pointing a finger in my face. “Look at you, Miles. You’re a loser. You’re a nobody. You don’t fit in Madeline’s world. Your son doesn’t even have her last name—why? You don’t have a penny to your name that she didn’t give you.” He sneered. “You’re just a small-town guy who got lucky and played the husband card. If you want to walk, walk. Stop holding her back.” I looked at Madeline. She was actually considering his words, looking at me with a cold, analytical gaze. It was pathetic. When I graduated, I had been recruited by a top-tier federal research lab. If it wasn’t for Madeline’s begging, I never would have thrown away my career to take a mid-level position at her firm just to be near her. And now, she was letting this man call me a parasite. I wasn’t going to starve without her. Sebastian was still shouting. “What’s the matter, Miles? Cat got your tongue? If you’re gonna leave, leave! And don’t you ever come near Madeline again, or I’ll make sure you regret it!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400764”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my wife Levitt got pregnant, I applied to join the polar research team. During the mission, Levitt’s first love Matthew and I both fell into an ice crevasse, our lives hanging by a thread. Faced with the rescue rope Levitt threw down, I resolutely gave up saving myself and left the chance of survival to Matthew. Because in my previous life, I was successfully rescued while Matthew was swallowed by the ice, his body never recovered. After his death, Levitt showed no reaction. She withdrew from the research team to peacefully nurture her pregnancy. It wasn’t until after the child was born that Levitt said to me with a face full of hatred: “This is mine and Matthew’s child. You’re the one who killed my child’s father. He’s dead—what right do you have to live? Go die and atone for your sins in hell!” She pushed me off the rooftop and made it look like suicide. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn to the moment of the rescue… “Quick, grab the rope!” Levitt stood in the distance and threw a rope that landed right beside me. I instantly became fully alert. Turning my head, I saw Matthew behind me. In temperatures of minus twenty degrees, the two of us clung desperately to the edge of the ice crevasse with our hands, a bottomless abyss beneath our feet. The rescue rope was closest to me, but with Levitt’s strength, she could only save one person. My hands trembled. Gritting my teeth, I made sure Matthew beside me saw the rope. “Matthew, grab the rope quick! I’ll pull you up!” The next second, Matthew firmly grasped the rope. From the corner of my eye, I saw Levitt’s whole body relax with relief as she pulled hard to drag him ashore. “You’re injured. Let’s get back to the base quickly!” Seeing Matthew rescued, I breathed a sigh of relief. In the wind and snow, the two embraced tightly, supporting each other as they left. As she walked away, Levitt tossed the rope on the ground aside. “Christie, I’ll have someone else rescue you!” Gritting my teeth to hold on, my strength completely depleted, I waited until they were far away before my hand slipped and I fell into the ice crevasse. Fortunately, at the critical moment, the tool in my hand wedged into the crevice, temporarily stopping my descent. I don’t know how much time passed. Cold wind rushed through my torn protective suit, my fingers had lost all feeling but I kept holding on, until finally I heard voices from above. “That Christie guy is probably already dead.” “If you fall down there, there’s no way to survive. Who told him to show off and insist on coming out here.” I desperately called for help, finally getting the people on shore to notice this crevice. Looking up, I made eye contact with several people. Seeing me, the few members of the research team all fell silent at once. No one reached out to me, letting me continue sliding down. “Christie, do you know you were wrong?” “Who told you to deliberately lead Matthew this way, trying to harm him, only to nearly kill yourself instead.” Finally someone sneered and tossed down a chunk of ice that hit my face shield. The slight movement made my nerves tense and cold sweat broke out on my back. I humbly begged them to save me. Like watching a clown, several people gathered around the edge of the crevice, their faces full of mockery. “Don’t be a coward! Be a real man, own up to what you did, and climb up yourself!” Lives were at stake, yet they were treating it like a joke. My fingers had lost all feeling, my body was losing heat—I couldn’t hold on much longer. Finally, after they’d had their fill of enjoying my misery, a rope was thrown down from above. I tried to reach it but couldn’t. “Climb up yourself. We’re leaving.” My whole body tensed. I could hardly believe it, but when I looked up, I saw Levitt’s face. “Levitt, help me out. Just pass me the rope.” These words filled her face with disgust. Not only did Levitt not help, she actually took an instinctive step back, then spoke in an icy tone. “Why should I help you? If I hadn’t been there today, Matthew would have been killed by you!” “Climb up yourself. If you manage to survive, you have to apologize to Matthew. If anything happens to him, we’re getting divorced!” “You don’t deserve to be this child’s father!” Losing strength, I listened as the sounds above went quiet. No matter how humbly I called for help, no one was willing to lend a hand. I couldn’t wait any longer. I would die.

I couldn’t wait any longer. Taking a gamble, I let go and lunged for that rescue rope. Fortunately, I caught it. Using every ounce of strength to climb ashore, my heartbeat was thunderous. All around was a vast expanse of white, not a single person in sight. They really hadn’t saved me—they’d all left. Whether I could survive or not, they simply didn’t care. The base was still over ten kilometers away. Having narrowly escaped death, I felt no sense of relief. Even with a GPS locator on me, just walking back like this could cost me half my life. But right now… Gritting my teeth, I plunged headfirst into the wind and snow. In extreme cold conditions, equipment at the base was prone to malfunction. Wearing gloves made it inconvenient to repair equipment, and when I fell into the ice crevasse, I had already lost my gloves. Between the exertion and the freezing cold, my fingers had long since lost all feeling. As a meteorologist, I understood environmental changes better than anyone. The snow fell heavier and heavier, wind pierced through my damaged protective suit, the road was a white blur with visibility less than ten meters. Cut off from contact with the base station, cold and hungry, I gritted my teeth and pushed forward. I had originally given up my research position back home and applied to join the polar research team for the sake of pregnant Levitt. Worried she’d suffer hardship, I willingly took on more suffering myself. But in the end, I was just making a wedding dress for someone else. The little life I’d most looked forward to wasn’t mine. The person I trusted most, lying beside me in bed, had also chosen to abandon me. My legs numb, I walked forward, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. If I could just survive… Holding onto that one breath, I don’t know how long I walked before finally seeing the base station with its lights on. In that moment, my heart settled. Trembling, I pulled at the door once, twice… The door was locked tight. No matter how I knocked, it wouldn’t budge. Outside, the cold wind was bone-piercing. Inside, people heard the commotion and sat in a circle. Levitt held hot tea for Matthew and covered him with another blanket. “Lucky bastard actually made it back alive!” “I knew nothing good would come of him joining the research team. This time we definitely can’t forgive him easily.” Levitt looked with concern at the scrape on Matthew’s leg, and in front of all the team members, she forbade anyone from opening the door. My fingers numb and without feeling, my legs also insensible to the cold, I gritted my teeth and held on, staring fixedly at that door, refusing to give up calling for help. Finally… “You can come in if you want.” Coughing twice, Matthew looked at me, his eyes harboring ill intentions. “If you want to come in, then kneel down and apologize to me.” “Oh my, forgiving him just like that—isn’t that letting him off too easy?” Levitt frowned, playfully scolding and roughhousing with him, completely ignoring my calls from outside the door. Reaching out to touch her belly, Matthew’s tone was light. “It’s fine, I won’t hold it against him. After all, he’s the child’s father and your lover.” “I don’t blame him. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone abroad back then, you wouldn’t have…” The rest of the words went unspoken. As the two looked at each other, their eyes were full of affection, with no room for anyone else. My heart ached and convulsed. Even though I’d experienced this once before, I still couldn’t help feeling miserable. The happiest moments of my life could be counted on one hand. After my parents died early, I grew up on charity. The first time I met Levitt was at university. The first time I saw her, I felt an inexplicable fondness for her. But Matthew was by her side, so I silently stayed beside her, thinking this affection would remain buried forever. Until one day, Levitt came to me on her own initiative. “Christie, let’s date.” For the first twenty years of my life, it was the first time I felt I’d won fate’s lottery. I desperately tried to be good to her, pouring all my efforts into helping her pursue her dreams. She wanted to do polar research, so I took care of her family and supported her with everything I had. After she got pregnant, I even gave up my own work and actively came to the polar region to accompany her, just to take good care of her. The happiest moments of my life were dating Levitt, marrying her, and nurturing new life together. But only now did I realize how foolishly naive and completely wrong I’d been. The people inside were laughing. A single door separated two worlds. As I knelt on the ground, I heard Matthew and Levitt pouring out their hearts to each other. “If I wasn’t trying to spite you, how could I have agreed to date and marry Christie?” “Levitt, I regret it. If I hadn’t gone abroad back then, we wouldn’t have…” Matthew’s hand rested on Levitt’s lower abdomen, his expression gentle. Covered with a layer of snow, I watched Levitt’s completely different tender expression and smiled bitterly. Getting together now isn’t too late, is it? After all, the child in her belly is Matthew’s.

I could die anywhere, but absolutely not at the base entrance. With only one breath left, I was finally allowed inside. Staggering to my feet, for those last few steps, I practically crawled into the building. Seeing me in this state, Levitt looked even more disgusted. “Stop with the pity act, Christie. It makes me sick to watch.” I didn’t defend myself. I moved closer to the heat source to warm up. The snow on my clothes melted and soaked the floor, leaving a puddle of water. “That’s disgusting. Make sure you clean it up.” I was shivering from cold, too preoccupied to respond. Several fingers on my left hand still had no feeling. Levitt left. She was concerned about Matthew’s scraped shin and insisted the base station doctor examine him. When she saw me coming to find the doctor, she blocked the doorway completely, refusing to let me advance a single step. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t come here!” “The base doctor is busy. They don’t have time for your minor issues. Don’t you dare go near Matthew. Get lost!” Full of wariness, she said I wasn’t acting like a man while driving me back to my room. I changed into a fresh set of clothes, but my fingers still had no feeling. Looking at my discolored fingers, I frowned and tried to get past her. “I just need to see the doctor for a moment. You…” Slap! Before I could finish speaking, I was hit with a slap. Glaring at me with furrowed brows, Levitt blocked my way firmly, not allowing me to advance a single step. Amid the jeering, she glanced at me smugly, then quickly looked away. “Stop pretending. What could possibly be wrong with you? You climbed out of an ice crevasse and walked all the way back to the base station. You’re tough as nails. Matthew is different from you.” “See the doctor tomorrow. Tonight you’re not allowed near the infirmary!” My face burned. My anger had also been provoked. I tried to speak again but was pushed away from the infirmary by others. “Alright, alright, go back to sleep!” “Your own wife is pregnant and you still want to hit people? Go tomorrow.” “Levitt already told you. What more do you want, coward?” Matthew stood with his arms crossed watching me, his face full of disdain. Hearing the other team members curse at me, he curved his lips and silently mouthed at me. “Worthless.” I was driven back to my room. Lying in bed, I received a video on my phone. Levitt lay in Matthew’s arms, sleeping sweetly. Red marks showed on her neck, and there was a small cut at the corner of her mouth. Matthew had deliberately filmed this to show me. But right now, more than jealousy, I needed a doctor. At this moment, the only doctor at the base was busy following Levitt’s orders to “take care of” Matthew. Levitt did it on purpose. She stood guard all night, not allowing me near the infirmary. Only early the next morning was I finally able to see the doctor. “Your fingers… I’m afraid they’re already severely frostbitten…” “The base station doesn’t have the medical facilities for this. You need to get to a hospital for treatment as soon as possible.” Even though I’d had a premonition, hearing the doctor’s words still made my heart sink. Getting from the polar region to an outside hospital for treatment was easier said than done, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I couldn’t become disabled. I had to save my hand. The first thing I did upon returning to my room was call for outside help. After receiving confirmation, I breathed a sigh of relief. Headquarters would send a helicopter. As long as I received treatment in time… I stayed in my room all day. It wasn’t until I heard the roar of a helicopter that I pushed open my door. By the time I arrived, two figures stood in front of the helicopter, preparing to board. “We’re the injured! Matthew is hurt. Take him to the hospital to recover. I need to go with him!” Seeing me, Levitt’s face was cold. Touching her belly, she tried to squeeze onto the helicopter. “They can only take two people at a time. I need to go to the hospital for a prenatal checkup.” “Christie, you wait for the next one.” When the next one would be, I had no way of knowing. Compared to being abandoned in the ice crevasse, this moment felt even more chilling. Watching Levitt’s resolute back, my chest felt cold. “Levitt, I can’t wait any longer. My hand…” “Stop talking. Let’s go.” Matthew put his arm around her shoulder. Through his face shield, he flashed me a mocking smile, waved at me victoriously, and signaled the pilot to take off. The roar echoed in my ears. Before takeoff, Levitt looked at me, her face full of disappointment. “Stop the act. It makes me sick.”

The repeated rejections sparked anger in me. Ignoring the mockery from other base members, I organized some materials and luggage and called for rescue again. This time, I finally got help. When I removed the glove wrapping and exposed my fingers, the doctor gasped and looked at me again. “Let’s go do some tests first.” Only simple treatment had been done at the base station. The three most severely affected fingers had changed color, the tips turned black. The test results were not optimistic. The frostbite had damaged skin, muscle, and nerves. The doctor’s assessment was that amputation would be necessary. “The frostbite has reached the point of tissue necrosis. There may be infection later. We can only amputate as soon as possible.” “I’m very sorry…” Even though I’d anticipated it, when I heard the results, I still stood there stunned. After a long while, I wiped my face. “Alright, then let’s proceed with surgery as soon as possible.” In my previous life, Levitt always said I owed Matthew my life. This way was good too—at least this time both his life and mine were saved. Thinking this way, when I signed the surgical consent form, my fingers still trembled uncontrollably. Loving Levitt had cost too much. I felt it wasn’t worth it. Lost in thought, the sound of arguing next door brought me back. Familiar voices reached me. “Your injury looks so serious, yet the doctor says it’s nothing. They have no medical ethics at all.” “You’re a top scientific researcher. If something happens to you, I’ll definitely make them pay.” It was Levitt and Matthew. They were at this hospital too. Matthew had only suffered some scrapes, yet Levitt was extremely anxious. Hearing someone tell the “couple” to calm down, she didn’t correct them, just frowned and threw a tantrum. During the argument, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of me in the crowd. She instinctively frowned and turned cold, but seeing me, she still walked straight toward me. “Christie, explain to them. Why should others get priority treatment? Matthew should be treated first!” My gaze fell on a blood-covered man being carried into a ward nearby, then looked at the silent Matthew. I found it laughable. Who needed treatment more urgently? Wasn’t it obvious? But she acted as if she couldn’t see it. “Don’t get angry. You’re going to be a mother. There’s no need to…” I meant it as comfort, but Levitt frowned at me and threw the examination report in her hand at my face. “If you know that, why aren’t you helping me? Whose fault is it that Matthew got injured!” “If it weren’t for you, how could he have gotten hurt? You’ve upset my pregnancy too.” Watching her transfer all her anger onto me, the last bit of love in my heart dissipated completely. She wanted Matthew to stay in the hospital to rest, and claimed she’d been upset by me and needed my care. The doctor looked at me, wanting to speak but stopping short, but I held them back. Even if she didn’t say it, I would have stayed at the hospital anyway. The day after tomorrow, I would have surgery. Levitt demanded the best room and wanted to stay next to Matthew so she could take care of him anytime. Facing this pair of lovers day after day, my heart had long since lost all turbulence. I prepared divorce papers. After my surgery, I would voluntarily withdraw from the research team and divorce her. But before that… Completely unaware of my emotions, Levitt devoted all her attention to Matthew. The only time she got distracted was when she saw research papers in my hospital room. After flipping through them, she lowered her head and took a pen to scribble on the research papers. “How can these research reports count as only your achievement? Matthew almost lost his life because of you. You have to add his name!” With a wave of her hand, Levitt wrote Matthew’s name on the papers. The further she read, the more her brow furrowed. “How could these coordinate points be so dangerous? You’re just a meteorologist. Matthew specializes in measuring ice layer thickness and terrain. Your viewpoints don’t hold up at all!” The papers in her hand were thrown to the ground and stomped on. Levitt lifted her chin, looking at me with contempt. “Forget it. All you can write is this garbage anyway.” “Matthew is going back to the research team tomorrow. The first places he’ll go are those points you marked. Just wait.” “He’ll disprove your arguments and prove you’re wrong.” I jerked my head up to look at her. Hearing where Matthew planned to go, I tried to stop them, only to be met with her loud mockery. In the end, I watched helplessly as she sent Matthew off. Through the window, the man hugged Levitt and flashed me a provocative smile. Behind me, medical staff knocked on the ward door and confirmed my information with me. “Mr. Christie, it’s time to prepare for surgery.” “Alright.” Before leaving, I glanced at the two of them. From now on, we would have nothing to do with each other.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “375266”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On April Fool’s Day, the company organized a team-building trip to India. My girlfriend Barbara’s assistant Sean insisted on visiting a special temple as soon as we landed. He didn’t know that the so-called temple was actually a sex temple. I told my boss this secret to stop Barbara and Sean from going to this temple. But Sean secretly snuck out in the middle of the night. As soon as he reached the temple entrance, six men dragged him into an alley. When we found him, he was lying dead outside the temple, completely naked. After Barbara found out, she blamed him for bringing it on himself. But the day before leaving India, she had someone strip off my clothes and throw me onto a black bus. “You’re the one who got Sean killed. If I had gone with him that night, nothing would have happened. You’re so evil—you’re the one who deserves to die!” I was tortured to death by a group of thugs. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn on the day Sean wanted to go to the temple. This time, not only would I not stop them, I would encourage them to go.

“Howard, Indian temples are cultural heritage sites. How could they be as chaotic as you’re saying?” When I was reborn, all my colleagues had already changed clothes and were ready to go out, but I blocked them at the door. Barbara felt I was making her lose face. She pointed at my nose and cursed, “I think you’re just jealous of Sean and me, so you’re trying to scare everyone with stories about rapists!” The other colleagues chimed in. “Yeah, all the Indians we’ve met have been pretty friendly. It’s not like what he’s saying—that they’re all desperate and sex-crazed.” “I think he’s just jealous. He’s afraid Barbara will go to the temple with Sean and they’ll get together, and then she won’t want him anymore.” “Honestly, Howard, have you been to those kinds of places yourself? Is that why you’re describing it so vividly?” Hearing these words, my heart turned completely cold. Here, there was a sexual violence crime every three minutes, a woman was raped every twenty-two minutes, and a girl had an abortion every hour. But they didn’t take it seriously at all, and they thought it was just media exaggeration. The company had spent big money on a professional tour group for this team-building trip. We stayed in luxury hotels, our tour guide was a highly educated graduate, and the places we visited were all legitimate establishments. So along the way, everyone felt that India wasn’t as chaotic as the internet made it out to be. Barbara’s assistant Sean had seen online that the temple here was very effective for finding true love, so late at night he insisted on going to see it. Before coming here, I had already found out that the so-called temple was actually a sex temple, surrounded entirely by brothels. Not only would it be dangerous for women to go there at night, even men could easily run into trouble. In my previous life, I had desperately tried to stop this from happening. When they wouldn’t listen to my warnings, I went to the company’s senior leadership. But my good intentions resulted in my family being destroyed. “Everyone, please stop talking about Howard like that.” At this moment, Sean stepped forward and spoke up for me. “Howard, I know you’re concerned about everyone’s safety. But don’t worry—my dad knew I was coming to India, so he specially arranged professional bodyguards for me. Nothing will happen.” “If you’re really worried about Barbara, then let her stay here with you.” Sean was nominally Barbara’s intern, but on his first day at the company, people started spreading rumors that he was the company chairman’s son. When Barbara heard that Sean wasn’t planning to let her go, she immediately panicked and slapped me across the face. “If you don’t want to broaden your horizons, don’t drag me down with you.” Then she turned around and fawned over Sean, “Sean, I have to go with you. It’s so late—I’m worried.” Everyone immediately started making jokes. “Is Barbara really worried about safety, or is she afraid Sean will find his true love at the temple?” “With so many of us here, why is Barbara only worried about Sean?” The people present completely ignored the fact that I was Barbara’s boyfriend and kept teasing the two of them. Sean laughed. “Everyone, stop teasing Barbara and me. If Howard gets upset, he’ll probably go complain to Miss Kane again.” At these words, everyone fell silent. Barbara’s look toward me also became disgusted. “Howard, are you some kind of elementary school student? Do you have to go running to leadership about everything? We’re all adults here. If something happens, we can take responsibility for ourselves.” The way she looked at me reminded me of the scene from my previous life when she pushed me onto the black bus.

I shuddered and quickly apologized. “I’ve been watching too many short videos—they’ve messed with my brain. I shouldn’t have stopped you.” “But I heard that the fewer people who go to the temple, the higher the chance of finding true love. Do you want to try?” I was just making it up, but unexpectedly they actually believed me. Someone even searched for tips online and found that someone wearing a miniskirt had met their true love there. So the female colleagues immediately went back to change into miniskirts, and the male colleagues also changed into shorts. Then the whole group left excitedly. Watching their backs, I let out a cold laugh. When they got to the temple and discovered that those people didn’t even spare the men, I wondered if they’d still be so happy. This group had just reached the elevator when they ran into Miss Kane returning from outside. Seeing their outfits and learning their destination, Miss Kane’s face turned red with anger. “Indian women who go out after 9 PM are considered to be consenting to assault. Do you all think your lives are too comfortable or something?” “Hurry up and take off your makeup, change your clothes—nobody is allowed to go out tonight!” Her tone was stern, but Barbara didn’t think it was serious. “Miss Kane, you’re going a bit too far. We’re all adults. We can go wherever we want. You can’t restrict our personal freedom.” Miss Kane’s vision went dark, and she got even angrier. “Fine! I can’t control your personal freedom, but I can control your salaries. Anyone who runs out on their own tonight can forget about their bonus this month.” They were all working people, so they were quite sensitive about money. Several people immediately wanted to go back, but some were still stubborn and unwilling. “Miss Kane, it was Sean who wanted to go. You should…” “Enough.” Sean stepped forward at this point. “Everyone, don’t make things difficult for Miss Kane. If we’re not going, we’re not going. Let’s go back to our rooms.” Only after he spoke did these people obediently return to their rooms. Having seen enough of the commotion, I was about to go back when Miss Kane grabbed my arm. “Howard, you’re the most reliable one among these people. Help me keep an eye on them. Don’t let them go out at this hour. If this makes international news, it’ll affect our entire company’s image.” I told her I’d try my best, but these people were all adults, and if they really wanted to go out, there was no stopping them. As soon as I returned to my room, Sean and Barbara were standing inside the door with several people. One of them was asking Sean, “Sean, why didn’t you tell Miss Kane you wanted to go? If she knew you wanted to go, she definitely wouldn’t have stopped us. After all, your dad is our chairman.” A flash of discomfort crossed Sean’s expression, but he quickly returned to normal. “We still need to give Kane some face when we’re outside. Besides, someone obviously snitched, and once Kane knew, she couldn’t just ignore it.” At these words, they all turned their gazes toward me, who had just returned. My heart sank. I was about to run when Barbara came over and grabbed my collar. “Howard, you’re really shameless. You let us go out, then immediately went and reported us. And you even promised her you’d monitor us. What exactly is your relationship with this Miss Kane?” Sean added fuel to the fire from the side. “Howard, you’re not trying to climb the ladder through Miss Kane, are you? What has Barbara done to wrong you that you’d treat her like this?”

His one sentence completely enraged Barbara. Barbara raised her hand and slapped me hard twice. My face immediately stung with burning pain. I kept saying I didn’t do it, and I even took out my phone, telling her she could look at it if she didn’t believe me. Barbara took my phone and thoroughly checked it. Only after she discovered that I really didn’t have any contact with Miss Kane outside of work did her expression improve a little. Sean looked disappointed. “But I really want to see the temple. Barbara, what should we do now?” Barbara thought for a few seconds, then took my phone and sent a message to Miss Kane. “If we want to go, we’ll go. I just sent Miss Kane a message saying we’ve decided not to go. We’ll wait until midnight to leave. By then, Miss Kane will definitely be asleep.” The remaining people thought this was a good idea. Immediately, someone shared this in the company’s small group chat, asking if anyone else wanted to go. They quickly got responses—most people were willing to go. I sneered inwardly. Going out at 9 PM was already dangerous, and they wanted to wait until midnight—as if they were afraid those perverts wouldn’t be out. A few hours later, they prepared to leave. Just before going out, Sean suddenly turned to look at me. “Barbara, what if Howard snitches? Should we tie him up?” My face went pale. “That’s not necessary, is it? I can just give you my phone.” But Barbara nodded. They somehow found a bundle of rope and tied up my hands and feet. After tying the last knot, Barbara crouched down and warned me, “Howard, just bear with it for a bit. I’ll be back soon.” “I know what you’re worried about, but so many male colleagues are going. I won’t be in any danger.” Then, right in front of everyone, she actually kissed me. Sean’s eyes nearly blazed with fire. I let out a cold laugh. Barbara was truly too naive. Those male colleagues couldn’t even protect themselves—how could they possibly protect her? Sean’s knot-tying technique was very professional. The more I struggled, the tighter the ropes became. So after they left, I shouted for help toward the door, hoping someone from room service passing by might hear me. I had barely shouted a couple of times when the door was pushed open. When I saw who it was, all the blood in my body turned cold. “Sean, why did you come back?” He didn’t answer my question at all. He and two other people dragged me into the bathroom and punched me twice in the stomach. “I knew you wouldn’t be honest. Even tied up, you’re still shouting for help.” I quickly explained, “I just wanted someone to untie my ropes. I wasn’t trying to snitch.” But after I said this, he raised his hand again. “You really think I hit you because I’m afraid you’ll snitch? I just can’t stand you.” “Tell me, what do you have? Why does Barbara like you so much?” “I’m telling you, I’ve set my sights on Barbara. You’d better break up with her quickly, or I’ll ruin your reputation.” As Sean spoke, he kept hitting me. I was in so much pain that cold sweat dripped down. I was beaten to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore and was just about to say I could break up with her right now. But as soon as I pursed my lips, Sean suddenly grabbed my mouth. “What do you mean pursing your lips? Are you trying to show off that she just kissed you? Damn it, I’m going to ruin your mouth right now so Barbara never wants to kiss you again.” As he spoke, he picked up the toilet cleaner from nearby and tried to shove it into my mouth. The pungent acidic smell instantly rushed into my nasal cavity. When I struggled, half a bottle of cleaner spilled onto Sean’s body. He immediately screamed, “These clothes are expensive! How dare you!” He kicked me hard in my lower body. I almost passed out from the pain.

Sean said he needed to change clothes and told the other two male colleagues to shove the remaining half bottle of cleaner into my mouth. After he left, one of the male colleagues, Brown, picked up the bottle, and the other one stopped him. “Maybe we should just forget it. What if he reports us to the police?” Brown scoffed. “There’s not even a surveillance camera here. Even if he reports to the police, as long as we deny everything, the police can’t do anything to us.” “Even if this matter really gets investigated, it was Sean who did it first. When that happens, the chairman will definitely protect him. I don’t want to offend the chairman’s son.” The two of them were originally Sean’s lackeys, and they were both eager to climb the ladder. When Sean outside urged them a few more times, one of them held my mouth open while the other poured all the cleaner into my mouth. The cleaner was acidic. As it flowed down my throat, I felt like my esophagus was being burned through. Worse than the physical pain was the pain in my heart. I didn’t understand. I had never done anything wrong to them at the company, yet they were treating me like this. After they finished, Sean had already changed his clothes. He said Barbara had already called and told them to hurry downstairs. The hands supporting me loosened, and my whole body collapsed on the floor. I looked like I was barely breathing. Brown was a little scared now. “Sean, he looks like something’s really wrong. Should we take him to the hospital?” Sean was dismissive. “It’s just half a bottle of cleaner. At worst it’ll damage his throat a bit. He’ll throw it up himself in a moment.” “I’m going to confess to Barbara at the temple in a bit. I can’t let him ruin my plans.” Then he kicked my stomach. I felt something surging up. A few seconds later, I threw up with a loud retch. The cleaner mixed with vomit stuck to my body, making my scalp tingle with disgust. Sean cursed, “Disgusting.” Then he took out his phone and took a picture of me. “In a bit, I’ll show this photo to Barbara. She definitely won’t like Howard anymore.” Brown flattered him from the side. “Sean, if you ask me, Barbara probably already likes you. After all, you’re tall, rich, and handsome—much more noble than Howard.” Listening to this flattery, I almost wanted to laugh. I had already found out that Sean did have some connection with the chairman, but he was just a poor student sponsored by the chairman, not his son at all. And there were no bodyguards secretly protecting him. Thinking of the scene when they would truly encounter those things and be helpless, I felt satisfied. I lay in the bathroom all night before being discovered by Miss Kane who came looking for people. When she saw me like this, she immediately untied the ropes on my body. “Howard, who tied you up? Where are the other colleagues? Why can’t I reach any of them?” My eyes immediately reddened. “I’m sorry, Miss Kane. They insisted on going out. I couldn’t stop them at all.” When Miss Kane heard it was around midnight, her eyes went even darker. She was just about to take out her phone when a call came through. After answering, Miss Kane collapsed on the floor. “Something terrible has happened.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “375265”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I killed my cheating husband Adam and sealed him into the wall during our home renovation. The police came three times and found nothing. Until the fourth year, when my son Bridges learned to draw. He drew a family portrait. In the background, there was a hand reaching out from the wall, wrapped around my waist. I asked him what he had drawn. He smiled and said, “That’s Dad. He’s been standing in the wall, watching me grow up.” “Kelly, happy eighth anniversary.” Adam smiled as he pulled out a velvet box from behind his back and pushed it in front of me. I opened the box. It was a necklace. “I was poor when I married you, couldn’t give you anything. I’ve remembered all these years. Making it up to you now.” He reached over and took my hand. “Kelly, marrying you was the greatest fortune of my life. I swear, I’ll treat you even better from now on.” I lowered my head and let him fasten the necklace around my neck. “Thank you, Adam.” I looked up and smiled at him. “Go ahead and eat, everything’s your favorite. I spent all afternoon making this fish. Try it.” He ate with gusto, rubbing his belly and praising my cooking. I watched him and smiled. Three hours earlier, I had gone to the hospital and found out I was pregnant. I went to his office to tell him the good news. Instead, I walked in on him having an affair with his mistress in his office. I stood outside the door and watched for a full three minutes. Later, I went home and prepared the fish I’d just bought for our celebration, cooking it exactly the way he loved it. “Adam.” I called his name softly. “When you proposed to me, you said something.” His eyes widened as he looked at me. “You said you’d only love me for the rest of your life. No separation in life, only parting in death.” He paused for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. I meant every word.” I nodded. He suddenly clutched his stomach. The smile on his face froze. “Kelly…” He looked down at his hands, then up at me. Terror slowly filled his eyes. “What… what did you feed me?” I didn’t move. I just watched him. Adam slid off his chair and collapsed on the floor, convulsing. Blood started seeping from the corners of his mouth. He reached out desperately, trying to grab my foot. “Save… save me…” I looked down at him. “When we got married, you said we’d have no separation in life, only parting in death.” After struggling for a while, he stopped moving. I went to the balcony and got cement and bricks. We’d bought this house the year we got married. It was a resale property. During the renovation, I’d built an extra wall behind the storage room. At the time, he said it wasn’t necessary. I said the storage room was too messy and a partition would look better. Now, behind that wall, there was one more person. Three days later, the wall had dried, and the police came. People at his company couldn’t reach him and reported him missing. I told them with red-rimmed eyes that he’d had an affair, taken the money, and run away. I was looking for him too. The police looked around the house, looked at the newly built wall, and left. The second time they came was half a month later. Seeing how thin I’d become, they didn’t ask anything. The third time was three months later, a final confirmation before closing the case. I stood in front of that wall and saw them out, smiling and thanking them for their hard work. After the door closed, I stood against the wall for a long time. Nothing happened. I thought this would stay buried with me until the end of my days. Until four years later, when Bridges turned four. That day he came home from kindergarten, holding up a drawing to show me. “Mom, the teacher asked us to draw our family!” On the paper were three people: him, me, and a grayish-white hand. That hand was reaching out from the wall, wrapped around my waist. I froze in place. “What is this?” He tilted his head and smiled. “That’s Dad. He’s been standing in the wall, watching me grow up.” That night, I couldn’t sleep. I pressed my ear against the wall and listened for a long time. There was nothing. I told myself it was just a child’s vivid imagination. But the next day, Bridges pointed at that wall and said, “Mom, Dad talked to me last night.”

I asked Bridges what Dad had said. He sat at the dining table swinging his legs. “Dad said it’s really dark in the wall. He asked if it was light outside. I said it was. He said he’d wait a little longer.” My fingers dug into my palm. “Wait for what?” “Wait for me to grow up a little more. He said then he’ll be able to come out.” I stared at that wall. The surface was smooth, without a trace of anything. Early the next morning, I pulled Bridges out of bed and looked into his eyes. “Tell me, how do you know there’s someone in the wall?” He blinked. “Dad told me.” “When did Dad tell you?” “Every night. He calls me over, and I go. He talks to me.” My palms started sweating. The year Adam died, Bridges hadn’t even been born yet. Except for me, no one knew Adam was hidden in the wall. Four years old was the age of curiosity. I dropped Bridges off at kindergarten, then immediately called his teacher. “Mrs. Betty, sorry to bother you. I wanted to ask—have you shown any special films in class recently? Or has anyone claiming to be Bridges’ family come looking for him?” The teacher thought for a long time. “No, Bridges’ mom. Our kindergarten is closed-campus. Except for drop-off and pick-up, we don’t let parents in at other times.” After hanging up, I opened the children’s watch location app on my phone. Bridges’ daily activity pattern was simple: home—kindergarten—home. Occasionally he’d go to the playground in our complex, but always within my sight. The timeline was complete. Every single minute accounted for. So how did Bridges know? I didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits. During dinner, Bridges put down his fork and tilted his head, as if listening to something. “Mom, Dad’s asking if you ever ate that fish. He said he didn’t have the heart to finish it that day. He wanted to save it for you.” The bowl nearly slipped from my hands. That’s right—Adam had eaten the fish and been poisoned to death. In my panic, I thought of someone. Adam’s mother, my former mother-in-law, Ramos. The year Adam disappeared, she’d made a scene. She pointed at my nose and called me a murderer, said I’d killed Adam. She hung banners at the entrance to our complex, wailed at the bottom of our building, blocked me every day going to and from work. Later the police took her away a few times, and she finally quieted down. After that, she moved to a nursing home. I never saw her again. Could it be her? After all these years, was she still watching me? I immediately drove to the nursing home. The caregiver said Mrs. Ramos had passed away last month. “Passed away?” The caregiver’s eyes flickered. “Sudden heart attack. They couldn’t save her at the hospital.” I froze. “Did she… leave anything behind?” The caregiver shook her head. I turned to leave, but she suddenly called out to me. “Actually, in the days before she died, she kept repeating one thing.” “What?” “She said, ‘My son is calling me from the wall. It’s too cold. I need to go keep him company.’”

A chill ran down my spine. I gripped the steering wheel tightly. When I got back to the complex, I didn’t go home right away. I sat in the car, staring at my apartment window for a long time. When I finally got home, Bridges was sitting at the dining table drawing. I walked over, wanting to see what he was drawing. He looked up and smiled at me. “Mom, Dad says thank you for visiting Grandma today.” “Dad says Grandma finally came to keep him company. He’s not as cold anymore.” I stood frozen in place. “Dad also said—” Bridges lowered his head and continued drawing. “He said Grandma walked away that day, and he went to get her.” “What else did Dad say?” Bridges’ dark eyes rolled around. “Dad said there’s no parting in death, and no separation. He’ll always stay with us.” I stared at him for a long time. A four-year-old child, but his tone sounded like he was reciting something. “Bridges.” I crouched down and gripped his shoulders. “Tell me, how does Dad talk to you? In dreams, or when you’re awake?” He tilted his head and thought. “When I’m awake. At night when I’m sleeping, Dad calls me. Then I get up, walk to the wall, and he talks to me.” “What does he… call you?” “He calls me Bridges.” Bridges blinked. “He says Bridges is a good boy. He tells Mom not to be scared, that he won’t hurt Mom.” My hands were trembling. “He also says Mom is a good person, just angry that’s why she did that. He says he doesn’t blame Mom.” I let go and stood up, stepping back two paces. My back hit the dining table. It hurt, but I didn’t move. That night, I installed another camera in the living room. The lens pointed at that wall, night vision mode on. I lay in bed hugging my phone, staring at the screen. At 2:23 AM, something moved on the screen. It wasn’t the wall moving. It was Bridges. He was wearing pajamas, barefoot, walking out of his room. He walked to the wall and stood still. Then he raised his hand and gently pressed it against the wall, as if touching someone’s face. He stood like that for a long time. Very soft sounds came through the phone—Bridges was talking. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I could only see his lips moving. Suddenly, he stopped and tilted his head, as if listening to something. Then he nodded and walked back to his room. I stared at the screen, waiting all night. The wall didn’t move again. Bridges didn’t come out again. The next morning, I carried Bridges to the sofa, opened my phone, and showed him the video. “Bridges, what were you doing last night?” He looked at himself on the screen and blinked. “Talking to Dad.” “What did Dad say?” Bridges thought for a moment. “Dad said his leg went numb. He asked if I could help move the bricks a little.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Did you… did you move them?” “No.” Bridges shook his head. “I’m not strong enough. I can’t move them. Dad said it’s okay, when I grow up a little more I can help him.” I gripped my phone tightly. “He also said he’s been in there for four years. Sometimes it’s stuffy, sometimes it’s not. When you and Mom talk to him, it’s not stuffy.”

That night, I didn’t sleep at all. After Bridges fell asleep, I sat in the living room staring at that wall. The surveillance feed was open on my phone. The night vision lens turned the entire living room a sickly green. There was no sound, but I kept feeling like that wall was watching me. Early the next morning, I took Bridges to a child psychology clinic. Bridges sat in the waiting area swinging his legs, drawing with crayons. I leaned over to look. He’d drawn a house with two people inside, one big and one small, holding hands. There was no one in the wall. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Ms. Kelly, you’re up.” I took Bridges’ hand and walked in. A woman doctor in her thirties sat in the consultation room, wearing glasses. She had a warm smile. She crouched down to greet Bridges. Bridges wasn’t shy and shook her hand. “Such a good boy.” She looked up at me. “I’ll spend some time alone with the child first. Please wait outside.” I nodded and stepped out, sitting in a chair by the door. Thirty minutes later, the door opened. Bridges bounced out, now holding a lollipop. “Mom, the doctor gave me candy!” I patted Bridges’ head and looked at the female doctor in the doorway. She stood at the door, her smile still in place, but her eyes looked wrong. “Ms. Kelly, the child has no problems.” She said. “He’s very smart, expresses himself well, has a rich imagination. That’s all.” I opened my mouth, wanting to say something. She looked at me, opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Is there a problem?” I asked. She shook her head. “Nothing. Please come in for a moment. I’d like to discuss the child’s daily care with you.” I left Bridges outside playing with blocks and followed her inside. The door closed. She sat across from me and stared at me for several seconds. “Ms. Kelly,” she began, “have we… met somewhere before?” I froze. “I don’t think so. I’ve never been here.” She frowned, examining my face carefully. Her gaze moved from my eyes to the corners of my mouth, then back to my eyes. “I might be mistaken.” She said, though her tone didn’t sound certain. “How has your sleep been lately?” I gripped my bag strap. “Okay.” “Any nightmares?” “No.” “Have you heard any sounds, or seen anything… that others can’t see?” I stared at her. She stared at me. “What are you trying to ask?” I said. She was silent for a few seconds, then pulled out a business card from her drawer and pushed it toward me. “This is my private number. If you need help, you can call me anytime.” I looked down at the card. White, very plain, just a name and a string of numbers. “I don’t need help.” I fled from the clinic. When I walked out of the clinic, the sun was bright, so dazzling I couldn’t open my eyes. Bridges held my hand, bouncing along. “Mom, that doctor was so weird.” “She kept asking what you do at home. I said you cook, clean, and play with me. Then she asked what you do at night. I said you don’t sleep, you just sit in the living room.” My steps stopped. “What else did you say?” “Nothing else. She just kept nodding and writing things down.” When we got home, I settled Bridges in, then sat on the sofa in a daze. That business card was pressed under the coffee table. The white corner peeked out, like it was staring at me. That night, I bathed Bridges, read him a story, and tucked him in. At midnight, I lay in bed with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. My mind was full of the past few days’ events. Bridges’ drawings, what he’d said, the psychologist’s hesitant look. She said we’d met before. But I’d never seen her. She said the child had no problems. But how could a child with no problems talk to a dead person? At 2:17 AM, I heard a very soft sound. Like fingernails scraping across brick. I sat bolt upright, staring at that wall. The sound stopped. I held my breath and waited for a long time. Nothing happened. I was about to lie back down— Creak. Like someone in the wall had shifted slightly. I rolled out of bed and walked barefoot to the wall, pressing my ear against it. Nothing. I stepped back and stared at the wall. Four years. This wall had stood in my home for four years. It had never moved, never made a sound, never made me afraid. But now, I was afraid. Not afraid of ghosts—afraid that there was nothing in this wall at all. I rushed to the balcony and grabbed a hammer. Bricks fell one by one. Dust choked me until I couldn’t open my eyes. I smashed frantically, breaking through a hole, half the wall, until my arms ached, until the hammer slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor. Then I stopped. The wall was empty inside. No corpse. No bones. Nothing at all. Just a puddle of four-year-old bloodstains, dried and blackened, seeped into the cement. I knelt on the floor, staring at that empty hole in the wall. A hand reached from behind me and gently touched my shoulder. “Mom.” Bridges stood behind me in his pajamas, barefoot. “Dad says he went out to get some air. He says you should stop looking.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “375264”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster