Victor Sterling drank too much last night. In his drunken stupor, he slipped his family’s vintage heirloom bracelet onto my wrist. His eyes were rimmed red as he held me in a suffocating grip, murmuring her name over and over: “Serena, please don’t go…” I let him hold me. I even patted his back gently, coaxing him to sleep. The next morning, when Victor woke up and sobered, he stared at the bracelet on my wrist with visible annoyance. His voice was ice-cold. “Take it off. That doesn’t belong to you.” I obediently slipped it off and carefully placed it on the nightstand. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. I know my place.” Of course I knew my place. After all, if I just endured this for one more month, my contract would expire. That five-million-dollar payout at the end of the term was exactly what I needed to save my fiancé, who was currently lying in an ICU bed. Victor was the kind of man whose deep-seated, aristocratic superiority bled through even when he was annoyed. He sat on the edge of the bed, massaging his temples. He didn’t even spare me a glance, his eyes locked solely on the bracelet I had just taken off. That bracelet was a ten-million-dollar antique, the engagement gift he had prepared for his first love, Serena. “Forget everything that happened last night.” His voice was hoarse, carrying an undeniable tone of command. I was half-kneeling on the rug, picking up his discarded suit jacket. Hearing this, I looked up and flashed the gentle, graceful smile I had practiced in the mirror a thousand times. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. You went straight to sleep the moment you got back. Nothing happened, and you didn’t say a word.” This was exactly why he was so satisfied with me. I was sensible, obedient. I didn’t listen to things I shouldn’t hear, and I didn’t remember things I shouldn’t remember. Victor’s expression softened slightly. He stood up and walked into the master bathroom. I let out a sigh of relief. I quickly stood up, placed the burning-hot, ten-million-dollar bracelet into its velvet box, and set it dead center on the nightstand where he would see it the second he walked out. Once that was done, I went downstairs to the kitchen to prep a hangover remedy. Just as I set the glass on the dining table, Victor’s executive assistant arrived with fresh clothes—and a piece of news. “Mr. Sterling, Ms. Serena’s flight back to New York is booked. She lands on the 5th of next month.” Victor, who was in the middle of buttoning his cuffs, froze. The usual cold, hard lines of his face instantly melted, replaced by a fleeting, barely detectable panic. “The 5th… That’s less than a month away.” He muttered to himself, then turned to look at me. His gaze suddenly became complex and critical. I knew exactly what he was thinking. The real deal was coming back. It was time for the cheap knockoff to exit the stage. For the past five years, I had followed his instructions to the letter. I wore the plain, pastel dresses Serena liked. I kept my hair long, straight, and black just like hers. I even practiced curving my lips to match the exact angle of her smile. You could say I was Serena’s most flawless shadow. But shadows can never survive in the light. “Harper,” Victor began, his tone dripping with a charitable, condescending chill. “Move out to the condo in Jersey this month. Don’t hover around me unless absolutely necessary.” “Yes, Mr. Sterling.” I agreed without a second of hesitation. My response was so fast and painless that it actually made him frown. “Also. When the contract ends, I never want to see your face in New York again.” “Understood. I will disappear without a trace. I absolutely won’t cause any trouble for you or Ms. Serena.” I pushed the hangover drink toward him, thoughtfully checking the temperature against the glass. “It’s the perfect temperature. Drink this before you head to the office; it’ll settle your stomach.” Victor stared at my submissive demeanor, looking almost uncomfortable. In his mind, I was supposed to cry. I was supposed to throw a fit, demand answers, and beg him not to throw me away. But I didn’t. Not only did I not cry, but I was practically doing mental cartwheels. The 5th of next month. That was the exact day my five-year contract with Victor expired. Once that five-million-dollar final payment hit my bank account, I’d never have to wait on this moody, arrogant billionaire ever again. Victor drank the remedy. Before walking out the door, he tossed a sleek credit card onto the table. “Go buy yourself some decent clothes over the next few days. I’m taking you to a party this weekend. It’ll be your last one.” He paused, his eyes sweeping over me with a hint of mockery. “Don’t embarrass me, and wipe that pathetic, subservient look off your face. Serena never acted like a servant.” I picked up the card with both hands, my eyes curving into a bright smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling. I’ll do my best to learn.” As long as the money cleared, forget acting like Serena—I’d put on a Batman suit and fight crime if he paid me enough. The “party” Victor mentioned was a gathering of his elite, trust-fund buddies. The venue was The Apex, Manhattan’s most exclusive, money-burning VIP lounge. When I pushed open the private room doors, arm-in-arm with Victor and wearing my brand-new designer white gown, the room went dead silent for a split second. Then, the raucous cheering erupted. “Whoa, Vic brought the missus?” “What missus? That’s Harper. Our little Harper.” “Gotta admit, dressed up like that, she’s a dead ringer for Serena. A solid nine out of ten. No wonder Vic couldn’t control himself and kept her around for five years.” The one running his mouth was Carter, Victor’s childhood best friend, and the guy who despised me the most. In his eyes, I was a gold digger who sold her dignity for a paycheck. I was just a toy to fill the gap while Victor waited for his true love. Victor didn’t defend me. He just led me to the center booth. I expertly picked up a bottle of vintage liquor and began pouring drinks for the wealthy heirs around the table, keeping my posture as low and submissive as possible. “So, Harper, word on the street is Serena is coming back. What are your plans?” Carter swirled his glass of bourbon, staring at me like he was watching a circus act. All eyes in the VIP room zeroed in on me. These guys lived for this kind of drama—the pathetic stand-in getting forced out by the true love, weeping and begging for scraps. My hand was perfectly steady. The amber liquid flowed into the glass without a single drop spilling. “That is entirely up to Mr. Sterling. I will follow his arrangements.” Carter let out a sharp scoff. “Stop pretending. You’re probably cursing us all out in your head, aren’t you? Five years with Vic, enjoying all this wealth and luxury… you really willing to just walk away?” He suddenly reached out, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger, his tone sleazy. “How about this? When Vic tosses you out, come be with me. I might not be as loaded as him, but I can easily throw you a hundred grand a month for pocket money.” The room erupted in mocking laughter. Victor leaned back against the leather sofa, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. His face was obscured by the smoke, but he made no move to stop Carter. He was enjoying this. He loved the intoxicating feeling of having someone entirely dependent on him, entirely under his control. I sneered internally, but on the outside, I put on a look of sheer panic. I instinctively shrank back, pressing myself closer to Victor’s side. “Please don’t joke like that, Carter.” Victor seemed immensely pleased by my display of dependency. Finally showing some mercy, he swatted Carter’s hand away. “Alright, knock it off. Don’t scare her.” He tapped his cigarette ash into the tray, his voice flat. “She’s been with me for five years, and she’s done her job well. We’ll part on good terms. Let’s not make it ugly.” Carter shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. You’re always too soft on your old flings. But hey, Harper, a little self-awareness goes a long way. Take your payout and disappear. Don’t get any delusional ideas about clinging to him.” I nodded obediently. “I understand perfectly.” Halfway through the night, Victor stepped out to take a phone call. I didn’t even have to guess. It was definitely about Serena. The moment he left, the vibe in the room shifted. Carter ordered me around, making me peel grapes for him, and even purposely ashed his cigar onto the hem of my pristine white dress. I didn’t say a word. I just sat there and took it. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a backbone. It was that Victor bought this dress with his card. If it got ruined, I didn’t have to pay for it. More importantly, every single ounce of humiliation I swallowed right now was fueling my sprint toward that five-million-dollar finish line. Just then, my phone buzzed in my clutch. It was a text from the hospital. [Ms. Harper, Ethan’s condition has become highly unstable. His vitals are dropping. We need to prepare the funds for his second surgery immediately, along with the imported anti-rejection medications. The current deficit is roughly $500,000.] Five hundred thousand dollars. And that was just the current gap. Combine that with the medical debt I already owed, plus the astronomical rehabilitation costs required to guarantee he woke up safely… That five million dollars—I couldn’t afford to lose a single cent. I stared at my phone screen, my fingers tightening their grip. “What are you looking at? Vic’s not even here, and you’re not even trying to entertain us?” Carter kicked me lightly in the calf, looking annoyed. I put my phone away and looked up at Carter. For a split second, I didn’t manage to mask the icy hostility in my eyes. Carter froze. “What the hell is that look for?” But in the blink of an eye, I morphed back into the timid, submissive girl. “It’s nothing. I was just wondering when Mr. Sterling would be back.” Right on cue, the heavy doors pushed open. Victor strode in. His face was dark, carrying an aura of aggressive irritation. “We’re leaving.” He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me up. His grip was so harsh it made my wrist ache. “Mr. Sterling, what’s wrong?” The moment we got into his sports car, Victor slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car shot down the Manhattan streets like a bullet. “Serena’s flight got moved up. She lands tomorrow.” He gritted his teeth, his voice tight. “You are moving out tonight.” When Victor was in a rush, he had zero patience for anything. He sped all the way back to his Upper East Side penthouse. He didn’t even step inside. He just sat in the driver’s seat, glaring at me coldly. “Go upstairs and pack your things. You are only allowed to take what belongs to you. Do not touch a single thing I bought for you.” “You have one hour.” This kind of heartless, unreasonable demand would have shattered the heart of any woman who had spent five years with him. But to me? It felt like total liberation. “Understood, Mr. Sterling. I’ll be quick.” I stepped out of the car, my footsteps so light I had to physically restrain myself from skipping to the elevator. This penthouse was luxurious, but to me, it was nothing but a suffocating prison. Every corner of this place was meticulously designed to echo Serena’s preferences, and I was just the live-in maid hired to maintain her ghost. I walked into the bedroom and pulled out a battered, cheap suitcase I had brought with me five years ago. I opened the massive walk-in closet. It was stuffed with designer clothes, diamond jewelry, and luxury handbags that Victor had bought me. I didn’t touch a single one of them. I only packed the cheap, faded clothes I had arrived in, a frayed toiletry bag, and from a hidden compartment in the nightstand, a slightly yellowed photograph. In the photo, Ethan was wearing a crisp white button-down. His smile was as warm as a spring breeze, and he was holding two ice cream cones. We had taken it during our college days. Back then, the horrific car crash hadn’t happened yet, and I hadn’t sold my soul to Victor Sterling to pay for his life support. Looking at the photo, the intense nausea that Victor and Carter had stirred up in my stomach finally began to dissipate. “Just a little longer, Ethan. It’s almost over.” I whispered softly, carefully tucking the photo into my worn-out wallet. It took me less than thirty minutes to pack. When I got downstairs, Victor was standing in the living room, smoking a cigarette. Several crushed butts were already scattered by his feet. When he saw the pathetic, battered suitcase in my hand, he froze, his brows knitting tightly together. “That’s it?” “Yes. Everything else was purchased by you. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to take it.” I stood in the entryway and placed the penthouse keys on the console table. My attitude was so flawlessly respectful and professional that he couldn’t pick out a single flaw. Victor seemed inexplicably irritated. My clean, unhesitating departure gave him the frustrating sensation of punching a pillow. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this card. Consider it severance.” He tossed another black credit card onto the table. I didn’t reach for it. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Sterling. The contract clearly states I only receive the final tail-end payment upon completion. This hundred thousand isn’t covered by our agreement. I can’t accept it.” I don’t take risks with small change. I was here for the five million dollars written in black and white on my contract. What if I took this hundred grand, and he used it as an excuse to claim I breached the contract and withheld my final five million? When it came to making money, I was as meticulous as a Wall Street auditor. Victor’s face darkened. “I gave it to you, so take it! Stop talking back!” “I really don’t need it, Mr. Sterling. I’m not desperate for money.” I lied smoothly, pushing the card back toward him. Victor let out a cold, angry laugh. “Not desperate for money? If you weren’t desperate for money, would you have sold yourself as a stand-in for five years? Harper, don’t act like a saint when you’re anything but.” I kept my head down, refusing to argue. “Fine. If you want to play the noble martyr, then get the hell out.” He pointed at the front door. I felt like I had just received a gubernatorial pardon. I grabbed my suitcase handle and marched toward the exit. Just as I stepped out the door, Victor’s dark, brooding voice echoed from behind me. “Harper. Once you walk out that door, there’s no turning back. Don’t think I’ll come crawling after you to coax you back like before.” Coax me? When had he ever coaxed me? Oh, right. I remembered. When I first moved in, I was so overwhelmed by his volatile, toxic mood swings that I used to cry secretly in the bathroom. He found my crying annoying. He tossed a designer handbag at me and snapped, “Stop crying. It’s giving me a headache.” That wasn’t coaxing. That was paying for peace and quiet. I stopped walking, but I didn’t turn around. I just straightened my spine. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. I will absolutely never look back.” I dragged my suitcase out of the luxury high-rise, but I didn’t head to the condo in Jersey. Instead, I hailed a cab and went straight to the downtown hospital. Outside the ICU in the dead of night, it was so quiet I could only hear the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitors. I pressed my hands against the glass window, staring greedily at the man lying inside. Five years. Ethan had lost so much weight. His face was deathly pale, and his body was hooked up to countless tubes and machines. But he was still alive. As long as he was alive, there was hope. The Head Nurse walked by, saw me, and let out a soft sigh as she approached. “Ms. Harper, you’re here this late?” “Yeah. Just wanted to see him.” “Mr. Ethan’s condition has been deteriorating over the last two days. The doctors said if we don’t perform the second surgery immediately, I’m afraid…” “I know.” I turned around and looked at the nurse. My eyes had never been more resolute. “I have the money ready. Next month, on the 5th. We operate exactly on schedule.” Life after leaving Victor was incredibly fulfilling. I rented a cheap motel room. Every day, besides visiting Ethan at the hospital, I stared at the calendar, counting down the hours. Just three days left until the contract expired. As long as I survived these three days, and Victor wired the money as agreed, I would be completely, totally free. However, life never goes exactly as planned. On the night before the deadline, I got a call from Victor. “Where are you?” His voice sounded slightly drunk. The background noise was chaotic, like he was at a club. “Mr. Sterling, I’ve already moved out,” I reminded him calmly. “I asked where the hell you are!” he roared. “Serena wants to see you.” My heart plummeted. Serena wanted to see me? The original first love wanting to meet the cheap stand-in? What good could possibly come of that? “Mr. Sterling, this violates our agreement…” “Shut up! Get your ass to The Apex in thirty minutes, or you can kiss your final payout goodbye!” The line went dead. I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. He was using my five million dollars to threaten me. That money was Ethan’s life. I took a deep breath, changed into the pale blue dress that Serena supposedly loved most, and took a cab to The Apex. The moment I pushed the VIP room doors open, my eyes landed on the woman sitting next to Victor. She was stunning. She possessed a natural, effortless elegance and confidence that I could never replicate, even after five years of trying. However, she was wearing a fiery, bold red dress. It was completely different from the plain, demure, “pure” aesthetic I had been forced to adopt. It seemed Victor had only forced me into pale colors because that was how he remembered her from their youth. The real Serena had long since outgrown that phase. “So you’re Harper?” Serena looked me up and down, her eyes carrying three parts curiosity and seven parts absolute disdain. “You do look a little bit like the old me.” I stood by the door, neither haughty nor humble. “Good evening, Ms. Serena.” Victor held a glass of whiskey, his gaze shifting back and forth between me and Serena, clearly anticipating a good show. “Vic, I heard she’s been with you for five years?” Serena looped her arm through Victor’s, laughing flirtatiously. “How much did you spend to keep such an obedient little pet?” Victor glanced at me dismissively. “Not much. She was just a plaything to pass the time.” Plaything. The word pierced my ears like a needle. But my face maintained a perfect, polite smile, not showing a single trace of humiliation. “I heard you’re willing to do absolutely anything for money?” Serena suddenly stood up and walked over to me, holding a glass of red wine. “So, if I told you to get on your knees, apologize to me, and admit you’re just a shameless, pathetic knockoff… would you do it?” The VIP room went dead silent. Everyone was staring at me, waiting to see what I would do. Victor frowned. He seemed to think Serena was crossing a line, but he didn’t say a word to stop her. He was waiting. He was waiting for me to beg him for help. I looked at Victor, then down at the glass of red wine teetering dangerously in Serena’s hand. For five million dollars. For Ethan’s life. What was my dignity worth? What were my knees worth? I slowly bent my legs, letting my knees sink toward the carpet, inch by inch. Victor’s pupils contracted violently. He abruptly stood up, looking like he wanted to yell something. Thud. My knees hit the floor with a muffled sound. “I am so sorry, Ms. Serena.” I looked up, meeting Serena’s eyes directly. My tone was as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “I am just a cheap knockoff. I shouldn’t have tried to imitate you and cause you discomfort.” Serena froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to kneel so effortlessly, without a single shred of psychological resistance. The twisted thrill of humiliating me hadn’t even peaked before it was completely suffocated by my robotic, business-like attitude. “You…” Serena was furious. She raised her hand, ready to splash the entire glass of red wine directly into my face. “Enough!” Victor suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Serena’s wrist. The wine sloshed out of the glass, splashing onto the floor and staining the hem of my dress. “Vic?” Serena looked at him in total disbelief. Victor’s face was livid. He stared down at me, his chest heaving with explosive breaths. “Harper, you…” He looked like he wanted to scream at me, but he didn’t even know what to say. Yell at me for having no spine? Yell at me for having no self-respect? “Mr. Sterling, do you have any other instructions?” I remained kneeling, looking up at him. “If not, may I leave now?” “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” Victor roared, violently hurling his whiskey glass against the wall, shattering it into a hundred pieces. I stood up smoothly, brushed the dust off my knees, and gave him and Serena a slight, respectful bow. “I wish Mr. Sterling and Ms. Serena a lifetime of happiness.” With that, I turned on my heel and walked out, without a single ounce of hesitation.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397487”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I am the elite “Separation Specialist” for high-society divorces. I’ve saved thousands of wealthy wives billions of dollars in marital assets by covertly convincing their husbands’ mistresses to walk away. On International Women’s Day, a client walked into my office. She was dripping in diamonds and gold. Without a word, she nodded to her bodyguards. They began stacking bricks of cash from duffel bags onto my desk. They built a mountain of money right in front of me. “One million in cash, plus a one-million-dollar Black Card preload,” she stated flatly. “There’s a ten-million-dollar bonus waiting for you if you succeed.” I had never seen that much raw cash in my entire life. I couldn’t grin wide enough. My eyes were practically burning with dollar signs. “Rest assured, ma’am,” I said, putting on my best professional charm. “I am the undisputed master of dissolving these… ‘complications.’ I will return your husband to you, guaranteed.” She let out a sharp, cold snort. “You misunderstand me,” she said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “I don’t want you to get rid of a mistress.” “I want you to convince the wife to sign the papers.” Chapter 1 I sat there, letting her words sink in. I was stunned into silence. “Mrs. Chen,” I said slowly, trying to maintain composure. “There must be some mistake. I handle anti-mistress mitigation. I don’t initiate divorces for the ‘other woman.’” She buffed her manicured gold nails, an insufferable smirk on her face. “You people run such a small-time operation. You lack vision. A man’s heart is wherever his money is flowing.” “Besides, my husband loves me. The woman in his house is the real interloper ruining our relationship.” “You have no idea how hard my life is. I have to spend my days at bridge clubs and high teas just to keep appearances. Meanwhile, that plain Jane house drudge he’s married to gets to work herself to the bone and hand over her whole paycheck to him.” It was absolutely delusional. My profession might exist in a moral gray area, but I draw a hard line at actively destroying a family from the inside out. “Mrs. Chen, I’m sorry,” I said, standing up. “We cannot accept this case. I recommend you seek services elsewhere.” I started gesturing toward the door to usher her out. I make my living protecting marriages from women like her. I wasn’t about to hand her the matches to burn one down. An expression of utter disbelief crossed her face. She let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “You’re just holding out for more money, aren’t you? Pretty ballsy for a dump like this.” “Just give me a straight answer. Are you taking the job or not?” Even though her tone was turning nasty, I kept a polite smile plastered on my face. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mrs. Chen, but we are a firm pass. Deeply sorry.” She rolled her eyes violently. “Look at you, standing there in your off-the-rack trash. You look like a stray dog. Stupid bitch, turning down real money.” She grabbed a wad of cash from the table and hurled it directly at my face. Benjamins scattered across the floor like confetti. Not a single staff member in the room dared to move or make a sound. I clenched my fists, my temper flaring. “Get out,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “I have made myself very clear. You are not welcome in this establishment.” She sat back down on the sofa, crossing her legs elegantly. “What? You think you’re better than me?” “Let me tell you something, honey. Being ‘the other woman’ at this level takes real talent and hard work.” “Look at that ‘plain pig’ face of yours. You’re so basic and homely, you couldn’t even make it as an escort, let alone a high-end mistress.” My polite facade shattered completely. I gave her a deadly, fake grin. “Out. Leave. You have three seconds before I call security to drag you out.” Her eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting her lips. A sharp, deafening slap echoed through the room as her palm connected with my cheek. “Who the hell are you to tell me to get out?” “There is more money on that table than you will ever earn in ten lifetimes.” “The customer is God, didn’t you learn that? I’m demanding service today, and you’re going to give it to me.” I glared at her through gritted teeth, clenching my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “I am warning you one last time. Get. Out.” She looked incredibly bored. “Are you thick? I said I’m not leaving until you help me.” “Don’t try to scare me. You wouldn’t dare do a thing. Do you have any idea who my husband is? He’s Gabriel Thorne, the Chairman of Thorne Enterprises.” Gabriel Thorne? Thorne Enterprises? Wasn’t that my brother-in-law’s name? Chapter 2 The news hit me like a physical blow. My brain was temporarily offline. Seeing me frozen in shock, she smirked triumphantly. “If you weren’t reportedly the absolute best at what you do, I never would have set foot in this trashy office.” I swallowed hard, ignoring her insults. “You claim your husband is Gabriel Thorne. Do you have any proof?” She rolled her eyes, radiating impatience. “Are you blind? Look at the millions on the table. Who else but Thorne Enterprises has this kind of loose capital?” I felt a sudden wave of relief wash over me. It had to be a common name. A coincidence. My brother-in-law wasn’t wealthy. In fact, his small startup was barely keeping its head above water, only staying afloat because I secretly funneled my own salary to him through my sister. She pulled out her phone and displayed a photo. It was a picture of them kissing passionately. The breath was knocked right out of me again. I stared at that photo, searching for any inconsistency. It was him. Gabriel Thorne. My sister’s husband. “Believe me now?” “He gives me a two-hundred-thousand-dollar monthly allowance.” “His miserable ‘starter wife’ at home thinks he’s drowning in debt. She actually gives him her entire paycheck every month to ‘help out.’” “Her sister is apparently a bigger idiot, too. Makes tons of money and gives it all to my Gabriel.” The veins in my temples were throbbing violently. My expression went cold as ice. She couldn’t read the room to save her life and kept blabbing, “The woman he lives with hasn’t been able to produce an heir in ten years of marriage. I’ve been with him for one year and I’m already pregnant.” “His wife is the one interloping on our little family of three.” I forced a tight, sickening smile. “It’s just a photo. Anyone with basic Photoshop skills could doctor that. Do you have any real evidence?” The moment the words left my mouth, she slammed her teacup onto the floor. Hot tea and porcelain shards exploded everywhere. “Give you an inch and you take a mile! You are testing my patience.” I needed to be sure. I signaled another consultant to keep her occupied. I ran to the restroom. With shaking hands, I text the photo to a friend who is a forensic image specialist. His reply came back within minutes. The verdict: The photo was completely authentic. Zero signs of digital manipulation. I immediately posted the picture into our family group chat, tagging my sister. Immediately, the notifications started blowing up from aunts, uncles, and cousins. [Gabe would never do this. This has to be a deepfake, right?] [The lighting is all wrong. Sarah must be pranking us with an AI generator.] [Sarah’s always had a streak of malice in her. She’s just being vicious.] [I heard she has a dirty job in the big city. She’s gone bad.] My extended family tore me to shreds, calling me everything but a child of God. I kept typing through the tears, my fingers numb. [It is not Photoshopped. A professional authenticated it.] [The mistress is in my office right now. And apparently, she’s pregnant…] My oldest aunt posted a message that felt like a slap. [Isn’t Sarah supposed to be some ace anti-mistress specialist? Why doesn’t she just do her job and handle it quietly? Unless… are you just trying to blow up their marriage because you’re jealous of how happy they are?] A few moments later, my mother called me. “Sarah, get some therapy. You are sick. Why are you fabricating this disgusting lie against your brother-in-law?” “Are you just envious that your sister married well?” “I wish you were dead. All you do is try to destroy your sister’s happiness.” Rage boiled up inside me. “Gabriel is actually cheating. I am not breaking up his marriage.” “Remember the fifty thousand dollars I gave her for her dowry? And I’ve basically paid off his business debt with my salary every month for years.” My mother let out a cold laugh through the phone. “That was your responsibility as a sister. Aren’t you supposed to be good at getting rid of these women? Go fix it, you liar. You were always lazy in school, now I see you’ve added compulsive liar to your résumé.” “Tomorrow is the day Gabe’s company goes public. Do not ruin this for him with your nonsense.” The line went dead. A deep chill settled in my chest. Gabriel said his company was bleeding money. My mother demanded I help him. I did, without question, for three years. Three years. Over two hundred thousand dollars of my money. 省 money? I woke up before dawn every day. I lived on ramen and canned soup. I lived in a dark, damp basement apartment for years, which messed up my joints from the humidity. And a simple “that was your responsibility” was the total erasure of all my sacrifice. Chapter 3 I didn’t even make it out of the restroom before my mother and sister burst in. They must have rushed over the moment I posted the photo. “Sarah, are you trying to kill us with stress?” my mother screamed. “Your sister finally scored a golden goose, and you’re trying to ruin it. You think everyone is beneath you just because you hang around with rich sluts?” My eyes were burning red with fury. “Mom, what do you mean by that? My reputation as a top-tier specialist is worthless to you?” “I hand over my paycheck to you every month. I live in poverty so you guys can live well, and in your eyes, that’s just my ‘responsibility’?” “When she got married, you guys practically went bankrupt to buy her a condo.” “But when I wanted to go to vocational school to learn a trade, you said I was wasting my time and wouldn’t give me a single dime.” “In all these years, what has she ever given you?” Before I could finish, my mother’s hand connected with my face. She shoved me so hard I hit the tile wall, staggering to keep my footing. “Your sister has a respectable, tenured job. She has a Ph.D. You have no right to compare yourself to her.” “Look at you. You barely finished high school. It’s embarrassing to admit you’re my daughter.” “You give us money because it’s your duty. Why should you get to make more money than her when you have no education, no background, and no looks?” I raised my head and looked at my sister. My mother was old, uneducated, and stubborn. I stopped trying to reason with her long ago. “And you, Rachel? Is this how you think of me, too?” Rachel crossed her arms, looking me up and down with obvious disdain. “Sarah, don’t you think it’s inappropriate to interfere in my marital affairs like this?” “I know you’re an anti-mistress specialist. You’re quick on your feet. Tell me… have you fallen for your own brother-in-law? Is that what this is about?” I clamped my jaw shut so hard my teeth ached. “Is that really what you think of me?” “Rachel, I paid your dowry. Mom, I paid your retirement insurance premiums.” “You both told me his startup was failing, and I immediately turned over my savings and my debit card to you.” “Every holiday, I buy you gifts I can’t afford myself.” I forced the words out, one by one, through hot tears. “And this is the thanks I get? It’s just my ‘duty’?” Rachel shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “Sarah, aren’t you just obsessed with money? You’ve always been a greedy, materialistic little bitch.” “Our parents worked themselves to the bone to raise you. Honoring them is your responsibility.” “In a few years, you need to quit this embarrassing job, get married, pop out some kids, and stop obsessing over your brother-in-law.” I stared at my mother and sister with total disillusionment. This was the family I had sacrificed half my youth for. I simply told them the truth about Gabriel’s infidelity, and in return, I was subjected to insult after insult. I took a job that wasn’t as ‘respectable’ as Rachel’s, and they used it as a weapon against me. I tried to explain my hurt, and they dismissed it as my ‘duty.’ It was bad enough that they disrespected my work, but they treated my financial support as an entitlement while fabricating lies that I desired my own brother-in-law. “As of today, you are not getting another dime from me.” “Gabriel is cheating. That is a fact. Believe it or not, I don’t care.” Chapter 4 With that, I walked out. They would never receive another cent. My father called just as I stepped onto the main floor. After hesitating, I answered it. “Sarah, your mom… she’s just an old fool. Don’t take it to heart.” “Dad believes you. You wouldn’t make up something like this.” “Dad…………” The dam broke. I was hysterical, pouring out years of suppressed hurt to my father over the phone. Finally, one family member understood. Someone who didn’t look down on my profession, someone who didn’t think I was just fulfilling an obligation. There was a long silence on the other end. “Sarah, just find a decent man and get married. Stop worrying about your brother-in-law.” “That job of yours… it’s a young woman’s game. Who’s going to hire an old anti-mistress specialist?” “I think big Miller at the hardware store in town is a good match. His son is divorced, but he agreed to a fifteen-hundred-dollar bride price.” My throat felt like it was filled with cement. I couldn’t make a sound. “No.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh and hung up. It felt like a giant boulder was crushing my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My father was ready to sell me off for fifteen hundred dollars. I had given this family at least three hundred thousand. Fifteen hundred dollars to buy off the rest of my life’s earning potential, just to ease their minds. At the end of the day, they all just thought I was lying to get closer to Gabriel. I didn’t say another word to anyone. I walked back into the consultation room. Mrs. Chen—or whatever her real name was—marched over to me and poked her finger hard into my chest. “Is this how you treat paying clients? By vanishing?” My expression was absolute granite. I was dead inside. “Why haven’t you left? I said I don’t handle mistresses.” “Get the hell out. Now!” Her eyes flashed with homicidal rage. “Don’t you talk to me like that, you trash.” “If you don’t get on your knees and apologize right now, I will smash this ugly office to the ground.” I clenched my fists. “I have nothing to apologize for. You are an interloper destroying a family.” A loud crack echoed. She slapped me again. Harder this time. Both my cheeks were burning with scarlet handprints. “If I hadn’t given you this opportunity, someone like you wouldn’t even be qualified to look at me.” “Since you’re being so stubborn, I’ll grant your wish.” “Gideon, smash everything.” Over the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood, I dropped to the floor and watched ten years of my life’s work turn into a heap of garbage. I stood up, beyond caring. I grabbed her by the hair and slapped her across the face three times, as hard as I could. “You will never be anything but a pathetic, kept secret.” I know exactly how society treats women like her. If I exposed her online. She would be public enemy number one. She lunged at me, clawing at my hair. We tumbled onto the floor, screaming and tearing at each other. Sharp nails ripped into my flesh. Suddenly, a massive force booted me in the ribs. I tumbled across the floor, my black hair masking my face. She scrambled away, crawling into Gabriel Thorne’s arms, weeping hysterically. “Gabriel, honey, she insulted me and attacked me!” He stroked her hair, his voice soothing but deadly. “It’s okay, babe. I’ll get justice for you.” His expensive dress shoe pressed down hard onto my hand. “This dump is closed permanently. Destroy it all. If it can’t be smashed, douse it in paint.” His assistants worked efficiently. Within minutes, my life’s work was a total ruin. As he turned to leave, he kicked me one last time in the ribs. “Crazy bitch. ‘Elite Specialist’? Please. You’re more pathetic than that plain Jane slob I live with’s sister.” “Trash. Later tonight, I might just sell you to a trafficking ring in Tijuana.” I reached out and grabbed his pant leg, pulling my hair out of my face to look at him. “Gabriel Thorne. Say that again. I dare you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397486”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The post-Thanksgiving holiday rush was brutal. Driving my fully loaded 18-wheeler, I merged onto the packed Interstate. On a continuous downhill stretch, I noticed a yellow school bus full of kids ahead of me. I proactively downshifted, leaving a massive, safe following distance. Suddenly, an SUV cut aggressively right into the gap between me and the bus. I honked my air horn to warn him—pulling a stunt like that on a downhill grade in front of a semi is practically a death wish. The driver ignored the warning and simply stuck his hand out the window, flipping me the middle finger. For the next few miles, he made it his mission to play games with me. He’d speed up, then slam on his brakes, intentionally brake-checking my heavy rig. For the sake of safety, I swallowed my rage and refused to engage. But I never expected this psycho to suddenly swerve across lanes without a blinker right on the next steep, downhill curve. Seeing that my massive grill was about to rear-end the school bus, I jerked my steering wheel hard to the side. Because of the sheer momentum, my rig clipped the rear of his SUV, sending him spinning directly into the steel guardrails. The chain reaction caught the surrounding traffic. Over a dozen passenger cars ended up crashing into the pile-up. I immediately jumped out of my cab to help. I had just managed to drag the SUV driver out of his smoking, crumpled vehicle when he turned around and slapped me hard across the face. “What’s your excuse going to be?!” he screamed. “First, you couldn’t see me? Second, your air brakes failed? Third, your job is so hard? Fourth, we’re all just trying to make a living?!” … That slap hit me so hard it knocked one of my teeth loose. I spat a mouthful of blood onto the asphalt and tried to explain. “You cut me off first…” The man standing in front of me just laughed. “Cut you off? Do you own the damn Interstate? You’re the only one allowed to drive on it? If I drive on it, you have the right to run me over?!” “If I wasn’t so tough, I’d be dead, and you think you can stand here and argue with me, you animal?!” “You son of a bitch truckers, you murderers! Seeing you scum who treat other people’s lives like garbage makes me sick! Why don’t you go drop dead?!” As he yelled, the man threw a brutal punch right at my face. That punch shattered my nasal bone. Blood immediately poured down, covering my entire face. But the man had no intention of letting me go. He grabbed me by my hair and violently smashed my head against the jagged, wrecked hood of his SUV. Just one impact left me dizzy and seeing stars. Jagged pieces of broken plastic pierced my forehead, the excruciating pain contorting my features. I tried to fight back, but it only earned me a more savage beating. He even kept screaming as he rained down punches. “Scum! Animal! You livestock who treat passenger cars like speed bumps!” “Think you’re invincible because you have full commercial insurance?! As long as I’m breathing, I’m going to destroy you brain-dead bastards!” The other drivers involved in the pile-up began stepping out of their cars. Seeing my face covered in blood, someone couldn’t help but speak up. “Hey man, let it go. We had an accident, we’ll just go through insurance. If you keep hitting him like that, you’re going to kill him…” The man’s voice instantly spiked an octave. “It’s exactly because of spineless cowards like you who just cry to your insurance companies that these truckers think they can get away with murder!” “If everyone acted like you—getting hit and just taking a payout instead of demanding justice—you deserve to get run over like a speed bump!” The chaotic scene went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. No one said another word in my defense. Instead, their eyes filled with hostility toward me. It was the collective hatred reserved for someone who seemingly despised human life. The passengers on the school bus had evacuated too. The lead chaperone, a female teacher, stepped up to defend me. “Whatever happened, it doesn’t give you the right to assault him!” “Besides, I saw it clearly from the back of the bus! You were aggressively weaving and changed lanes without a blinker! You caused this crash!” The teacher was telling the absolute truth, but the man just raised his fists and marched menacingly toward her. “What does a woman know about driving? Say one more word and I’ll rip your mouth off!” 2. The man was big. Standing over six feet tall and pushing two hundred and fifty pounds, he was incredibly intimidating. The female teacher’s body trembled slightly. But she stubbornly stood her ground. “I’m stating a fact! If you don’t believe me, go pull the footage from the dashcam in his truck…” Before she could even finish her sentence, the man popped the trunk of his wrecked SUV, pulled out a baseball bat, and viciously smashed it into the grill of my rig. He shattered my windshield, reached inside to rip out my dashcam, and threw it onto the pavement, stomping it into a pile of shattered plastic and silicon. After doing that, he glared at the teacher with a vicious, warning look. She trembled even harder than before, but still insisted on defending me. “Smashing the dashcam won’t help you! There are traffic cameras on this stretch of the Inter… Ah!” Before she could finish, the man swung the bat and struck her hard on the side of the head. Blood trickled down her temple. The kids from the bus huddled together, terrified. The man ignored her bleeding wound and turned to address the crowd of angry drivers. “I didn’t use my blinker because it’s broken.” “But I slowed down and used hand signals!” “This bitch is completely slandering me! For all we know, she’s sleeping with this trucker!” “I say we make him pay up right now! Out of pocket! Otherwise, he’s going to skip town on us!” This animal was spouting absolute lies! He did slow down, but that was only when he was brake-checking me to mess with me! Right before he cut me off, he had accelerated, nearly getting us all killed! And the “hand signal” he used was nothing but a humiliating, provocative middle finger! “That’s not what happened! He’s lying!” “We need to call 911 and let the State Troopers handle this!” I pulled out my phone, but the man snatched it from my hands and hurled it violently onto the concrete. He jumped on it, stomping on it with his heavy boots. He didn’t stop until my phone was shattered into pieces, the internal battery and chips spilling out. Then he grabbed me by the collar and slammed me against my truck’s grill. “You think you’re smart, huh? You know you can’t afford to pay for this, so you want to call the cops to play the victim and get a discount.” “I’m telling you, no way in hell! If you don’t compensate every single one of us for our damages today, you aren’t leaving this highway!” The other drivers, convinced by his logic, began swarming me, demanding money. Even though I repeatedly explained that this chain-reaction crash was not my fault. And even if it was, I had commercial insurance. Any payouts needed to be handled by the insurance adjusters. But they refused to listen to a word I said. The man continued throwing gasoline on the fire. “You all heard it, right?! We almost died in a massive pile-up, and this bastard doesn’t even plan on giving us a dime for the repairs!” “Let the insurance handle it? Easy for him to say! There are over a dozen wrecked cars here. The damages are easily going to top a million bucks. What insurance company is going to pay that out on the spot?” “They’ll drag this out for a year or two! We’re all working people trying to feed our families! Can any of you afford to wait that long?!” His words were incredibly inflammatory. I was nearly drowned in the angry spit of the mob surrounding me. A few hotheads in the crowd, taking a cue from the SUV driver, started rolling up their sleeves, ready to beat the money out of me. Left with no choice, I told them I was just a driver making a delivery after the holiday. I didn’t have cash on me. The man, who had somehow climbed up the side of my trailer, pointed to the massive load of cargo secured in the back. “Then we’ll use whatever you’re hauling to cover the bill!” “No!” I shouted, rejecting his proposal instantly. The cargo in my trailer consisted of donated supplies I was transporting for free on behalf of a local charity. It was heading to a foster care facility. It contained enough winter clothes and supplies to last those kids for the next six months. If it was looted to pay these people off, what would the kids do? Besides, I wasn’t at fault! Why should I pay anything? But the man ignored me entirely. He ripped open the heavy canvas tarp covering the back and started pulling boxes out. 3. Riiip! The man violently tore through the heavy packing tape sealed by the charity volunteers. When he saw the cheap, bulk-ordered winter coats inside, his eyes filled with undisguised disappointment. “What the hell is this? Can’t you haul something actually worth money?!” With a look of pure disgust, he threw the box off the trailer. Refusing to give up, he ripped open several more boxes. Unfortunately for him, the boxes contained either winter coats, thick blankets, or cartons of used children’s books. “Fuck! Are you a damn garbage collector? Why is your rig full of worthless trash?!” The enraged man started hurling the boxes off the truck. They tumbled over the guardrail, rolling down into the deep, dark ravine beside the Interstate. My heart bled. This wasn’t trash! This was love and charity donated by good people for orphans! I tried to climb up the rig to stop him, but the mob of drivers, thinking I was trying to make a run for it, tackled me to the ground. They pinned my shoulders against the asphalt, refusing to let me move. A voice in the crowd spoke up ominously. “I heard these trucker guys are sneaky. They like to hide the high-value cargo at the front of the trailer and put the cheap stuff at the back.” “Why don’t you check the front?” My pupils dilated in sheer panic. It was true. The front section of my trailer contained highly valuable cargo. But it wasn’t trade goods. It was a shipment of rare, genetically engineered seedlings I had promised to deliver to the State University’s Agricultural Research Institute. They held immense, irreplaceable scientific value! If this scumbag found them… I didn’t dare to imagine. My breath hitched, and with a surge of adrenaline, I broke free from the men holding me down, scrambling on all fours toward my truck. But before I could climb up, they yanked me back by my ankles, throwing me to the ground and slapping me across the face repeatedly. “Motherfucker! Still trying to run?!” “Let me tell you something! Today, even if you try to run to the ends of the earth, you’re paying us for our cars first!” My face was battered and bleeding, but I still craned my neck and roared. “This is my truck! None of you have the right to touch what’s on it!” “Get the hell down right now! Or I’m pressing charges against all of you for armed robbery!” My eyes burned with a feral intensity. I wanted nothing more than to rip the man on the trailer apart with my bare hands. But he wasn’t afraid of me at all. Instead, he jumped down, walked over, and patted my bloody cheek. “Ooh, getting defensive. Hit a nerve, didn’t I? There really is something valuable at the front of this rig!” “Don’t just stand there, guys! Get up here and help! If we find a few boxes of premium freight, our repair bills are covered!” Hearing there was money to be made, several car owners scrambled up the side of my trailer alongside the man, brazenly rummaging through my freight. I was forced to watch helplessly as box after box filled with hope for those orphans was tossed off the truck, discarded like garbage down the ravine. My heart ached so badly it felt like it was bleeding. Looking at this mob acting like literal bandits, even though I knew the accident wasn’t my fault, I had no choice but to surrender. “Stop! I’ll pay! I’ll pay you all, okay?!” The man dusted off his hands and hopped down from the trailer. “Should’ve just said that from the start.” “Eighty grand. Wire transfer or cash?” 4. My hand, reaching for my wallet, froze. Even though I was prepared to be extorted, the sheer size of the man’s demand left me stunned. Looking at his rusted-out, ten-year-old domestic SUV, I tried to reason with him. “A brand-new model of that car is barely worth twenty grand. Don’t you think eighty is a bit much?” The man kicked me squarely in the chest. “Fuck you! I was almost killed by your rig! You think eighty grand is too much?!” “This is attempted murder! Attempted murder gets you life in prison! I’m giving you a chance to buy your pathetic life back. You should be kissing my feet, and instead, you’re whining?!” “Pay up! Or your entire cargo belongs to us!” In that moment, I wanted to stand up and beat this extortionist to death—the man who broke the law, pinned the blame on me, and was now trying to rob me blind. But I knew I couldn’t. The truck held not only the charity supplies but also the priceless agricultural seedlings. I couldn’t let the people who trusted me suffer catastrophic losses just to play the hero for a minute. Forcing myself to sit up, swallowing the agonizing pain radiating from my ribs, I choked down my pride. “But I don’t have that kind of money…” I was instantly kicked back to the ground. “Then what the fuck are we talking about?! Stop wasting my time!” “Keep digging, boys! This punk definitely has the expensive shit hidden up front!” The man climbed back onto the trailer, vengefully throwing more cardboard boxes over the side. I wanted to stop him, but with fractured ribs, simply standing up was an excruciating ordeal. The female teacher, who had hastily bandaged the bleeding wound on her head, helped me up. “Don’t panic, young man,” she whispered. “I already called the State Troopers. They’re on their way. These thugs won’t be able to act tough for much longer.” But I shook my head, pointing desperately toward the front of the trailer. “There’s a crate of scientific research seedlings up there! They absolutely cannot be allowed to find it!” The teacher’s eyes widened. She was just about to step forward to help me pull the crate down when the man on the trailer caught our frantic gestures. His eyes lit up with predatory excitement. “I found where this bastard hid the good stuff!” He rushed straight to the front of the trailer, pulled out the secured crate containing the seedlings, and prepared to rip it open. My heart leaped into my throat. The teacher who had been helping me stepped bravely forward. “Stop!” “That cargo belongs to him! What you’re doing is highway robbery! Aren’t you afraid of getting locked up for ten years in federal prison?!” The man just laughed. “Paying debts is the law of the land!” “Besides, this low-life crashed into me first! I’m doing him a favor by not pressing charges for attempted murder, and he wants to accuse me of robbery?!” The man’s sheer shamelessness ignited my rage. I gritted my teeth and shouted at him again. “I didn’t hit you! Your own reckless driving caused this crash!” The man lost his temper. He jumped down from the trailer, raising the heavy crate above his head, aiming right for my skull. “Motherfucker! You just won’t quit, will you?!” “A murderer acting this arrogant? I’m going to teach you the lesson your parents never did!” I didn’t dare to dodge. I instinctively reached up, trying to catch the crate to protect it. But the crate crashed heavily against my arms, splintering and breaking apart completely. The fragile University seedlings cascaded down, covering my head, my shoulders, and scattering across the asphalt. In that single instant, my heart plunged into the darkest abyss. The man looked down at the mess on the ground, his lips curling in utter contempt. “Fuck! I thought it was something actually valuable! It’s just a bunch of rotten weeds!” “If you had told me your rig was full of literal garbage, I wouldn’t have even bothered climbing up!” As he spoke, he vengefully ground his heavy boots into the few remaining intact seedlings on the pavement, crushing them to mush. Looking at the destroyed, irreplaceable research specimens, the raging inferno in my heart suddenly went terrifyingly cold and calm. I stared at the man standing in front of me and spoke, enunciating every single syllable. “You’re done.” “Even if you rot in a cell for ten lifetimes, you won’t be able to pay for what you just did.” The man completely brushed off my words, still acting like a tough guy. “What the fuck kind of crazy shit are you babbling about now?!” “Let me tell you right now, today you either pay us the cash, or you’re leaving this Interstate in a body bag!” He raised his fist, preparing to strike me again, when a thunderous roar echoed from behind him. “BACK OFF!” Without anyone noticing, a convoy of more than a dozen massive 18-wheelers had pulled up, forming a barricade that completely boxed the entire scene in!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397485”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was sitting at a long red light on my way to meet Caleb at the hospital, so I pulled out my phone to kill time. The top recommended post on Reddit caught my eye: [Life, Freedom, Love, and Money: How would you rank them?] The comments section was chaotic, but the vast majority ranked Money first. Only one comment stood out, completely at odds with the rest. “Love will always be my first choice. With love, everything else has meaning.” Someone immediately replied mockingly: “Another hopeless romantic.” But looking at that comment, a faint sense of agreement rippled through me. Of course love should come first. The love Caleb had given me had always been flawless. Amidst the chorus of cynical replies, the original commenter responded calmly: “If you were in my shoes, you’d choose the same.” “Last year, I went into acute renal failure. He gave me one of his kidneys. At the time, he wasn’t even my boyfriend; he was just my attending physician.” My heart inexplicably skipped a beat. Last year, Caleb had also donated a kidney. To a patient he supposedly didn’t even know. I had fiercely opposed it at the time, but he just coaxed me, saying: “Saving lives is a doctor’s calling.” My fingertips went cold. With a trembling hand, I scrolled down. “He only has one kidney left now, but in that department… he’s still so intense it’s hard to keep up.” The comment continued, “Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Every night he tosses me around until my back aches.” Attached below was a photo. Under the dim, amber glow of bathroom lighting, it showed a man’s muscular back. On the left side of his waist, there was a faint bite mark. It was the bite mark I left on him when I was eighteen, punishing him for getting into a fistfight with a senior who had a crush on me. It wasn’t until a chorus of honking horns erupted behind me that I snapped back to reality. I was still twenty minutes away from Caleb’s hospital. I abruptly pulled the car onto a side street and turned off the eng

When it was time to head back to college, my stepmother shoved a cheap, off-brand carton of milk into my suitcase. “Take this. Drink it at school.” It was a leftover holiday gift from someone else that had been sitting untouched for months. My dad leaned against the doorframe. “I’m not giving you any money this semester. Didn’t you make $2,000 working your winter break job? $500 a month for living expenses—that’ll cover you for four months perfectly.” “You’re an adult now. It’s time you learned to be independent.” My hand, in the middle of packing my suitcase, froze in mid-air. Nearby, my younger sister, staring at her phone, suddenly screamed in excitement. “Yes! I got the concert tickets!” “Dad, hurry up and book my flights! And I want to stay in a five-star hotel!” My dad wrapped an arm around her, immediately agreeing to everything. My stepmother glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, the large hoop earrings she wore glinting in the light. The three of them huddled together, laughing as they booked flights and hotel rooms. I’ve watched this warm, picture-perfect family scene for ten years, and it still makes it hard to breathe. Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone. [Chase Bank: Dear Ms. Harper Davis, your Certificate of Deposit ending in 1234 has matured. Principal balance: $800,000. To renew, please reply 1.] 1 A Certificate of Deposit? I silently counted the long string of zeros on the screen. Eight hundred thousand dollars. Assuming it was a scam text, I didn’t reply. “Dad, I was planning to use the $2,000 I earned from my winter job to get this mole removed.” My dad, Richard, glanced at the pea-sized dark mole near the corner of my mouth. “You go off to college and suddenly you’re full of wild ideas! Wasting money on useless vanity!” “You’re just like your dead mother—born with bad luck!” My stepmother, Brenda, wearing a thick layer of foundation, batted her heavy fake eyelashes. “Oh, Harper, sweetie. Wait until you graduate college, and I’ll personally take you to get it removed.” Before, they used to say: Wait until you finish middle school. Wait until you finish high school. Wait until you get into college. Now, the mole is getting bigger, and they’ve pushed it to: Wait until you graduate college. Actually, before winter break started, I went to a clinic to ask about the price. It only cost $2,000. For my entire winter break, I didn’t take a single day off. I worked from open to close at a fast-food chicken joint. Looking at my sister, Mia, happily humming a tune nearby, a knot of suffocating anger swelled in my chest. “Dad, you didn’t even blink before buying her a $2,000 VIP concert ticket, but you won’t even give me $500 for a month’s living expenses.” “I’m your biological daughter too!” My dad’s face turned beet red with rage. “You think you can lecture your own father in this house?!” “Fine! Since your mother has been dead for ten years anyway, I’ll tell you the truth today!” “Mia is my biological daughter with Brenda!” Brenda turned her face away, refusing to look at me. My mom died ten years ago. I am 18 this year; Mia is 14. My dad started messing around with Brenda when I was four. Back then, my mom wasn’t sick yet. She was a top-tier CPA at a corporate firm, and she was always incredibly busy. During those years, she would often spend entire days locked in her office. I remember she always had a look of deep, irremovable sorrow on her face. But the moment she saw me, she would automatically erase that sorrow, smile, and pull me into her arms. When I was seven, my mom collapsed. She spent a year lying in a hospital bed. Right before she passed, my dad held her hand. “Evelyn, do you have any savings left under your name? You’re leaving, but we still have to survive.” My mom was so emaciated her cheeks were hollowed out, her face completely devoid of color. She motioned for my dad to lean in closer, and then she spat right in his face. For all these years, my dad has held a deep, bitter grudge against my mom because of that. With a look of pure disgust, I pulled that cheap carton of milk out of my suitcase. Brenda turned her head back, looking visibly displeased. My dad slammed his hand down on mine. “Brenda was nice enough to pack that for you! How dare you be so ungrateful!” “She specifically told the rest of us not to drink it so she could save it just for you!” I struggled, but he clamped his hand down hard on my forearm. An intense, searing pain shot up my arm, making my scalp tingle. When frying chicken at work, hot oil frequently splashed onto my arms. My forearms were constantly covered in small burn blisters. Tears welled up in my eyes from the pain. “Did she save it just for me, or did she give it to me because literally nobody else wanted to drink it?” “If it’s such a ‘good thing,’ you should keep it here for Mia to drink!” Smack. My dad slapped me hard across the face. This wasn’t the first time I had been hit. I wiped away my tears and looked at my dad’s flushed, angry face. He is 45 years old this year. For all these years, I had clung to a desperate hope—the hope that my dad would eventually treat me a little better. After all, I am his biological child. I am his only flesh-and-blood daughter from his first marriage. I waited for ten years, and he hasn’t changed one bit. It turns out, I wasn’t his only biological daughter. No wonder. I kept my head down and continued packing my suitcase. The new semester was about to start, and I would finally be able to leave this house. But thinking about the pea-sized mole on my face, a wave of bitter sadness washed over me. I didn’t want to deal with people’s weird stares anymore. If only I had a sum of money right now. 2 I zipped up my suitcase and went into my room. Closing the door, the very first thing I did was turn on the light. My room doesn’t have any windows. If the light is off, it’s pitch black. There are five bedrooms in this house. My dad and Brenda share the master suite. Right next to the master suite is Mia’s bedroom. Of the other three rooms: one is my dad’s private lounge, one is Brenda’s walk-in closet, and one is a dedicated room just for Mia’s K-pop merchandise and posters. I live in the storage closet under the stairs. I’m not even worthy of the smallest, north-facing bedroom. Brenda pushed the door open a crack. “Harper, I washed some grapes for you. Have some.” The grapes on the stem were shriveled and dry. Earlier, I had seen Mia pop one into her mouth, frown, and immediately spit it out. “Ew, so sour! That’s disgusting!” The food she likes is never shared with me. The food she throws away is always boxed up with a smile by Brenda and handed to me. The second month after my mom died, my dad moved Brenda into the house. He told me to call her “Mom.” I couldn’t force the word out of my mouth. Brenda set the grapes down, pulled two crisp $100 bills from her pocket, and handed them to me. “Harper, things are a little tight right now, but take this $200 for now. Use it at school.” She had just gotten a new set of acrylic nails. They were blindingly red. I stared at her coldly. “Stop with the fake hypocritical act.” My dad snatched the money right out of her hand. “You spoil her too much! That’s why she acts like such an entitled brat!” “From today on, she isn’t getting a single cent out of this house! Let’s see if she still dares to talk back to us!” My dad threw the bunch of grapes onto the floor and stomped on them. “Don’t give her anything to eat!” “Let her starve for a day and think about what she’s done. Let her realize who the actual masters of this house are!” In high school, my monthly living allowance was $300. When I got to college, it went up to $500. During the first month of my freshman year, I spent $120 of that $500 on the cheapest, unreserved train ticket available. I had $380 left for the month. For the last week of that month, I survived by eating plain bread and pickles every single day. When I asked my dad for the next month’s allowance, he screamed at me over the phone. “Asking for money again?! It’s barely been a few weeks! Were you born just to drain me dry?!” “It’s hard enough for me to make a living, and you’re just sitting at school living it up on my dime!” “If you keep wasting money, drop out and go find a job at a factory!” Half a month later, I finally received the $500 he transferred me. I pulled a photo of my mom from under my pillow. As I stared at it, my vision blurred with tears. If only my mom were still here. Everything would be okay. The smell of dinner wafted in from under the door. I heard Mia’s excited voice. “Wow, Mom! You made so much good food!” Nobody called me to eat. I was dizzy with hunger. Because I never had money, I was used to being half-starved. Now, whenever I get hungry, my stomach physically aches. Mia spoke between bites. “Mom, your ribs are my absolute favorite! You’re the best, Mom!” Brenda’s voice was full of laughter. “Eat as much as you want, sweetie.” I crouched on the floor, trying to curl myself into the tightest ball possible to lessen the stomach cramps. My phone rang. It was Chase Bank. “Hello, am I speaking with Ms. Harper Davis? The $800,000 Certificate of Deposit you opened with us ten years ago has matured. Would you like to renew it?” “You must have the wrong person. I’ve never opened a CD. Ten years ago, I was only eight.” The voice on the other end continued. “Ten years ago, Ms. Evelyn Davis deposited a principal amount of $800,000 into an account under your name.” “May I ask, what is your relationship with Evelyn Davis?” Evelyn Davis. My mom. I gripped my mom’s photo tightly, lowering my voice. “Can the money be withdrawn right now?” 3 I tucked my mom’s photo into my jacket pocket, grabbed my ID, and walked out the door. Brenda watched me, nudging my dad. “Why are you arguing with the kid? Her biological mother passed away early; it’s normal for her to have a bit of a temper.” “Harper, come eat. The food is getting cold.” I looked at the meager leftovers on the table and shot her a look of pure contempt. “What exactly are you expecting me to eat?” My dad, having eaten his fill, was currently fiddling with his expensive tea set. “There’s still food left. You should be grateful you have anything to eat at all. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Oh, and when you’re done, wash the dishes and wipe the table clean.” I turned around and walked toward the front door. Behind me, my dad’s roaring voice echoed. “You ungrateful brat! Are you trying to climb over my head now?!” “If you think you’re so tough, then once you walk out that door, don’t ever come back!” Followed by Brenda’s slow, measured voice. “Where is she going at this hour?” “Maybe you should go check on her. Kids these days are sensitive. What if she runs away?” “Good riddance if she doesn’t come back! She’s 18 now anyway. I have zero legal obligation to keep supporting her!” I walked faster, their voices fading into the distance. I arrived at the local Chase Bank branch. The bank teller who assisted me was incredibly polite. She informed me that I had a principal balance of $800,000, and the accumulated interest over ten years was approximately $128,000. Right now, the account ending in 1234 held a grand total of $928,000. I stood there, completely stunned. The teller handed me a sealed package. “Ms. Evelyn Davis left this in a safety deposit box ten years ago. She instructed us to give it to you when you came in.” My hands were shaking. Inside was a letter, a key, and a property deed. I unfolded the yellowed piece of paper: To my precious 18-year-old Harper, How are you doing right now? I am so sorry, Mommy couldn’t be there to watch you grow up. Before Mommy leaves, you are the only thing I can’t bear to let go of. The money in this account and this apartment are Mommy’s coming-of-age gifts to you. If you are doing well right now, that’s wonderful. This gift is just the icing on the cake. If you are facing hardships right now, don’t be afraid. You still have Mommy. Mommy will always protect you from behind the scenes. You probably know about your dad’s affairs by now, so I won’t mention it. I will love you forever. Mommy. 2016. I read those few short lines over and over again. Without me realizing it, the paper was soaked with tears. My mom had known about my dad and Brenda the entire time. Ten years later, I finally understood the irremovable sorrow that had always lingered on her face. I finally understood why my mom refused to tell my dad how much savings she had before she died. I finally understood why she spat in his face. Now, it all made sense. My mom left everything to me. Ten years ago, she had prepared all of this for me. I tucked the letter into my jacket pocket, keeping it safe right next to her photo. I looked at the $928,000 balance on the account statement. Suddenly, I thought of how my dad had cursed and complained for all these years. After my mom died, he tore the house apart searching for money. But he found absolutely nothing. He took all his hatred for my mom and took it out on me. He even suspected my mom had an affair and gave the money to another man. He slandered her name for ten years. But he was the one who destroyed our family. The scabbed-over burn blisters on my arm itched a little. I scratched them gently. And then, I clenched my fists tight. This money was left to me by my mom. Nobody else was going to touch a single cent of it. 4 It was getting dark. I didn’t go back to my dad’s house. I typed the address from the property deed into my phone and caught a bus. When I inserted the key into the lock, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned it. The moment the door opened, a smart-home system triggered my mom’s pre-recorded voice. “Welcome home, my precious Harper.” Hearing her voice again after ten years, an overwhelming wave of grief and longing crashed over me. Crying, I walked through the rooms of my new home. Two bedrooms, one living room. The windows were massive, letting in so much natural light that you wouldn’t even need to turn on the lights during the day. I stayed there for two days. For those two days, my dad didn’t call me a single time. But I saw his posts on Facebook. “Taking my precious daughter to see her idol!” The three of them had concert stickers on their faces, beaming with excitement. When I left, I hadn’t taken my keys, but nobody even noticed or cared. Brenda posted a new update on her Instagram. “My ears are ringing from the concert! Finally getting some much-needed rest.” The attached video showed a sweeping view of a luxury hotel family suite. Mia’s TikTok was also updated. “I finally saw him live! Best night ever!” “Thanks for the support, Dad! Love you!” I clicked onto Mia’s profile and scrolled down. January 12th. “New phone! Thanks, Dad!” The photo showed the newest iPhone Pro Max. The screen on the budget Android phone I had used for four years was shattered. Fixing it would cost $30. When I asked my dad for the money, he told me he already gave me my living allowance and to figure it out myself. December 15th. “It’s getting freezing outside! Dad bought me a new winter coat!” I searched the brand online. It was a $600 designer puffer jacket. I was wearing a $20 clearance coat. Because I was always cold, my hands were covered in chilblains that still hadn’t fully healed. January 1st. “Dad sent me a massive New Year’s cash drop! Happy New Year!” November 3rd. “Got so many gifts today! Happy Birthday to me!” I haven’t celebrated my birthday since I was eight. Nobody cared enough to remember. October 1st. “Fall Break! Dad took the whole family out for a trip! So crowded but so fun!” During that break, I didn’t go home because I couldn’t afford the bus ticket. I stayed in my empty dorm room, eating plain bread and pickles for the entire holiday. … There were plenty of comments under her posts. “So jealous! I wish I had a great dad like that!” I locked my phone screen. I stared at the ceiling of my new apartment for a long time, then threw on my jacket and headed back to my dad’s house. When I reached the front door, I ran right into the three of them returning from their trip. My dad immediately started mocking me. “I thought you were so tough? Why did you come crawling back?” Brenda maintained her hypocritical, fake-concerned act. “Harper, where did you go? I was worried sick these past two days.” I ignored them and walked straight into my “room.” As always, I immediately turned on the light. I started packing up the rest of my belongings. I was planning to take everything that belonged to me and leave for good. I grabbed a duffel bag for my clothes. But I quickly realized that aside from a few worn-out shirts and pants, there was nothing else to pack. A ratty stuffed animal I had held onto since I was six, some ID documents, and a few textbooks. That was it. Those were the only traces of my existence in this house. I pulled my suitcase behind me, keeping my head down as I walked toward the door. I didn’t want to look at any of them, and I didn’t want to look at this house ever again. Brenda watched me. “Harper, your semester doesn’t start for another two days. Why are you leaving today?” I looked up at her. “Aren’t you exhausted from pretending all the time?” “Whenever I’m home, you act like my very existence annoys you. Now that I’m leaving, aren’t you thrilled?” I saw the flash of genuine disgust in Brenda’s eyes, but she quickly covered it up with an awkward, nervous laugh. Before my dad could raise his hand to slap me, I pulled my suitcase out and slammed the door shut behind me. I hadn’t taken two steps down the hall when I heard my dad shouting from behind the door. “Wait! Did your mother leave you $800,000?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397484”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Tricked by my boyfriend into going to a remote, lawless compound deep in the backwoods, I was reduced to nothing more than a breeding machine. The day the local quack cut my stomach open to deliver a breached pregnancy, I lay in a pool of my own blood. Through the haze, I heard the two women guarding the door chewing sunflower seeds and gossiping: “These college girls from the city are so gullible. She actually thinks she was kidnapped by human traffickers.” “Right? Who told her to mess with Mr. Vance’s precious best friend?” “Mr. Vance paid our boss a hundred grand to have the whole compound play along with this ‘escape room’ game. He even personally mailed the labor-inducing drugs.” “I heard Mr. Vance say that as long as she rots in this hellhole for three years and experiences the pain his ‘bestie’ went through, he’ll mercifully take her back to the city to marry her.” Through the crack in the door, I saw the video call from my fiancé, Arthur Vance, playing on the woman’s phone. So, this pitch-black purgatory I had endured for three years was just a customized punishment he orchestrated to make his female best friend happy. The excruciating pain in my abdomen tore at my nerves. As my consciousness teetered on the edge of collapse, a mechanical voice echoed in my mind: [Host, the abuse meter for the target, Arthur Vance, is full. Do you wish to abandon the conquest and detach from the current world?] I opened my eyes, staring at the blackened wooden beams of the ceiling. The heavy wooden door was violently kicked open. The hinges snapped, and the door crashed into the mud, splashing filth everywhere. Arthur Vance, dressed in an immaculate black suit, stepped into the dim, foul-smelling barn. Behind him were five bodyguards in sunglasses. And two private doctors carrying medical kits. The local quack was squatting beside me, holding a rusted needle threaded with coarse black string, hovering over my abdomen. The flesh there had been brutally sliced open, and blood was relentlessly pouring out. Arthur stopped in his tracks, looking at the blood-soaked hay and pig manure covering the floor. He raised a hand and pointed at the quack. “Stop. Get the hell out.” The quack dropped the needle and thread. With his hands covered in dark red blood, he scrambled and crawled out of the barn. Arthur turned his head, issuing a command to his private doctors. “Give her a shot of adrenaline. Use a high dose of stimulants. We can’t have her sleeping through this.” The two doctors immediately stepped forward. One opened a medical kit, pulling out a long syringe to draw a clear liquid. He grabbed the shriveled flesh of my inner thigh and drove the thick needle into my vein. The liquid was rapidly pushed into my body. Ten seconds later, the drug’s effects spread through my bloodstream. My muscles began to spasm uncontrollably. My body thrashed and twitched against the filthy hay. With every convulsion, more blood gushed from the unstitched wound on my stomach. The blood ran down my thighs, pooling into a dark red puddle on the dirt floor. Arthur took a step back, avoiding the blood creeping toward his Italian leather shoes. “Stop acting. I know all your little tricks.” He stared down at me from his high horse. “I read the script the compound boss sent me. The fake wound and the pig’s blood pouch on your stomach? Nice prop work.” He let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Do you really think making yourself look like a tragic heroine is going to erase what you did to Chloe?” The stimulation from the drugs made my brain throb with agonizing pain. My upper body violently lurched forward, my hands instinctively reaching out. My skeletal, withered fingers brushed across the mud and grazed the hem of Arthur’s tailored trousers. The moment my fingertips touched him, I used my raspy, broken throat to force out a faint whisper. “Arthur… it hurts…” Arthur’s face darkened. He violently kicked my hand away. The back of my hand smashed against a stone trough, scraping off a layer of skin. He pulled a pristine white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. Bending down, he aggressively wiped the spot on his shoe where I had touched him. “Put away that disgusting face.” He crumpled the used handkerchief into a ball and threw it directly at my face. It slid off, landing in the bloody puddle on the floor. “Chloe hasn’t forgiven you yet. You have no right to touch me.” I looked at the handkerchief and didn’t reach out again. I had to leave him. Arthur stood up straight and waved at his bodyguards. “Take her away. Don’t get my car dirty.” Two bodyguards stepped forward. They grabbed my arms and dragged me up from the hay. My legs had been broken months ago. The bones had healed misaligned; I couldn’t straighten them. As they dragged me, my paralyzed legs carved two long trenches through the mud and gravel. The skin on my knees was torn open by the sharp rocks, exposing the white bone underneath. Arthur walked out of the barn and stood on the dirt road at the edge of the compound. Old Man Cletus, the compound boss, stood by the road with a few locals, clutching several thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Arthur swept his gaze over them. “You all played your parts well these past three years. Her acting in this little setup of yours was very convincing.” Cletus nodded profusely, stuffing the cash into the pockets of his ragged coat. The bodyguards dragged me over to Arthur and dropped me. My body slammed heavily against the gravel road. Arthur looked down at my broken legs. “You didn’t want to do farm work, so you actually went far enough to break your own legs.” He scoffed through his nose. “Playing the beggar to get sympathy? Making yourself smell like an open sewer—did you really think that would soften my heart?” I closed my eyes. Three years ago today, I was slicing an apple in the kitchen of our mansion. The knife slipped, leaving a tiny, shallow cut on my index finger. A single drop of blood welled up. Arthur had sprinted in from the living room, snatching the knife away from me. He held my finger under running water for ten minutes, brought out the first-aid kit, and wrapped my finger in a thick cocoon of gauze. A month later, he rented out an entire private island. He covered it in red roses. He knelt on one knee in the flowers and slipped a flawless ten-carat diamond ring onto my finger. Two days later, Chloe Miller returned from abroad. She moved into the guest room of our mansion. A week later, Chloe walked down the stairs wearing a white dress that belonged to me. She picked up a pair of scissors from the coffee table and sliced a shallow bloody line into her own forearm. Arthur pushed the front doors open and walked in. Chloe clutched her arm, pointing at me. “Arthur, Stella cut me with the scissors!” Arthur snatched the glass of water out of my hand and shielded Chloe behind him. Another week passed. Chloe was holding a cup of boiling hot coffee. She poured the entire cup directly onto her own shoulder, screaming and shrinking into the corner of the sofa. Arthur rushed down from the second floor. Chloe pointed at me. “Stella tried to burn me to death with boiling water!” The next day, Chloe stood on the edge of the thirtieth-floor rooftop. Arthur rushed over and tackled her to safety. Following that, in front of a swarm of reporters, Arthur shredded our prenuptial agreement. He froze all my bank accounts and had his bodyguards shove me into a car. He personally drove me to this remote backwoods compound and handed a massive stack of cash to Old Man Cletus. He told me to rot here for three full years to experience the pain Chloe had gone through. And those three years were authentic, unfiltered torture. After taking the money, Cletus locked me in the barn. A heavy iron chain was padlocked around my neck. Every day, my only food was rancid pig slop. Every night, those backwoods creeps would walk into the barn. In the suffocating darkness, I suffered miscarriage after miscarriage. The bodyguards hauled me up by the arms and threw me into the trunk of the SUV. When the private jet took off, I lay crumpled in the corner of the cabin. I opened my mouth, wanting to make a sound. Only a broken, raspy wheeze squeezed past my throat. Sitting on the plush leather sofa, Arthur put on a pair of black noise-canceling headphones. “Enough, stop playing mute. Save your energy. When we get back to the city, you’re going to crawl on your knees and beg Chloe for forgiveness.” The jet landed at a private helipad in downtown Manhattan. The bodyguards wrapped me in a black industrial tarp and shoved me into the very back of a luxury van. The vehicle pulled into the underground garage of the Grand Continental Hotel. The elevator went straight to the penthouse ballroom. The grand doors were pushed open. The ballroom was lined with thick red carpets, the crystal chandeliers radiating blinding light. The bodyguards pulled off the tarp and threw me directly into the center of the room. Arthur, holding a microphone, stood under the spotlight. Surrounding us was a crowd of high-society elites holding flutes of champagne. Arthur pointed a finger at me. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the gift I prepared to help cleanse Chloe of her bad luck.” He scanned the crowd. “A vicious, toxic woman I dragged back from the backwoods.” A roar of laughter erupted from the crowd. Several women in expensive evening gowns stepped forward, swirling their wine glasses. They looked down at me. “I heard she stayed in the woods for three years?” “Covering herself in mud on purpose, smelling like a rotting fish… is she trying to disgust Chloe?” I lay flat against the red carpet. I reached out my right arm, planting my elbow against the floor, and dragged my body forward. My broken legs trailed behind me, leaving a dark, wet streak of blood and grime across the immaculate carpet. Chloe, wearing a pristine white tulle gown, walked down the grand spiral staircase. Seeing the blood on the floor, she let out a dramatic gasp. She collapsed into Arthur’s arms, gripping his suit jacket tightly. “Arthur… her blood is so red… I’m scared…” Arthur’s face instantly went ice-cold. He turned to the hotel security guards stationed by the door. “Bring buckets of water. Wash that filthy blood off the carpet right now!” Two guards ran over carrying heavy plastic janitorial buckets. The buckets were filled with freezing, dirty mop water. Arthur pointed at me. “Dump it over her head. Help her wash off this pathetic, vulgar disguise.” The guards lifted the buckets. The freezing water, mixed with dust and grime, crashed down directly over my head. The torrent washed over my matted hair and seeped deep into the unstitched, gaping wound on my abdomen. The bone-chilling cold triggered violent, agonizing muscle spasms. Arthur walked up to me, his polished leather shoe stopping just an inch from my fingertips. “Crawl over here. Bow your head to the floor three times for Chloe.” He looked down at me. “Admit that you faked your pregnancy and faked your death just to fight for my attention. As long as you do that, I’ll give you a chance to be a janitor at the company.” I lowered my head. The gala transitioned into its second half. The bodyguards dragged me out of the ballroom and tossed me into the corner of the hallway outside the women’s restroom. My clothes clung tightly to my body. The bloody water from my abdomen dripped steadily onto the marble tiles. Chloe walked out of the restroom holding a compact mirror. She stopped right in front of me. She lifted her right foot, bringing the razor-sharp heel of her stiletto down hard onto my broken right index finger. She ground her heel left and right. The pain shot straight to my heart. My body seized violently, instinctively trying to shrink back. Watching me, Chloe let out a light, airy laugh. “Did you really think Arthur set you up at a nice little farm retreat?” She bent down, staring right into my face. “The day Cletus got the money, he texted me, asking how I wanted you handled.” She stood up straight, smoothing out her dress. “I texted back: Play with her however you want. Just leave her with one breath.” Chloe stared at the blood pooling around my stomach. “These past few hundred days and nights… tasted pretty good, didn’t they?” The sharp click-clack of leather shoes echoed from the other end of the hall. Arthur appeared around the corner. Chloe immediately threw herself backward, crashing heavily onto the marble floor. She grabbed her ankle, massive tears rolling down her cheeks. “Sister, I know you hate me, but why did you push me…” Arthur’s face changed instantly. He sprinted toward us. Without even glancing at me, he swung his right foot directly into my body. The toe of his leather shoe slammed precisely into the gaping wound on my abdomen. The fragile skin instantly ruptured. Blood and shredded tissue splattered against the wallpaper. I lay flat on my back, my eyes wide open, my breathing coming to a dead stop. Leaning against the wall, Chloe panted, her face pale. “Arthur, I was so scared, my anemia is acting up… I feel so dizzy…” Arthur immediately turned his head, his gaze locking onto me like ice. “Since you have enough energy to push her, you can use your blood to compensate Chloe.” He pulled out a walkie-talkie and called his private doctors waiting outside. Seconds later, a doctor ran down the hallway with a medical kit. Arthur pointed at my arm. “Draw her blood.” The doctor crouched down and pulled up my left arm. He tied a tourniquet around my bicep and pulled a thick, glass vacuum-extraction syringe from his kit. In my mind, the System’s alarm blared again, the frequency incredibly fast. [72-hour countdown has encountered lethal external trauma. Termination protocol accelerating.] [Biological vitals severed. Pain-shielding function deactivated.] [Soul detachment successful. Wishing Host a pleasant journey in your next world.] The needle plunged viciously into my collapsed vein. The extraction pump clicked on, emitting a faint whirring sound. Arthur stood to the side, looking down at his luxury watch, his expression dripping with extreme impatience. “Draw it faster. She won’t die.” He glared at me coldly. “Starving away all your subcutaneous fat just to fake an illness… this pathetic pity act is only going to fool the clueless servants.” My head tilted back, staring at the chandelier on the ceiling. The light in my vision slowly grew darker. I didn’t even have the strength to twitch the corners of my mouth anymore. My eyes lost their focus. Pulled by gravity, my head rolled softly to the right, resting limply against my shoulder. Arthur frowned tightly, barking a sharp order. “Stop playing dead! Lift your head!” The moment the words left his mouth. CRASH. An ear-piercing shattering sound echoed through the hallway. The private doctor let out a horrified scream, his hands jerking back violently. The glass extraction tube hit the marble floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. Dark red liquid splattered everywhere. Arthur took a massive step forward. “What the hell are you doing?!” The doctor didn’t answer him. His eyes were wide with absolute terror. He scrambled backward across the floor until his back slammed into the wall. His hands shook violently in the air, pointing at the ruptured hole in my abdomen. Putrid, black blood was pouring out in a continuous, endless stream. The doctor’s voice was so shrill it completely broke. “M-Mr. Vance… that tube… it was entirely filled with septic blood caused by severe internal organ failure!” He grabbed his own head in horror. He pointed a shaking finger at the rotting flesh. “And her abdomen has absolutely no healing muscle tissue… there is a necrotic, decaying fetal remain inside!” The air in the hallway froze solid. Everyone stood paralyzed in place. The doctor’s trembling voice continued to echo. “Mr. Vance… this body was irreparably destroyed days ago. She is completely, undeniably dead!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397483”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the eve of getting our marriage license, I discovered my fiancé was hiding a girl in a private psychiatric facility. That day, I slapped the marriage application down on the table and gave him two choices. Either withdraw the application, or send her back to her hometown. Liam Vance chain-smoked all night at the training grounds. In the end, he picked up the pen and signed our marriage paperwork. But later, right in the middle of our wedding reception, a girl with scarred wrists suddenly rushed the stage. “Liam, my brother died because of you. Won’t you even give me the last shred of your love?” The bridal bouquet I was holding dropped to the floor. He left me with nothing but the sight of his frantic, retreating back. I pulled the corsage off my dress and pressed my hand down on the officiant’s notes. “If you walk out those doors today, our marriage certificate is void.” His footsteps paused for a fraction of a second. But he still walked away. … The music at the wedding venue ground to a halt. The whispers of the guests stabbed into my ears like needles. I stood frozen on the stage, staring at those empty double doors. My parents walked up and draped a coat over my shoulders. “Chloe, let’s go home.” I nodded and followed them off the stage. Passing the table where Liam’s parents sat, I stopped. Liam’s mother grabbed my hand, her eyes red. “Chloe, Liam didn’t mean to do this. Don’t blame him.” I pulled my hand away and gave them a deep, respectful bow. “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, I’m sorry.” After that, I didn’t linger. I followed my parents out of the hall. That night, Liam didn’t come home. The next day, he still didn’t come back. On the third night, he returned, reeking of alcohol. He stood in the doorway, looking at me sitting on the sofa. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I didn’t answer. I just pointed to a document on the coffee table. “Take a look.” He walked over and picked it up. It was an involuntary psychiatric hold and transfer order for Mia Lawson. Because she had self-harmed at a military officer’s wedding, disrupting the peace, she had been transferred to a secure mental health facility. “Did you do this?” he asked, his voice cold. “It’s protocol,” I said flatly. He crumpled the document into a ball and hurled it fiercely at the ground. “Chloe, she’s just a sick girl! Her brother died trying to save me. I owe her!” “What you owe her shouldn’t be paid by me.” “Can’t you just try to understand where I’m coming from?” I looked at him and suddenly felt like I was looking at a stranger. We had known each other for ten years. He had never spoken to me in that tone before. I stood up and walked toward the bedroom. “Liam, let’s separate for a while.” I closed the door and listened to the sound of him smashing things in the living room. Lying in bed, I stayed awake the entire night. 2 When I woke up the next morning, Liam was already gone. He left a sticky note on the kitchen island. [I went to take care of Mia.] I threw the note into the trash and headed to the military hospital. I am the youngest Chief of Neurosurgery at the General Hospital. Today, I had an incredibly high-stakes, complex procedure. I was on my feet in the OR for thirteen hours. By the time I walked out, I was almost completely exhausted. A colleague handed me a bottle of water. “Dr. Evans, you broke your own record again.” I managed a weak smile but didn’t speak. Back in my office, I saw an insulated thermos sitting on my desk. Liam had brought it. I opened it; it was my favorite clam chowder. The soup was still warm. I put the lid back on and pushed it to the side. My phone rang. It was Liam. I didn’t answer. He followed up with a text: [Did you eat the soup? I made it specially for you.] I replied with a single letter. [K.] He texted back almost immediately. [I’m sorry. I was impulsive yesterday.] [Chloe, we’ve been together for so long. Let’s not throw it away over something this small.] I stared at that message and didn’t reply for a very long time. That evening, I returned to the apartment we had bought to be our marital home. Someone was standing by the door. Mia Lawson. She was wearing hospital scrubs, her face deathly pale. She looked at me timidly. “Dr. Evans.” “Why are you here?” I asked. “Liam got me out,” she lowered her head. “He said the facility was too stifling.” I pulled out my keys to unlock the door. “Do you need something?” “Could I… could I come inside and sit for a bit?” “No.” I refused her flatly. She bit her lip, and tears began to fall. “Dr. Evans, I know you don’t like me. But… I really have nowhere else to go.” “Liam said he would take care of me, just like my brother took care of him.” “I just want… to have a home.” Looking at her, I only felt a deep sense of absurdity. “Your home shouldn’t be my home.” I pushed the door open to go inside, preparing to shut it behind me. Suddenly, she stuck her foot in the doorway, blocking the door, and then threw her entire body forward, crashing into the entryway. Her forehead hit the doorframe hard, instantly turning an angry shade of red. “Ah!” she cried out in pain. Liam rushed up the stairs from the landing. He shoved me aside and helped Mia up. “Mia, are you okay?” Mia trembled in his arms, crying and shaking her head. Liam looked up, glaring at me furiously. “Chloe, do you really have to be like this?” “Did I push her?” I asked. He didn’t answer. He just held Mia, his eyes filled with profound disappointment. “She is my brother-in-arms’ sister. He sacrificed himself for me. Now she’s homeless and struggling with her mental health.” “I just want to let her stay here temporarily. Is that really so hard for you to accept?” “This is supposed to be our home,” I reminded him. “It’s just temporary!” he emphasized, his voice rising. I stared at him, unable to form a single word. He carried Mia past me, walking straight into our house. Walking straight into our bedroom. 3 Mia moved into the master bedroom. Liam didn’t leave that night. He also slept in the master bedroom, claiming he was “afraid she might have an episode in the middle of the night.” I locked myself in the guest room, listening through the wall to the muffled sounds of his comforting whispers and her quiet sobbing. The next day, I went to work as usual. When I came back, the house had changed. My favorite landscape painting in the living room had been taken down, replaced by a generic oil painting. The orchids I had carefully cultivated for three years were gone, replaced by a pot of lucky bamboo. Mia was in the kitchen, cooking, wearing my pajamas. When she saw me, she smiled somewhat sheepishly. “Dr. Evans, you’re back. I made dinner. I hope you like it.” I stared at the pajamas she was wearing. My mother had sewn them by hand for me. I hadn’t even worn them once. I walked over and pointed to where the painting used to be. “Who told you to touch that?” “It… it was Liam,” she said timidly. “He said the colors in the landscape were too depressing and not good for my recovery.” “And the flowers?” “That was Liam too… He said orchids are too delicate and I wouldn’t know how to care for them.” I stepped right in front of her. “Take them off.” She froze. “What?” “Take off the pajamas you’re wearing right now.” Her face instantly flushed crimson, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Dr. Evans, I’m sorry. I just thought they were pretty… I didn’t mean anything by it.” Liam walked out of the hallway. “Enough, Chloe!” He walked over to Mia, shielding her behind him. “It’s just a pair of pajamas. Are you really going to make a huge deal out of this?” “If she likes them, let her wear them. You have a whole closet full of clothes, you’re going to miss one set of pajamas?” I looked at his face, so full of righteous indignation. The very last shred of feeling I had for him evaporated. “Liam, tell her to leave.” “Absolutely not,” he answered with ironclad certainty. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.” I turned around, went into the guest room, and started gathering my most precious medical journals and handwritten research notes. I stacked my notes on the desk and pulled out my suitcase to start packing. Just as I turned around, Mia walked in carrying a glass of water. “Dr. Evans, have some water. Please don’t be mad.” She held the glass out toward me. I didn’t take it. Her hand suddenly “slipped.” The entire glass of water splashed directly onto my handwritten notes. The water instantly soaked into the pages. My brain let out a loud, ringing buzz. I rushed over, grabbed the notebook, and frantically tried to dab up the water with tissues. But it was useless. The ink was already bleeding into illegible, blurry smears. I looked up at Mia, who wore an expression of sheer panic. She kept apologizing: “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Dr. Evans, I didn’t mean to…” Liam walked in then. Seeing the scene, he frowned, pulled Mia toward him, and inspected her hands. “Did the water burn you?” Mia shook her head, crying even harder. “Liam, I ruined Dr. Evans’s things…” Liam glanced at the soaked notebook. “It’s just a notebook. I’ll buy you a new one to replace it.” He said dismissively, “Mia didn’t do it on purpose. Can you stop holding grudges over every little thing?” I held the ruined notebook, my hands shaking uncontrollably. My mentor had left that notebook to me before he died. It was the only one of its kind in the entire world. I looked at Liam. “You’ll replace it?” “How exactly are you going to replace it?” He choked on his words, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Chloe, stop being so unreasonable.” I laughed. I tossed the ruined notebook onto the floor, turned around, pulled out my suitcase, and started packing my clothes. Liam stood in the doorway, watching me. “What are you trying to pull now?” “I told you, I’m leaving.” I didn’t look back. “Over something this trivial, you’re running away from home?” “Chloe, can you please act like an adult?” I ignored him and kept packing. Mia cried softly beside him. “It’s all my fault. Liam, please don’t fight with Dr. Evans…” Liam sighed and patted her shoulder to comfort her. “It’s not your fault. She’s just being completely irrational.” I zipped up my suitcase and stood up. As I walked past Liam, I didn’t even glance at him. At the front door, I stopped. “Liam, this is the choice you made.” With that, I rolled my suitcase out the door, leaving behind the place I once thought would be my forever home. That was the first time I had ever walked out. Three days later, Liam found the hotel I was staying at. He brought my favorite pastries from a high-end bakery, and a beautifully wrapped notebook. “Chloe, stop being mad. Come home with me.” “I had someone restore that book. Look, it’s as good as new.” I opened the notebook. The handwriting inside was forged, and much of the complex medical data didn’t match up at all. I handed the notebook back to him. “Liam, please leave.” The smile on his face froze. “Chloe, how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?” “I already sent her away to a facility. What more do you want?” “Can you please stop making a mountain out of a molehill?” I looked at him straight in the eyes. “I never make mountains out of molehills.” I closed the door in his face. He stood outside for a long time, but eventually, he left. 4 After that, we didn’t speak for a month in a cold war. He didn’t come looking for me, and I didn’t go back. Until news broke from the western border. A massive earthquake had struck. The General Hospital needed to assemble an emergency medical response team to head to the disaster zone. I was appointed as the team leader. When the roster was finalized, I saw Liam’s name. He was the overall commanding officer of the military rescue operation. We met up on the tarmac at the airbase. He looked surprised when he saw me, then walked over. “What are you doing here?” “I’m a doctor,” I said. He looked at me, hesitating as if he wanted to say more. In the end, he only said two words. “Stay safe.” I nodded. The transport plane took off, heading for the disaster zone. The situation on the ground was far more catastrophic than we had imagined. Rubble and collapsed buildings were everywhere, and the number of casualties was staggering. We immediately threw ourselves into the rescue effort. I performed five back-to-back surgeries in a makeshift, poorly-lit medical tent. It got dark, and the rain was still pouring down. A nurse ran in, frantic. “Dr. Evans, this is bad! The blood bank in Sector A is critically low, and a shipment of specialized serum got stranded by a mudslide on the mountain road.” That serum was desperately needed for a critically injured soldier. Without it, he wouldn’t survive the night. “I’ll go get it,” I said. “It’s too dangerous, Dr. Evans. The roads have collapsed.” “I am a doctor.” I stripped off my surgical scrubs, threw on a rain poncho, grabbed a med kit, and sprinted out into the storm. Liam’s unit was responsible for perimeter security. I found him. “I need to go retrieve the serum. I need a Humvee and two men.” He looked at me, his brow furrowing deeply. “No. It’s too dangerous.” “The patient can’t wait.” We stared each other down in the pouring rain. Finally, he compromised. “I’ll go with you.” “No, you need to stay here and command the operation.” He assigned two of his best men to escort me. We bounced violently along the treacherous, muddy mountain road in the military Humvee. Suddenly, Liam’s anxious voice crackled over the radio. “Chloe, what’s your location?” “Almost there.” “Turn back immediately! There’s a high risk of a secondary landslide!” Before the words even finished echoing in the cabin, I felt the vehicle lurch violently. The mountain had started shaking again. “Quick! Turn around!” I yelled to the driver. But as the Humvee rounded a bend, the entire road ahead of us crumbled and slid into the valley below. We were trapped. And the radio went dead. We had no choice but to wait for rescue. I stared at the empty med kit, my heart burning with anxiety about the serum. Every second felt like an eternity. Suddenly, I heard the heavy thwop-thwop of helicopter blades. Liam had personally led a Blackhawk team to extract us. The chopper hovered over us in the storm, lowering a rescue basket. They hoisted the serum up first. Then, me and the two soldiers. As soon as my boots hit the ground at the temporary command post, I sprinted to deliver the serum to the surgical tent. Liam followed closely behind me. “Are you hurt?” “I’m fine.” He grabbed my arm tightly. “Chloe, you are never allowed to take a risk like that again.” I looked at him and said nothing. Just then, a communications officer ran up, saluting breathlessly. “Reporting, Commander! We just got word that a civilian snuck into the rear supply convoy, and now she’s missing on the road!” “A civilian? Who?” Liam demanded. “Her name… her name is Mia Lawson.” The color drained instantly from Liam’s face. He let go of my arm and turned to run. “Liam!” I yelled after him. “I have to go save her.” He didn’t even look back. “The situation out there is incredibly dangerous, you can’t go!” “She came here for me.” With that, he grabbed a squad and vanished into the wall of rain. I stood frozen in the mud, my body feeling like ice. A colleague walked over and patted my shoulder sympathetically. “Dr. Evans, try not to worry. Commander Vance is highly experienced. He’ll be okay.” I nodded slowly and turned back toward the surgical tent. The wounded were still waiting for me. I scrubbed back in, put on a fresh gown and gloves, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to compartmentalize and calm down. I picked up the scalpel. At that exact moment, the earth violently bucked again. The heavy steel support beam above the tent ceiling broke loose and plummeted downward. Pure instinct took over; I shoved the nurse and the patient on the operating table out of the way. But I didn’t have time to dive clear myself. The steel beam crashed heavily onto my right arm. Blinding, white-hot agony shot through me. My vision went black, and I lost consciousness. I don’t know how long I was out. When I woke up, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed. My right arm was heavily wrapped in thick layers of gauze. I tried to twitch my fingers. Nothing happened. I felt absolutely no sensation. Just a terrifying, heavy numbness and a deep, pulsing ache. The Director of the hospital was standing by my bed. He looked at me, his expression grave. “My hand… how bad is it?” I forced the words out, my throat raspy. The Director was silent for a long time. “Severe comminuted fracture in the right forearm, with catastrophic nerve damage.” My mind went completely blank. Catastrophic nerve damage. That meant I would never be able to hold a scalpel again. I was a neurosurgeon. My hands were my entire life, my entire identity. And now, my life as I knew it was over. I stared blankly at the ceiling as tears streamed silently down my face. The Director let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve contacted the best specialists in the country. We are going to do everything we possibly can.” I closed my eyes. “Director. I want to submit my resignation and request a medical discharge.” “Chloe, don’t make any rash decisions right now.” “I’ve made up my mind.” My career as a surgeon ended the year I turned twenty-eight. I lay in that hospital bed for a week. Liam didn’t visit me a single time. I heard from colleagues that he had found Mia. She only had a few minor scrapes, but was severely spooked. He had been staying with her at the rear recovery camp the entire time. The day I was discharged, I processed all the paperwork myself. I went back to the military housing complex. The apartment was completely empty. All of Mia’s things were still there. My belongings had been neatly packed into boxes and stacked in the corner of the living room. Next to the boxes was a sticky note. [Let’s talk when you get back.] It was Liam’s handwriting. I walked over and unzipped my suitcase. Inside were all my clothes and personal items. Resting right on top was a ring box. It contained my engagement ring. I took it out and placed it gently on the table. Then, I pulled two documents out of my bag. One was my approved medical discharge and resignation from the military medical corps. The other was a formal Declaration of Broken Engagement. I signed my name at the bottom. Chloe Evans. I lined up the two documents and the engagement ring side-by-side on the table. After finishing, I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and took one last, long look around the apartment. Then, I walked out the door, closing it firmly behind me, and never looked back. This time, I didn’t go to a hotel. I booked the earliest possible flight and left the city entirely.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397482”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day before my wedding, Arthur Sterling accompanied me to the bridal boutique for my final dress fitting. I had just stepped out of the dressing room. I saw Arthur frantically taking off his suit jacket, turning around, and preparing to leave. “Lily had an accident. Evelyn can’t handle it alone, I need to rush to the hospital. Let’s cancel tomorrow’s wedding for now.” In the past, I would have blocked the door. I would have demanded to know who was more important: me, or Evelyn Hayes and her daughter. But this time, looking at his retreating back, I didn’t say a word to stop him. This was the ninety-ninth time he had canceled our wedding for Evelyn and her daughter. Half an hour later, Evelyn posted a new update on her Instagram. [You are my only pillar of support in this world.] In the live photo, Arthur had his arm wrapped protectively around Evelyn, while little Lily called them “Daddy and Mommy.” They looked exactly like a perfect family of three. My parents sighed helplessly when they heard the news. “Chloe, is the wedding canceled again tomorrow? But we’ve already mailed out all the invitations…” I shook my head, my face completely calm. “The wedding will proceed exactly as planned. My groom just won’t be him.” … Hearing my words, my mom quickly pulled a spare wedding invitation from her purse. My dad’s eyes immediately fell on the line where the groom’s name was written. I watched the tension visibly leave both of their bodies. “If you’re marrying him, your mother and I can finally rest easy.” “Chloe, I told you a long time ago that Arthur Sterling wasn’t worthy of a lifelong commitment. I’m so glad you’ve finally woken up.” I had spent years banging my head against a brick wall, refusing to turn back. But this time, I chose to finally let myself go. After I finalized the dress, Arthur happened to call. “I remember you’ve always wanted to try that viral Italian bistro downtown. I paid a concierge broker triple the price to secure a lunch reservation for us today.” I originally wanted to refuse. But thinking about the six years we had spent together, I figured we owed it to ourselves to end things with some dignity. I arrived at the entrance of the bistro. Arthur reached out to take my purse, his other hand habitually reaching out to wrap around my waist. I dodged his touch and walked straight into the restaurant. Looking at his hand frozen in the air, his brow furrowed, a trace of impatience bleeding into his tone. “Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum.” “Lily had a sudden medical flare-up, and I’m the only person Evelyn can rely on.” “You know this. Before David died, I promised him I would take good care of his wife and daughter.” I didn’t reply. I sat down and began looking through the menu. He sat down next to me, tugging at his tie in frustration. “A man is only as good as his word. You wouldn’t want to marry a man who breaks his promises, would you?” I pulled out my phone to scan the QR code for the menu. He waited a moment. Seeing that I was still giving him the silent treatment, he let out a heavy sigh. “Alright, stop being mad. I promise the wedding won’t be canceled next time. I told you I’d give you the most perfect wedding, and I won’t break that promise.” But his promises were only valid when it came to Evelyn and her daughter. I was the one who always had to step aside. Just then, a waiter walked over. “Excuse me, Miss. Your table has already ordered a four-person family meal. If you order more, it might be too much food. Would you like me to cancel the extra items?” Before I could react, a familiar female voice rang out from behind me. “The line for the restroom was so long. Sorry to keep you waiting, Chloe.” Evelyn Hayes walked toward us, holding little Lily’s hand. She sat on the other side of Arthur, while Lily squeezed right into the space between Arthur and me. I froze for a second. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Evelyn beat him to it. “It’s all Arthur’s fault. I just casually mentioned I was craving this bistro, and I didn’t expect him to take it to heart and pay triple to a scalper just to get a table.” “Chloe, you don’t need to cancel your order. Eat whatever you like.” Watching her act like she owned the place, I couldn’t help but let out a cynical laugh. In the past, I thought Arthur was just oblivious to Evelyn’s manipulative tactics and hidden motives. Now, I realized he had been enjoying the ego trip of two women fighting over him all along. I looked up at the waiter. “Cancel my order…” “Ahhh—! It hurts! Daddy, Auntie Chloe pinched my arm! It’s swelling up!” Lily suddenly held up her supposedly red, swollen arm and began crying hysterically. “Chloe! If you’re unhappy with me, take it out on me! Why would you bully a child? She’s innocent!” Evelyn’s eyes went red. She looked at Arthur, her gaze overflowing with grievance and helplessness. “Arthur, thank you for taking care of us all these years, but we shouldn’t see each other anymore. If she has the nerve to abuse a child right in front of you, I don’t even dare to imagine what she’ll do in the future…” Saying this, she grabbed Lily’s hand, acting like she was about to flee. Lily gripped the hem of Arthur’s shirt, refusing to let go. “I don’t want to leave Daddy! I want Daddy and Mommy to be together forever! Auntie Chloe is a bad person, she’s trying to steal my Daddy!” The commotion at our table instantly attracted the attention of everyone in the restaurant. A few influencers who were live-streaming their meals immediately rushed over, pointing their phone cameras right at my face. “Oh my god, chat! I came to review a restaurant and ended up catching a homewrecker picking a fight with the real family! Screenshot this mistress’s face so she doesn’t steal your husbands!” “That poor kid! The mistress actually dared to abuse the child right in front of the parents! Imagine if she became a stepmother!” The waiter, who had been polite to me just moments ago, turned his expression to ice. “Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Our establishment doesn’t welcome people like you.” As the situation spiraled out of control, I looked at Arthur, hoping he would stand up and clear my name. But he just shot me a cold, disgusted glare. “Chloe, Lily is just a child. How could you be so cruel?” “Arthur, I didn’t pinch her.” I pointed a finger at the security camera mounted on the ceiling. “If you don’t believe me, go ask the manager to pull the footage right now.” The moment those words left my mouth, Lily suddenly rolled her eyes back and “fainted” on the floor. “Arthur! Lily fainted! We need to get her to the hospital!” Evelyn screamed at the top of her lungs. Arthur scooped Lily up into his arms and sprinted toward the door. Just as he crossed the glass threshold, he paused and looked back at me. I was currently surrounded by livestreamers and “righteous” customers. Every kind of vile insult was being hurled at me. Just as I thought Arthur’s conscience might have finally kicked in, he suddenly spoke. “Chloe, I never knew you were this malicious. Don’t come looking for me until you realize what you did wrong.” With that, he left without looking back. Leaving me entirely alone to face the abuse of the influencers and bystanders. Finally, a sympathetic customer called the police, and only then was I escorted safely out of the restaurant. Sticky pasta sauce dripped from my hair. My white sundress was stained with food and smelled awful. No Uber driver would pick me up, so I had to walk three miles back to the house. When I pushed open the front door, Arthur was sitting on the living room sofa, smoking a cigarette. Even though he tried to suppress his expression, I still caught the flash of utter disgust in his eyes. “You’re back?” I looked at him calmly. “Arthur, we’re done. Let’s end this here.” His hand, holding the cigarette, paused. He stood up and walked toward me. “Is this because of what happened at lunch?” He stared at my face, took a deep drag of his cigarette, and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “Chloe, I thought you would be mature enough to understand the situation. If I had defended you in that restaurant, the internet mob would have turned their crosshairs on Evelyn and Lily.” “Besides, this only happened because you were insanely jealous and hurt Lily. You have no one to blame but yourself for ending up like this.” “Lily has already forgiven you, and Evelyn said she won’t hold a grudge. We’re dropping the subject.” He reached out, wanting to pat my head. But the moment his hand neared the dried sauce in my hair, he quickly pulled it back. “Go clean yourself up first.” “Arthur.” Looking at him turning his back to me, I took a deep breath. “Tomorrow is my wedding day.” His footsteps halted. He whipped around, looking like a man whose patience was completely depleted. “You know perfectly well that every time Lily has a flare-up, someone needs to monitor her for a full week. How am I supposed to have time to marry you tomorrow?” “Chloe, can you please grow up and act like an adult?” I stared at him, my face completely devoid of emotion. “I am informing you. I am not asking for your permission.” His face darkened like a storm cloud. “Can you stop being so unreasonable?! I told you, I don’t have time tomorrow.” “If you want to host a wedding with no groom, go right ahead! You and your parents will be the only ones humiliated!” I clenched my fists and met his gaze head-on. “My wedding doesn’t need you.” He suddenly burst out laughing. “Chloe, besides me, who else would actually marry you?” Right as the words left his mouth, a massive crash echoed from the nursery down the hall. My heart seized. I sprinted to the nursery and pushed the door open. The stuffed animals that had been perfectly arranged in the display cabinet were scattered all over the floor. The tiny baby clothes my mother had hand-stitched were cut to shreds. And sitting on the custom crib my father had built with his own hands, was Lily. A shattered porcelain urn and gray ash were scattered around Evelyn’s feet. Evelyn blinked her tear-filled eyes, her face a perfect portrait of helplessness and fear. “I accidentally knocked this jar over.” Arthur rushed in, shoving me out of the doorway, and grabbed Evelyn’s hands. “Evelyn, are you hurt? Did you get cut?” Evelyn’s gaze drifted over Arthur’s shoulder, shooting me a provocative, victorious smirk. I knew it. She did it on purpose. But I still couldn’t control myself. I lunged forward and slapped her hard across the face. Evelyn clutched her red, swollen cheek, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry… I just saw there was dust on the jar, and I wanted to help wipe it clean. I never thought I’d drop it… I really didn’t mean to…” Arthur grabbed my arm violently, trying to force me to bow my head to Evelyn. “Chloe! You’ve gone too far! Apologize right now!” “Arthur, that was our baby!” Two years ago, Arthur and I were expecting a child. The jar Evelyn shattered was my baby’s urn. Receiving a covert signal from Evelyn, Lily suddenly covered her ears and ran out of the room screaming. “Lily!” Evelyn immediately chased after her. Arthur’s face was livid. “Look what you’ve done! Since when do the dead matter more than the living?! Did you really have to hit her?!” I stared directly into his eyes, absolute disbelief crashing over me. “Arthur, you know exactly what this nursery means to me! That was your child! How could you…” “Chloe!” He cut me off sharply. “If you hadn’t bullied Lily at lunch today, would I have had to bring her here to calm her down?! I’m doing all of this to atone for your sins!” Just then, Evelyn’s loud sobs echoed from the living room. Arthur panicked instantly. He forcefully shoved my arm away and sprinted out of the room. Caught off guard, I was thrown to the floor. My forehead slammed against the hardwood, and my vision instantly went black. Suddenly, a memory from two years ago flooded my mind. It was a night with torrential rain. One frantic phone call from Evelyn was all it took for Arthur to abandon me, leaving me five-months pregnant and stranded on the side of a flooded highway. A drunk driver lost control and crashed his truck directly into me. That night, Arthur knelt beside my hospital bed, violently slapping his own face, begging for my forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I was wrong! I never thought an accident would happen.” “I just didn’t want to let David down… I never wanted to hurt you.” “Chloe, I failed you and our baby. Let’s just get married, and we can try again. Our baby will come back to us.” That time, I forgave him. But now, he was telling me our dead child didn’t matter as much as Evelyn and her daughter. “Chloe.” Arthur’s face suddenly magnified in front of my blurry vision. Just as I blinked, trying to figure out if this was a nightmare or reality, Lily’s voice chimed in. “See? I told you Auntie Chloe was just faking it.” Seeing that my eyes were open and clear, Arthur immediately stood up and shielded Lily behind his legs. It was as if he was terrified I would attack her again. Before I could even sit up, Evelyn rushed forward and dropped to her knees in front of me. “Breaking the urn was my fault! If you want to hit someone or curse someone, do it to me! Lily is innocent! She’s just a child, please don’t hurt her!” Arthur aggressively hauled Evelyn up from the floor, his face dark with rage. “Chloe, stop pushing it!” “First you assaulted her, and now you’re forcing her to her knees?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” “You’re the one in the wrong here! Apologize right now!” “I was wrong.” A cynical, exhausted smile crept onto my lips. I was blind. I was stupid. I chose the worst possible man, and I made my parents worry about me for years. “I’m sorry.” I was tired. I didn’t want to play this toxic game with them anymore. Arthur was visibly stunned. In all our arguments involving Evelyn, I had never once backed down. My sudden, flat apology made a bizarre wave of panic rise in his chest. His voice actually softened a fraction. “I’m not genuinely angry with you. Just don’t be so impulsive and resort to violence next time.” A flash of bitterness crossed Evelyn’s eyes. She tugged pitifully at Arthur’s shirt. “Arthur, since this room holds ashes, we shouldn’t stay here. I’m terrified Lily will have nightmares sleeping under this roof.” “Lily and I will just go back to our own apartment… I’m just so scared she’ll have another episode…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397481”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the delivery history of our grocery app, my husband was ordering fresh milk and organic eggs to a strange address every single morning at 5:30 AM. The delivery note simply read: For Joey’s Kitchen. Joey is my husband’s nickname. But that address wasn’t our house. I stared at the screen, my fingers turning ice-cold. He leaves the house every morning at 5:00 AM to “go jogging.” For eight years. I actually thought he was running. 1. My name is Sarah, thirty-six years old, the CFO of a mid-sized tech company. Base salary: $150,000 a year, plus bonuses. It sounds glamorous, but my breakfast usually consists of a lukewarm bagel from the deli downstairs or instant oatmeal from my desk drawer. It’s not that I don’t want to eat well. It’s that I have no time. I leave the house at 7:00 AM every day and get home at 10:00 PM. By the time I walk through the door, my husband, Joseph, is already asleep. The living room lights are off. The kitchen is spotless. It is always spotless. I open the fridge, grab a carton of milk, and drink it standing in the dark kitchen. There are eggs, flour, and butter in the fridge. But no one has ever used them to cook a single meal for me. Joseph calls himself a “freelance photographer.” In reality, being a freelance photographer just means he has no stable income. He picks up one or two gigs a month, pulling in maybe $500 to $800. Our mortgage is $2,400 a month. He pays $400. My car payment is $800. He pays zero. Our daughter’s private preschool tuition is $12,000 a semester. He pays zero. The HOA fees, utilities, insurance, groceries—every single bill is auto-drafted from my account. I’ve done the math. In our eight years of marriage, I’ve sunk over $900,000 into this household. He has contributed less than $40,000. But he has one “redeeming quality.” Every single morning at 5:00 AM, he wakes up to go “jogging.” Rain or shine. When we first got married, I was actually touched by it. “Look how disciplined my husband is,” I used to boast to my coworkers. They would say, “You’re so lucky. My husband sleeps in until noon on the weekends.” I would just smile. Yeah. I was so lucky. Every morning, he wakes up at 5:00, comes back at 6:30, takes a shower, and then drops our daughter off at preschool. He never eats breakfast at home. I asked him once, “Don’t you get hungry after your run? Do you want me to leave some breakfast out for you?” He said, “No need, I just grab a bite while I’m out.” “What about me?” “Just pick something up on your commute,” he replied, his tone entirely casual. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t mind. I was too busy. Too busy to care about trivial things like that. Until that night, when I got home from the office at 11:00 PM. I opened our shared Instacart account to order some fruit for our daughter’s lunchbox the next day. And then I saw the order history. Daily delivery. Every morning at 5:30 AM. 12 organic eggs, 1 gallon of whole milk, 1 block of Kerrygold butter, a bag of artisan bread flour. Delivery Address: The Riverfront Condos, Building 18, Unit 1402. Delivery Instructions: For Joey’s Kitchen. We live at The Heights, Building 9, Unit 2201. Not The Riverfront Condos. I stared at the address, then looked at the order frequency. Every day. Every. Single. Day. The earliest record dated back exactly eight years ago. I put my phone down. I picked it up again. I put it back down. The harsh, fluorescent light of the kitchen illuminated my hands. They were shaking. He leaves at 5:00 AM every day. Not to jog. He goes to that place. To cook. For who? 2. The next morning, my alarm went off at 4:50 AM. I didn’t turn on the light. Lying in the dark, I listened to the rustling beside me. Joseph got out of bed as quietly as possible. The sound of him getting dressed was incredibly faint. He was terrified of waking me. In the past, I thought this was him being considerate. Now, I knew it was guilt. When he left the bedroom, I started counting. From the moment he got out of bed to the click of the front door, it took exactly four minutes. There was no sound of him brushing his teeth or washing his face. Meaning, he didn’t get ready at home. He got ready over there. I waited five minutes, got out of bed, threw on some clothes, and left the apartment. His car was missing from our assigned spot. I called an Uber. “Riverfront Condos, please.” The Riverfront Condos weren’t far from our house. A twelve-minute drive. When I arrived, the sun hadn’t even come up yet. Parked in front of Building 18 was his car. A white Volvo. The one I bought. I didn’t go upstairs. Instead, I walked into the 24-hour diner across the street and ordered a coffee. At 6:10 AM, he walked out of Building 18. He was holding a trash bag. He tossed it into the dumpster out front. From where I sat, I could see eggshells inside the semi-transparent bag. An empty milk carton. Used aluminum foil. He had made breakfast. Not for me. Not for our daughter. For whoever lived in Unit 1402. He got into his car and drove away. I sat in the diner, my coffee completely cold. I hadn’t taken a single sip. I pulled out my phone and opened the county property tax database. Riverfront Condos, Building 18, Unit 1402. The owner information was hidden behind a privacy block, so I couldn’t see the name. But I found something else. The HOA payment portal. I couldn’t see the owner, but I could see the payment history. I smiled. He was even paying the HOA fees for this place. Which card was he using? I opened my Chase banking app. We have a joint checking account. Every month, I deposit $2,000 into it to cover various household bills. Scanning the transaction history, I spotted a recurring monthly charge of $250. Merchant: Riverfront HOA. The HOA fee for our own house is $400. Which meant, every single month, he was taking $250 out of our household account to pay the HOA fee for that condo. Using my money. I kept scrolling. There was another fixed monthly expense. $300. Category: Groceries. $300 a month, $3,600 a year. Over eight years, that was $28,800. Twenty-eight thousand dollars. That was the exact amount he spent of my money to buy groceries and cook for someone else. I closed the app and walked out of the diner. The sun had risen. The morning light was beautiful. I stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. Then, I walked toward Building 18. I took the elevator to the 14th floor. Unit 1402. There was a pair of slippers outside the door. Women’s slippers. A small decorative sign hung on the door. A wooden plaque with one word painted on it: Home. I didn’t knock. I took out my phone and snapped a picture. Then I left. I needed to find out exactly who lived inside. When I got home, Joseph had already showered and was sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. “Why are you up so early?” He glanced at me, looking genuinely surprised. “Couldn’t sleep. Went out for a walk.” “Oh.” He didn’t ask any more questions. He just went back to looking at his phone. I stared at him. His hair was still damp. On his index finger, there was a tiny, fresh blister. A burn. From cooking oil splattering. Every time he came back from his “morning run,” he had little injuries like this on his hands. I used to think he scraped himself falling on his runs. God, I was so stupid. 3. I didn’t make a scene. For an entire week, I woke up at 4:50 AM and followed him. In that one week, he went to the Riverfront Condos six times. Monday through Saturday. He rested on Sundays. Because on Sundays, he had to “spend time with our daughter” at home. Which meant, that person didn’t need him to make breakfast on Sundays. Maybe she handled it herself. Or maybe she had other plans on Sundays. On the seventh day, I didn’t follow him to the Riverfront Condos. I went somewhere else. My office. I’m a Chief Financial Officer. I have the clearance to access highly detailed banking and financial tracing tools. Not for the company. For myself. I pulled a comprehensive audit of every single transaction under Joseph’s name. And then, I found a massive wire transfer. Three years ago. $130,000. Recipient Account: Chloe Evans. Chloe Evans. I stared at the name, a loud ringing exploding in my ears. Chloe. It was Chloe? Chloe is my best friend. We went to college together. We’ve known each other for fourteen years. She is the Marketing Director at a mid-sized tech firm. Single. Or at least, she claimed to be single. She came over to our house for dinner all the time. Every time she visited, Joseph would cook a massive feast. He never cooked for me when it was just the two of us. But whenever Chloe came over, he would tie on an apron and say with a smile, “Since Chloe’s here, I guess I have to show off a little.” I thought he was just being a good host. I thought he was doing it to give me face in front of my best friend. After dinner, Chloe would always say, “Sarah, your husband is such an amazing cook. You’re so lucky.” I would reply, “Yeah. It’s a shame he’s so busy normally, he rarely cooks at home.” Chloe would just smile. Thinking back on that smile now… it wasn’t envy. It was smugness. Because all that time he was “so busy normally,” he was spending it cooking for her. Every single morning. For eight years. I picked up my phone and opened Chloe’s text thread. Her last message was from three days ago. She had sent me a picture. A beautifully crafted latte with perfect latte art. Caption: “The coffee today is sooooo good~” I scrolled up. Our entire chat history was perfectly normal. Just standard best-friend banter. “You busy lately?” “Wanna grab dinner this weekend?” “Does this dress look good on me?” There was absolutely nothing suspicious. She hid it even better than he did. I put my phone down. $130,000. Wired from Joseph’s account to Chloe. But every single dime in Joseph’s account was money I had transferred to him. I gave him a $3,000 “allowance” every month. Plus the money in the joint account for household bills. Over eight years, the total amount of money I had transferred to him exceeded $400,000. He took $130,000 of it to help Chloe buy a house. Riverfront Condos, Building 18, Unit 1402. He went there every single day. To make her breakfast. With groceries bought using my money. In an apartment partially funded by my money. I supported this family for eight years. And he used my money to support a second family for eight years. I picked up my water glass from the desk and took a sip. My hand wasn’t shaking. It was strange. I thought I would have a complete mental breakdown. But I didn’t. I just felt cold. Frozen solid, from the inside out. 4. I started thinking back. Over the last eight years. Starting from the very beginning. The first year of our marriage. We had just moved into The Heights. My parents paid the down payment; I paid the mortgage. Joseph had said, “Once my photography career takes off, I’ll take over the mortgage.” Eight years later, his career hasn’t taken off. The first month of our marriage. One morning, I woke up and found he wasn’t in bed. I called him, and he said, “I’m downstairs going for a jog.” It was the dead of winter. 5:00 AM, twenty-five degrees outside. I said, “It’s freezing, and you’re still running?” He said, “Gotta stay disciplined.” I hung up the phone and thought to myself, I married such a disciplined, dedicated man. I’m so lucky. Was that the first time he went to the Riverfront Condos? I didn’t know. But the Instacart order history told me the deliveries started that exact same month. The first month of our marriage. Which meant— He was never faithful to this marriage. Not for a single day. I remembered something else. When I was pregnant. My morning sickness was brutal. I couldn’t keep anything down. I asked him, “Could you just make me something light in the mornings? Plain oatmeal is fine.” He said, “I’m not really good at cooking. Why don’t you ask your mom to come stay with us?” Not really good at cooking? He woke up at 5:00 AM every day to make Chloe artisanal pour-over coffee, French toast, and Eggs Benedict. But to me, he was “not really good at cooking.” Later, my mom flew in from out of state and took care of me for three months. When she left, she said, “Joseph is a good guy, he just doesn’t really know how to take care of people.” Mom, it wasn’t that he didn’t know how. It was that he didn’t want to take care of me. His tenderness had a dedicated recipient. And it wasn’t me. There was another incident. Three years ago. For Chloe’s birthday. She took us out to dinner. At the table, having had a few glasses of wine, her face flushed as she said, “Sarah, you’re so lucky to have a husband. I feel so lonely by myself.” Joseph chuckled from across the table. “Chloe, you’re such a catch. You’ll meet the right guy eventually.” They were putting on a play right in front of me. Right to my face. And I actually comforted her. “Don’t rush it, the right person will come along when the time is right.” I was holding her hand. And she was holding my husband. I felt nauseous. Not morning sickness. Just pure, unadulterated disgust.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397480”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my second day after transferring to the County Clerk’s Marriage License Bureau, I took over a colleague’s desk. A young woman had come in to request a replacement marriage certificate. My colleague leaned over and whispered, “This is the 99th time this girl has come in for a replacement! We have her files backed up, so it’ll be quick.” I froze. “99 times?” My colleague laughed. “Yeah. The little brat married a rich older guy. Whenever they get into a fight, she loves to tear up their marriage certificate to throw a tantrum.” “Only an older man would put up with that kind of childish behavior. Word is her husband is the wealthiest man in the state, from the Sinclair family!” Instantly, my brow furrowed. “The Sinclair family prides itself on being low-key and humble. Are you sure her husband isn’t a fraud?” My colleague looked terrified and slapped a hand over my mouth. “Girl, keep your voice down! That is the legitimate head of the Sinclair empire—Arthur Sinclair.” I sat there, stunned. My phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the desk. On the lit screen was my lock screen wallpaper: a photo of Arthur Sinclair and me, cuddled close together. The young woman in front of the desk suddenly changed her expression. She snatched my phone right off the table. “Who are you? Why do you have a picture with my husband?” … I opened my mouth, but my throat felt completely blocked. She said my husband. But the man in that photo was the husband I had been married to for five years. The Sinclair family was a massive, sprawling dynasty with deep-rooted power. Because of that, our marriage was kept a secret. He told me that keeping it hidden was to protect me. He said his business was too high-profile, and he was terrified the media would harass me. I believed him. And I kept believing him for five whole years. I never expected that, in the end, I was the punchline to a sick joke. The young girl’s face flushed red with fury. “I’ve seen plenty of women like you! The second you see a wealthy man, you throw yourselves at him like your life depends on it, ruining other people’s families! And you have the nerve to work at the Marriage Bureau? I’m going to file a complaint! I’ll get you fired!” My colleague hurried over to smooth things out. “Ms. Harper, please calm down, there has to be a misunderstanding…” “What misunderstanding? The photo is right there!” I took a deep breath, took my phone back, and spoke with surprising calmness. “It is a misunderstanding. I used to work in a neighboring city as a journalist. I interviewed Mr. Sinclair and asked for a photo together. That’s all.” Hailey Harper stared at me, skeptical. “An interview?” “Yes. For work.” She studied my face for a few seconds before her expression gradually relaxed. “Oh… I’m sorry then, my mistake.” She let out a small laugh. “It’s just that my husband is so successful, there are always women trying to climb into his bed. I have to keep my guard up.” I forced a smile. “It’s fine.” “So, about my replacement certificate…” “Your file is missing your original birth certificate,” I said. “You’ll have to go back and get it.” Hailey frowned. “My house is close by. I’ll just run back and grab it.” “I can go with you,” I said, standing up. “I can just take a picture of it on my tablet and upload it directly so you don’t have to make another trip down here.” She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, let’s go.” I followed her out of the city hall building. She drove a brand-new white Porsche. The interior was a sickly sweet, overwhelmingly girly pink. Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up to the gates of a very familiar luxury condo complex. It wasn’t until we went upstairs and stood in front of the door to the unit that my heart skipped a beat. Because I knew this condo intimately. Two years ago, when we got married, I used all my pre-marital savings to put the down payment on this exact place as our marital home. I knew the Sinclair family was incredibly wealthy and probably looked down on this modest condo, but I just wanted to prove that I wasn’t with him for his money. At the time, Arthur said his company was facing cash flow issues. He suggested we keep the marriage quiet and wait to hold the wedding until his finances freed up. I understood, and I supported him. Later, when his company’s cash flow recovered, he never brought up the wedding or this condo again. I asked him about it a few times, and he told me he had rented it out. I did receive rent money, transferred into my account right on time every single month, so I never once thought to come check on the place. Standing in the entryway, I looked into the living room and saw a massive wedding portrait hanging dead center on the wall. In the photo, Arthur wore a crisp white tuxedo, and the woman beside him wore a long, trailing bridal gown, smiling sweetly. “Come in, have a seat,” Hailey called out. I stepped inside. My feet felt like they were sinking into cotton. In five years of marriage, Arthur never gave me a wedding. He never took a wedding photo with me. Our only photo together was that tourist selfie I had practically begged him to take. In it, he stood next to me looking as stiff as a stranger. Yet here, a massive portrait of him and his bride hung on the wall. It was six feet tall, framed in gold, and facing the sofa for everyone to see. “Your home is very cozy,” I said, forcing the corners of my mouth up. She beamed. “I actually thought the wedding photo was way too big, a bit tacky even. But my husband insisted. He said he wanted everyone who walks in to know that I am his wife.” “He… treats you well.” “He’s alright,” she said, feigning modesty, though her eyes were shining with triumph. “Take a seat, I’ll go find my birth certificate.” I sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the wedding photo. Arthur’s smile was so gentle. It was a tenderness I had never once seen directed at me. It turned out he didn’t hate taking pictures. He just hated taking them with me. Hailey rummaged around for a while before coming back out empty-handed. “Weird, my documents aren’t here.” She picked up her phone. “Let me call hubby.” The call connected, and she put it on speaker. “Hubby, where did you put my birth certificate? I’m at the clerk’s office trying to replace our marriage license and I can’t find it.” Arthur’s voice floated through the speaker, so full of indulgence it made my stomach churn. “You tore it up again? Honestly, you’re a mother now, why do you still have such a child’s temper?” She whined affectionately, “So where did you put it?” “I have it with me. I was out looking at new houses for you today, so I happened to have your files in my briefcase. I’ll bring it to you soon.” “Well hurry up, I have someone waiting at the house.” “Got it. Did you buy the baby formula?” “Yes, yes, the brand you mentioned last time.” “Good girl. Wait for me.” She hung up, smiling like the happiest woman in the world. “My husband will be right back, sorry to keep you waiting. Oh! Let me show you my son!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the bedrooms. “He’s six months old and absolutely adorable.” I let her drag me to the nursery, completely numb, only snapping back to reality when we crossed the threshold. In the nursery, a chubby, fair-skinned baby boy lay fast asleep in his crib. Hailey leaned over the railing, her face overflowing with maternal love. “Isn’t he cute? My husband says he looks just like me.” I stood there, a terrifying coldness seeping into my bones. They had a child. Arthur and I had been married for five years. Six months ago, I had finally gotten pregnant. At seven months, I suffered complications. They told me I needed an emergency induced labor, and that the baby didn’t make it. After that traumatic loss, he told me we should focus on his career and hold off on trying again. I thought he was just trying to spare my feelings. I never questioned it. It turned out he didn’t not want a child. He just didn’t want me to be the mother. “What’s his name?” I asked. Hailey’s smile grew even sweeter. “Grayson. My husband picked it out. He said he loved the sound of it.” A bomb went off in my head. Grayson. That was the name Arthur and I had picked out together. When I first got pregnant, he said we needed a meaningful name. My middle name is Grace. He said “Grayson” was perfect—literally Grace’s son. A tribute to me. “Does the name… have any special meaning?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking. Hailey let out a dramatic sigh. “My husband’s late wife… her middle name was Grace. She had a terribly difficult labor, and neither she nor the baby survived. He chose this name to honor her.” I stared at her, the bitter taste in my mouth so strong I couldn’t speak. Hailey’s tone suddenly dropped, laced with insecurity. “Every time we fight, I tear up the marriage certificate. Please don’t think I’m just petty. The truth is, I’m terrified deep down.” “He is so deeply attached to his dead wife. What does that mean for anyone else? What if one day he just…” She trailed off. I stood by the crib, staring at the sleeping infant, a storm raging in my chest. If the baby I lost at seven months had lived, he would be exactly this big right now. “He told you his ex-wife died in childbirth?” Hailey offered a sad smile. “Yeah. The whole thing devastated him. It took him years to recover. It wasn’t until he met me that he slowly started to heal. Sometimes I think it must be fate… I kind of look like her.” I looked at her face. She looked absolutely nothing like me. If we had to share one common trait, it was that we were both utter fools. “Does he treat you well normally?” I asked. Her eyes lit up. “Of course, he’s wonderful, just incredibly busy. But he promised me that in a few years, he’s going to hand the company over to a board and take me around the world.” I nodded slowly. He told me the exact same thing. Five years ago. I stood in the nursery for another moment, my mind chillingly clear. “I don’t see a memorial or an urn for his late wife anywhere?” Hailey scoffed gently. “You care about that stuff? I asked him about it once. He said when someone is gone, they’re gone. As long as they live in your heart, you don’t need all those physical formalities.” I lowered my eyes. As long as they live in your heart. What profoundly touching words. Then where exactly did the child I lost at seven months live? I uncurled my tightly clenched fists, leaving deep crescent-moon indentations in my palms. “I have one more question for you.” “Hm?” “Your family is so incredibly wealthy. Why live in such an ordinary condo?” Hailey laughed. “I demanded it! My husband is too rich. He’s so rich that his mansions don’t even feel like human homes. I made him buy this place in a normal neighborhood so we could live like a regular family.” She pointed at the decorations on the walls. “See? I decorated all of this myself. He hated it at first, but he grew to love it. He says this place actually feels like a home.” “Your husband bought this place for you?” “Yep. He bought it as a gift.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I had my own selfish reasons. If he ever decides he doesn’t want me anymore, I won’t be left out on the street. He promised me this house is mine forever.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397479”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel