Eleanor Vance only gave me an allowance of five hours of free personal time each year. Having dinner with me? Deducted forty minutes. Going back to my hometown with me? Deducted two hours. Even our intimacy was on a meter, the clock starting the exact second she kissed me. Eleanor was the youngest senior partner at a prestigious New York law firm. Her private consultation fee was six thousand dollars an hour. I always thought it was just her nature to be obsessively meticulous with time. That was, until the firm’s annual holiday party. Lucas, the junior associate she personally mentored, suddenly smiled and asked: “Eleanor, how much time does your husband have left this year?” Eleanor glanced at her phone. “Seventeen minutes.” The entire table burst into laughter. Lucas tilted his head, looking up at her. “What about me?” Eleanor reached over and ruffled his hair. “You aren’t on the clock.” “When I take you watch shopping, grab late-night takeout, or go to midnight movie premieres, have I ever tracked the time?” I swallowed the roar of laughter from the table and quietly guarded my final seventeen minutes. A month later, my father died of a sudden, massive heart attack. I used my last seventeen minutes to ask Eleanor to stay with me while I signed the cremation authorization forms. But I suffered a complete breakdown. I grabbed the cuff of her coat, keeping her there for an extra ten minutes. She didn’t push me away. I thought that, in the face of my father’s death, she was finally willing to make an exception for me. The next day, her executive assistant emailed me an invoice for three thousand dollars. That same afternoon, I pawned my wedding ring for three thousand, five hundred dollars. I used the three thousand to pay off the invoice in full. With the remaining five hundred, I paid the deposit for an intensive paralegal program overseas. This time, I wouldn’t waste another second of her time. And I wouldn’t waste any more of my own. … Just moments after I wired the three thousand dollars, Eleanor’s assistant emailed me a payment confirmation receipt. Attached to it was a document titled: Annual Personal Time Usage Breakdown. January: Anniversary Dinner – 90 minutes. She arrived thirty-five minutes late, spent forty-six minutes taking a phone call from Lucas, and the actual time I spent speaking to her was exactly nine minutes. Total deduction: 90 minutes. May: Hospitalization for High Fever. She stayed in my hospital room for six minutes. That same night, she sat in the ER for four hours with Lucas because he had a 99-degree fever. August: Intimacy – 21 minutes. After it was over, longing for her warmth, I held her for two extra minutes. Those two minutes were itemized separately on the ledger. The original file name of the attachment hadn’t been fully deleted. Mr. Five Hours Annual Summary. I stared at those words, my vision blurring. I finally understood. This was what everyone at the firm called me behind my back. Mr. Five Hours. A title I earned with six years of marriage. It felt like a jagged rock was lodged in my throat. It took a very long time to force the tears back down. Also sitting in my inbox was the enrollment confirmation from the paralegal program. Only twelve days left until orientation. I wiped the moisture from the corners of my eyes and drove back to my hometown in Pennsylvania to handle my father’s affairs. While processing the burial paperwork, the funeral director glanced at the ‘Spouse’ section. “Your wife couldn’t make it today?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My father’s oldest friend, Arthur, stepped in to smooth things over. “Eleanor is a high-powered attorney. She’s incredibly busy.” “Before he passed, old Dave always said we shouldn’t let family matters drag down his daughter-in-law’s career.” The room fell completely silent. Arthur looked at my bloodshot eyes. He hesitated for a long time, before finally speaking in a low voice: “Last winter, your dad heard Eleanor was suffering from severe stomach ulcers. He woke up at 4 AM to slow-cook some chicken soup, and I drove him to her firm in Manhattan.” “He waited in the lobby for three hours. He never even got past security.” “That young lawyer, Lucas, eventually came downstairs and asked him if he was trying to eat into your five hours. He told your dad that if he didn’t have an appointment, he needed to leave and stop causing trouble.” My fingernails instantly dug deep into my palms. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Arthur looked away. “Your dad wouldn’t let me.” “He said it wasn’t easy for you to marry into that world, and he didn’t want to make things any harder for you.” I lowered my head, the tears falling without warning, smashing against the polished wood of my father’s casket. My father protected my pride until his dying breath. He had no idea that I had absolutely no pride left in the Vance household. I found the insulated soup thermos in the back of my dad’s kitchen cabinet. Taped to the lid was a note in his messy, crooked handwriting. Eleanor’s stomach is bad. Less coffee. My phone lit up at that exact moment. Lucas had just posted an update on Instagram. In the photo, Eleanor was holding a sleek black Amex card, smiling faintly as she paid the bill. The caption read: “My first big-boy toy as an adult, gifted by Eleanor.” “Cars, watches, apartments, and love—she gives me everything. Try not to be too jealous, someone! 😉” I stared at the screen for a very long time, until it went completely black. When I got back to the penthouse that night, the light in the home office was on. Eleanor had claimed she had extra work to catch up on. But as I walked past the door, I heard her warm, indulgent laughter. “You waited in line for two hours and you still aren’t satisfied?” “Alright, fine. I’ll stay on the phone with you tonight.” “No, I won’t put it on the clock.” I stopped dead in the hallway. A violent, stinging pain flooded my sinuses. Chapter 2 I lowered my eyes and continued walking past the office door. Eleanor saw me, and her smile instantly vanished. She quickly ended the call, followed me into the bedroom, and wrapped her arms around me from behind. Her familiar, expensive perfume washed over me, but my body moved faster than my brain, flinching away from her touch. Eleanor’s hands hovered in mid-air. She was silent for a moment before she slowly, methodically adjusted her cuffs. “You are acting highly erratic today.” “If you are upset about the three-thousand-dollar invoice, you can simply state it.” I gripped my father’s old jacket tightly in my hands. I didn’t look at her. Eleanor’s tone remained perfectly even and clinical. “I understand you are currently in a grieving period, which is why I didn’t push you away at the crematorium.” “But accommodating an emotional response does not mean established rules can be nullified.” She finished speaking, and exactly like she was closing a trivial negotiation, she offered a settlement. “I will increase your allowance by one hour next year.” “And I will not bill you for tonight’s physical contact. That should be sufficient.” My eyes burned hot. “There’s no need,” I replied softly. Eleanor stared at me for several seconds. That rare, microscopic trace of patience in her eyes completely evaporated. “Rejecting a proposed solution and deploying the silent treatment to express dissatisfaction only renders communication entirely pointless.” “Leaving the firm to become a stay-at-home husband was a choice you made based on your own free will.” “You actively accepted the parameters of this marriage.” “Attempting to reframe these choices as sacrifices now is intellectually dishonest and entirely unfair to me.” Every single sentence was rigorous, articulate, and completely bulletproof. She stood in the courtroom of our life, sustaining objections and striking my six years of devotion from the record, line by line. Six years ago, I was also a lawyer at her firm. After I won three consecutive, high-profile cases, Eleanor called me into her office and asked if I was willing to maintain a fixed, exclusive physical relationship with her. “I do not have the time or the bandwidth to vet new men.” “You know my habits. You are the most efficient option.” I asked her what would happen to my job. She answered without a microsecond of hesitation. “Quit.” “When I need you, I do not want to be waiting for you to finish a deposition.” I had been in love with her for too long. Ultimately, I surrendered my budding career and stayed by her side. Later on, I snapped out of it once. I packed my bags and went to the train station. Eleanor chased me down. Amidst a sea of people, she grabbed my hand. Her voice, for once, was actually gentle: “Don’t go. Come home with me.” “I’ll give you marriage. And eventually, I will give you my time.” I believed her. Today, my wedding ring had bought me exactly ten minutes of her presence. And that career she demanded I execute with my own hands was now categorized as “my own choice.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. A new email from the program. Please report for orientation in exactly twelve days. I stared at that sentence, and the tears finally fell. Six years ago, Eleanor knew exactly what train I was on, so she could drag me back. This time, I wouldn’t tell her my flight number. My father spent his dying days terrified of wasting her time. My departure wouldn’t waste another second of it. Chapter 3 When I clicked ‘Confirm Enrollment,’ Eleanor was still standing in the bedroom doorway. She glanced at my screen. “That paralegal program in London again?” “Yes.” “You applied for that three years ago too.” Her tone was dismissive. She clearly wasn’t taking it seriously. “There are a massive amount of logistical hurdles between clicking ‘confirm’ and actually leaving the country. Let me know when you actually finalize the paperwork.” She was absolutely certain I couldn’t pull it off. And she was absolutely certain I couldn’t bear to leave her. As I put my phone away, Eleanor’s gaze landed on my left hand. “Where is your wedding ring?” On my ring finger, there was only a pale, faded indent. That ring cost eighty-five thousand dollars. Before we got married, Eleanor specifically took me to Tiffany’s on Fifth Avenue. She scanned one display case, pointed at the diamond in the absolute center, and said, “That one.” Selecting it took exactly thirty-two seconds. Swiping the card took fourteen seconds. Before the complimentary champagne could even be brought to the VIP room, we were already walking out the door. Back then, the only thing I registered was that she paid the exorbitant price without even blinking. I was secretly thrilled for months. Only later did I realize… she didn’t mind spending money. She just minded spending a single minute on me. “I pawned it.” Eleanor’s brow twitched. “Why?” “To pay the three-thousand-dollar invoice.” She was silent for two seconds, rapidly recovering her composure. “If you lack liquidity, you can draw from the supplementary credit card.” She didn’t even bother to ask if the ring could be retrieved. A sudden knock echoed from the hallway. Without waiting for a response, Lucas pushed the door open and walked right in. “Eleanor, why did you hang up on me?” His tone was intimately casual. His hand naturally landed on Eleanor’s forearm. The limited-edition Rolex on his wrist caught the light, gleaming brightly. Last Christmas, my father gave Eleanor an envelope with a thousand dollars in cash as a traditional holiday blessing. Eleanor immediately handed the cash to Lucas. Then, she spent four hours walking around the luxury boutiques with him, covering the massive difference to buy him that exact Rolex. Lucas’s watch earned him an entire afternoon of her undivided attention and patience. Noticing my gaze, Lucas lifted his wrist and shook it playfully. “Does my brother-in-law still recognize this?” “The holiday money Uncle Dave gave you went straight toward funding this watch.” He paused, as if just suddenly remembering that my father had passed away. “Now that Uncle Dave is gone… does this count as an heirloom?” “You wouldn’t ask me to give it back, would you, bro?” Eleanor shot him a warning glance. “Lucas. Watch your phrasing.” Her tone held absolutely no actual reprimand. Lucas smiled and casually picked up the glass of water on her nightstand, taking a sip. “I just didn’t want him to misunderstand.” Eleanor didn’t stop him. I looked at the two of them. I suddenly wanted to ask one absolute, final question for the man I was for the past six years. “Why?” Eleanor looked up. “Why what?” “Having dinner with me, coming home with me, going to the hospital with me… it all required strict time-tracking.” “But taking him watch shopping, going to the movies, getting late-night takeout… you never once put him on the clock.” Eleanor didn’t dodge the question. Just like evaluating a complex litigation strategy, she delivered the most clinical, brutal answer possible. “Lucas is an associate the firm is heavily investing in.” “His professional growth translates directly into billable hours, which generates long-term, compounding revenue for the firm.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over my face. “You currently generate zero professional output.” “The time you spend waiting for me holds absolutely zero commercial value.” The final, microscopic thread tethering my heart to hers snapped silently in the dark. I lowered my eyes. Even the sorrow felt numb now. Lucas wrapped his arms around her waist, reaching up to adjust her collar. A gesture that would have previously kept me awake in agonizing jealousy for days, now provoked absolutely no reaction in me. Eleanor, however, shot a sharp look at me. It seemed my total lack of a reaction bothered her far more than an argument would have. She pulled out her iPad and AirDropped me the finalized schedule for my personal time allowance for next year. “The five hours have been allocated in advance.” “Time blocks have been reserved for your birthday, our anniversary, your annual physical, and two mandatory family dinners.” Lucas immediately snatched the iPad out of her hands. “I have a mock trial scheduled for the day of his birthday. Push the dinner to next week.” “And the anniversary block needs to be shortened. My flight lands that night, you need to pick me up from JFK.” Holding a digital pen, he recklessly scribbled and altered my meticulously planned schedule. Eleanor only offered a mild warning: “Don’t pack my itinerary too tightly.” Lucas smiled and handed the heavily redacted calendar back to me. “Make sure you confirm the changes, bro.” “If you need to make sudden adjustments, it’s going to eat into your own allowance.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568422”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In my past life, my housekeeper secretly moved her entire family into the basement of my mansion. Whenever it was dead of night, they would crawl out and roam the house. Countless times, I noticed the massive refrigerator I had just fully stocked the day before would magically be half-empty by morning. There were always crushed potato chips ground into my expensive sofas. I just assumed it was the housekeeper stealing food. I gave her a few stern warnings, but didn’t think much of it. That was until I started preparing to immigrate and put the mansion on the market. Terrified of losing their luxurious, free lifestyle, the housekeeper’s son crept into my bedroom in the dead of night, strangled me to death, and dragged my body into the basement. Her family then forged a suicide note and completely took over my home. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn exactly three days before my murder. The absolute very first thing I did was call a heavy construction company. I was going to seal that basement shut with solid concrete! 1. “Hello? Is this Apex Construction? Tomorrow morning, I need…” Before I could finish the sentence, I suddenly saw Maria standing in the doorway of my bedroom. I jumped out of my skin, my phone tumbling onto the duvet. Maria, my housekeeper, had half her face hidden in the shadows of the hallway. A warm, motherly smile was plastered across her face. “Miss Maya, it’s so late. Who are you talking to on the phone?” My heart instantly started hammering against my ribs, and a cold sweat broke out across my back. I forced myself to remain perfectly calm as I picked my phone back up. “The bathroom sink seems to be leaking. I figured I’d get ahead of it and call a contractor to come take a look tomorrow.” “Maria, it’s so late, why are you still up? Is something wrong?” Maria let out a long sigh, her face twisting into a mask of deep concern. “I heard movement coming from your room, Miss. I thought you were having those terrible nightmares again, so I came to check on you.” “Seeing you’re okay puts my mind at ease.” My grip on the duvet tightened until my knuckles turned white, but I squeezed out a polite smile. “I’m fine. You should go get some rest. I’ll call you if I need anything.” Watching Maria close the bedroom door behind her, I let out a massive, shaky breath. With trembling fingers, I unlocked my phone, just about to dial 911. The door swung open again! I violently slammed my phone face-down onto my lap, my soul nearly leaping out of my body. Maria walked back in carrying a steaming mug of milk, smiling sweetly. “I warmed up some milk for you, sweetie. It’ll help you sleep.” I quickly shoved my phone under my pillow and reached out to take the mug. “Thank you, Maria. It’s a little too hot right now, I’ll let it cool down before I drink it.” Maria didn’t leave immediately. She stood by the side of my bed, her eyes scanning me up and down for several agonizing seconds before she finally spoke. “Drinking it cold is bad for your stomach. Make sure you don’t forget to drink it, Miss.” The door clicked shut again. I stared dead at that glass of milk, completely abandoning the idea of calling the police. Sending them to prison for a few years was way too good for these bloodsucking parasites. Since God gave me a second chance at life, I was going to give them a taste of their own medicine! I carried the mug of milk into the master bathroom and slowly poured every single drop of it down the toilet. Then, I placed the empty mug back on the nightstand, pulled the covers up, and laid in bed pretending to be asleep. About ten minutes later, Maria crept back into my room like a ghost. She picked up the empty mug, inspected it in the moonlight, and finally, looking satisfied, closed the door and left. Chapter 2 After making absolutely sure her guard was down, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed barefoot out of the master suite. Like a gecko, I pressed myself flat against the railing of the second-floor landing, holding my breath as I peered down into the darkness. I watched as Maria expertly navigated the first floor, pulled a key from her pocket, and unlocked the heavy door leading to the basement. Seconds later, three men and two women scurried out of the dark like a pack of rats. I recognized them instantly. It was Maria’s husband, her younger brother, and the monster who strangled me in my past life—her son, David! The two women were her mother-in-law and her high-school-aged daughter! I clamped both hands over my mouth, terrified I might make even the slightest sound. In my past life, Maria had cried and begged me, saying she had a massive family to feed back home and was struggling to survive. I felt so bad for her that I paid her double the standard market rate for a live-in housekeeper. When I hired her, she even brought her entire family over, carrying a basket of fresh farm eggs, practically bowing to thank me! It turns out that entire “thank you” visit was just a scouting mission. They were mapping out the house so they could move in and infest it like a virus! And now, these parasites were lounging comfortably on my custom Italian leather sofas, flipping through the channels on my massive TV. Maria’s husband yanked open my double-door smart fridge, pulled out a massive, overnight-flown Maine lobster I had just bought yesterday, and strolled into the kitchen. Her mother-in-law expertly navigated my wine cellar, casually swiping a vintage bottle of DRC Romanée-Conti worth tens of thousands of dollars. Maria’s brother, clearly the anxious one, shrunk his neck and shot a nervous glance toward the second floor. “Hey, keep it down. Don’t wake the girl upstairs.” Maria, happily crunching on one of my imported organic apples, waved him off with supreme arrogance. “What are you afraid of? I spiked her milk with a double dose of sleeping pills. A bomb could go off and she wouldn’t wake up.” Hiding in the shadows, my eyes went wide with sheer horror. A cold sweat drenched my back. No wonder in my past life, up until the day I died, I never heard a single sound coming from downstairs in the middle of the night! Maria’s daughter, Chloe, shoved a handful of truffle potato chips into her mouth and mumbled: “Mom, we eat like kings every single night. When the fridge is empty the next day, doesn’t she suspect anything?” Maria let out a sharp, mocking laugh, her tone dripping with absolute contempt. “That girl has more money than brains.” “Her parents got divorced ages ago and went off to Europe to live their best lives. Nobody gives a flying fuck about her.” “If she ever asks, I just play dumb and swear I don’t know anything. What’s she gonna do about it?” Maria patted the premium leather sofa, her face twisting into a mask of pure greed. “Besides, this mansion is in the middle of nowhere. It’s a two-hour drive to downtown, and the neighboring lots haven’t even been developed yet.” “The girl has mental issues and takes heavy psychiatric meds. There are no security cameras in the house. She can’t find a single shred of proof! What are we scared of?” “If push comes to shove, I’ll just gaslight her and tell her her medication is making her hallucinate!” Listening to their brazen, unrestrained mockery, my fingernails dug so deeply into the wooden banister they almost bled. Looking back at my past life, there were dozens of times I noticed things randomly going missing around the house. But because of severe childhood trauma, I had a pathological fear of being monitored, so I absolutely refused to install security cameras inside the mansion. Plus, the only things that ever went missing were high-end food and expensive alcohol, never actual valuables, so I never thought much of it. But the most lethal part was that Maria knew I suffered from insomnia and took heavy medication. So, she would constantly fabricate fake timelines and conversations right to my face, successfully convincing me that my own memory was failing! Chapter 3 Snapping back to reality, I looked down. David and Chloe were heading straight for the spiral staircase leading to the second floor. I sprinted silently back to the master bedroom, dove under the covers, and squeezed my eyes shut. Seconds after I laid down, my bedroom door was pushed open. After a few moments of rustling, Chloe let out a muffled gasp from the direction of my walk-in closet. “David, look at these dresses! Look at this diamond necklace! This bitch is so insanely lucky!” She aggressively shoved my custom-tailored haute couture dresses onto her own body, muttering venomously under her breath. Why does she get to be so rich and live in this massive mansion and wear all these designer brands?! This should all belong to me! David let out a vile, lecherous laugh. “Take whatever you want. Her closet is so packed she could wear a new outfit every day for a year. She’ll never notice a few missing pieces.” After saying that, David started impatiently rushing Chloe to get out. Chloe gathered an armful of my clothes and walked to the bedroom door, but didn’t forget to throw a hushed warning over her shoulder. “Don’t go too far. Mom said this girl has never even had a boyfriend. She’s a virgin.” “Don’t wake her up and ruin the master plan for the whole family!” David let out a dismissive, arrogant scoff. “I know, I know. God, you’re annoying.” The door clicked shut gently. My heart instantly plummeted into my stomach. Immediately following, the heavy mattress dipped violently. David had actually climbed into my bed and slid under the covers, wrapping his arms around me! My stomach violently revolted. The urge to vomit was overwhelming. But I had to bite my tongue so hard I tasted blood, using the sheer agony to force my body not to tremble even a fraction of an inch. If he realized I was awake, the horrifying tragedy of my past life—being strangled to death with a nylon rope—would likely replay itself right here and now! David buried his face into the crook of my neck, taking a deep, greedy inhale of my shampoo. His rough, greasy, calloused hands began sliding slowly down my cheek. The putrid, sour stench of a man who rarely bathed assaulted my senses. Just as his nauseating hand trailed down my back and began to reach around toward my chest… BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm clock on my nightstand let out an ear-piercing shriek! David launched off the bed in pure terror. Maria instantly burst into the room and expertly smashed the snooze button. She grabbed David by the ear, hissing furiously under her breath. “You little bastard! Are you trying to get our entire family killed?!” “If you wake her up and she catches us, what the hell are we going to eat?!” David rubbed his ear, looking completely unbothered, his eyes flashing with the exact same lethal malice I saw in my past life. “If she wakes up, I’ll just fucking kill her!” “Bury her in the basement, and all the cash and luxury shit in this mansion is ours!” Chapter 4 The air in the room went dead silent. Maria actually seemed to be seriously considering the viability of murdering me right then and there! My palms were drenched in cold sweat. I held my breath, my brain spinning at a million miles an hour. If they made their move now, even if I had to jump off the second-story balcony and shatter my legs, I had to fight for my life! “No!” Maria suddenly snapped in a harsh whisper, cutting off David’s murderous intent. “This stupid bitch said she’s got contractors coming tomorrow to fix a leak!” “If we kill her tonight, when those guys show up tomorrow and can’t find her, they’ll call the cops! We’ll all be exposed!” She paused, her tone dripping with cold, calculating venom. “Let’s wait until tomorrow. After she gets rid of the contractors, we’ll take our time and finish her off.” Maria stared dead at David, issuing a severe warning. “When the construction crew gets here tomorrow, every single one of you stays in that basement! Don’t even breathe too loud!” “I’ll lock the steel basement door from the outside and take the key with me when I go grocery shopping.” “It’s a heavy-duty security door. Without the key, no one is getting in.” “She never goes down there anyway. As long as I’m not home, she’ll never find you guys.” David nodded eagerly. “Alright, alright, whatever you say. Let’s get out of here.” Hearing the door click shut, I kept my eyes clamped shut, not daring to let an eyelash flutter, forcing myself to continue playing dead. A full thirty minutes passed. Just as I was finally about to open my eyes… The feeling of hot, putrid breath suddenly hovered inches from my face. “Mom, looks like this bitch really didn’t wake up.” David’s voice was right next to my ear. I pinched my own thigh brutally to force myself to stay perfectly still. Maria let out a long exhale of relief. “Alright, let’s go. That massive lobster is almost done steaming.” The door closed once again. To be absolutely certain, I endured the agonizing darkness for another thirty minutes. Confirming there were no more voices, I finally dared to slowly open my eyes. I snatched my phone. The blinding glare of the screen read: 4:30 AM. I wiped the drool off my nose. The hatred burning inside me was like churning, explosive magma. Fine. If you leeches want to murder me, then don’t blame me for being ruthless! I sent a text message to the construction foreman. “Mr. Zhang, bring extra concrete and bricks tomorrow morning. I want that abandoned basement in my house permanently sealed shut!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568421”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day my family installed the new smart lock, the technician mentioned it could only store up to four fingerprints. My dad registered his. My mom registered hers. My older brother registered his, and my younger sister registered hers. When it was my turn, my mom simply pulled the door shut. “You live here anyway, just ring the doorbell. It’s easier to just leave it at four.” On the first day of summer break, I took a 20-hour Greyhound bus and didn’t make it back until midnight. I rang the doorbell until the battery died. I called them until my phone automatically shut off from a dead battery. No one answered. I sat in the stairwell until dawn, only to find out the four of them had gone out to celebrate my younger sister passing her civil service exam. When my mom got back, all she said was that I was being dramatic. A month later, my dad suffered a sudden, massive heart attack at home. He used his dying breath to call me. “Open the door, quick… the medicine is under the TV stand…” I stood outside the door, listening as a heavy thud echoed from inside. The building superintendent urged me to hurry up and go in. I pressed my face against the freezing metal security door and whispered: “Dad. I don’t have a fingerprint.” 1. Only my dad’s heavy, labored breathing came through the phone. The motion-sensor light in the stairwell flickered off, then on, then off again. Mr. Wang, the superintendent, was sweating profusely, yelling into his walkie-talkie for security to get upstairs. “Chloe, you seriously don’t have your fingerprint registered?” “No.” I pressed my finger against the scanner screen. The red light flashed three times. Verification Failed. The sound of a glass tumbling across the floor echoed from inside the apartment. It was faint, but it felt like it shattered directly against my chest. Mr. Wang pounded on the door. “Mr. Miller! Mr. Miller! Can you hear me?!” No response. The phone was still pressed to my ear. My dad’s voice was breaking into fragmented gasps. “Medicine… TV stand… Chloe…” The next second, the call disconnected. He didn’t hang up. His phone either died, or he dropped it and it broke. Mr. Wang looked at me, lowering his voice: “Call 911. Get an ambulance, get the police, get a locksmith.” My fingers were trembling so violently they didn’t feel like my own. As the 911 dispatcher answered, hurried footsteps echoed from downstairs. A neighbor poked their head out, asking if something was wrong. Mr. Wang yelled at security to bring a crowbar, then turned to me. “Who else has a fingerprint for this door?” “My mom, my older brother, and my little sister.” “Call them. Now.” My mom, Susan’s, phone rang until it went to voicemail. My brother, Ethan’s, phone rang unanswered. My sister, Mia’s, FaceTime call was declined. A second later, she sent a text. “Chloe, stop acting out, we’re eating.” Staring at the words “acting out,” my hands and feet went completely numb with a freezing dread. Mr. Wang called three different locksmiths. The first one said it was too late and refused to come. The second one said the legal homeowner had to be present. The third one, hearing it was a medical emergency, finally agreed to be there in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. The person inside the apartment might not have twenty seconds. Security arrived with a crowbar. Mr. Wang looked at me. “Should we smash the door?” “Smash it.” As soon as I spoke, my mom finally called back. The background noise was deafening; people were singing “Happy Birthday.” “Chloe, what kind of psychotic episode are you having in the middle of the night?!” “Dad is having a heart attack. I can’t open the door.” The line went dead silent for a second. Then, her voice spiked into a shrill screech: “His medicine is right under the TV stand! Can’t you just open the door and get it?!” “I don’t have a fingerprint.” The other end of the line fell silent again. My brother’s voice cut in: “Stop putting on a show. Isn’t the passcode your birthday?” “The passcode was changed ages ago.” “Who changed it?” No one answered. Mia muttered quietly in the background: “Today is the day I celebrate my new job. This is so depressing.” Her words came through the receiver, crystal clear. Mr. Wang snatched the phone out of my hand and roared into the receiver: “Your husband collapsed inside the apartment! Get back here right now!” My mom seemed to finally grasp the severity of the situation. Her voice trembled, yet she still directed her fury at me: “Stand by the door! Don’t touch anything! If something happens to your father, I will never forgive you!” The moment the crowbar wedged into the door frame, the fire department arrived. The locksmith also ran up the stairs, panting heavily. A chaotic swarm of people surrounded the door. The smart lock’s security alarm blared, piercing my eardrums. I was shoved against the wall, the back of my hand pressed against the freezing tile. When the door finally sprang open, the living room lights were blazing. My dad was collapsed face-down next to the coffee table, his right arm outstretched toward the TV stand. His fingertips were less than two feet away from the drawer. The EMT dropped to his knees and immediately started chest compressions. My mom and the others still hadn’t arrived. The only sound in the stairwell was the urgent, rapid-fire commands of the paramedics. “Clear the way. Start oxygen.” “Push Epinephrine.” “Keep compressing.” I stood outside the entryway, the soles of my shoes feeling like they were glued to the floor. The drawer under the TV stand was slightly ajar. A white bottle of nitroglycerin peeked out from the corner. As the paramedics lifted my dad onto the stretcher, the bottle rolled out of the drawer. It hit my shoe and stopped. 2. The red light above the hospital’s resuscitation room stayed on for forty-seven minutes. When my mom finally rushed in, her hair was windblown, and she was still holding a leftover cake box from Mia’s celebration dinner. Smears of frosting clung to the side of the plastic bag. The sickeningly sweet smell made stomach acid burn the back of my throat. “Where is your dad?” “In resuscitation.” The words barely left my mouth before a vicious slap struck my face. Everyone in the hallway turned to stare. My mom’s palm was red. So were her eyes. “Chloe, how could you be so cruel?!” My ears rang violently. I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from falling. Ethan lunged forward and grabbed me by the collar. “You just stood at the door and couldn’t think of a single thing to do?! You just watched Dad die?!” Mr. Wang immediately stepped in to pull him off. “Ethan, calm down! Chloe was frantically calling 911 and trying to get help. She doesn’t have a fingerprint, she physically couldn’t get in.” “If you don’t have a fingerprint, smash the damn door!” “We did smash it, and the fire department came too.” My mom snapped her head around, glaring venomously at Mr. Wang. “This is family business. Keep your mouth shut.” Mia stood behind my mom, her eyes red, looking like the picture of perfect grief. “Chloe, I know you’ve always felt like Mom and Dad favored me and Ethan, but Dad is innocent in all this.” Her words felt like a bucket of filthy ice water poured entirely over my head. I stared at her. “You declined my call earlier.” Mia bit her lip nervously. “I thought you were just throwing a tantrum again. How was I supposed to know it was real?” “I sent you a text. I told you Dad was having a heart attack.” “The restaurant was too loud. I didn’t read it carefully.” Ethan scoffed coldly. “You always do this. The second something goes wrong, you blame everyone else.” A nurse pushed the swinging doors open. “Family members, we need a signature for the critical condition notice.” My mom’s legs gave out, and Ethan and Mia immediately caught her. No one looked at me. The nurse asked: “Who is the patient’s next of kin?” “I am his wife.” My mom snatched the pen, her hand shaking uncontrollably. As she was about to sign, she suddenly stopped and turned to look at me. “Chloe. Get on your knees.” The hallway plunged into total silence. “Get on your knees, kowtow to your father, and pray he survives this.” My chest felt like it was blocked by a boulder. My dad hadn’t treated me particularly well. But he was the one who carried me to the ER when I had a 104-degree fever. He was the one who secretly slipped me an extra $200 for groceries when I left for college. Before I could even open my mouth, Ethan slammed his heavy hands down on my shoulders, violently forcing me downward. My knees crashed against the hard hospital tiles. The sheer, blinding pain forced tears into my eyes. My mom covered her mouth and wailed: “Arthur, look at your precious daughter! She finally knows she was wrong!” Mia crouched down next to me, her voice sickeningly soft. “Chloe, just admit you messed up. Don’t make Mom suffer any more than she already is.” Admit I messed up? Admit that I didn’t have a fingerprint? Admit that I was locked out? Admit that the four of them went out to celebrate, abandoning my dad at home completely alone? The resuscitation room doors opened again. The doctor pulled down his surgical mask. Exhaustion was etched deeply into every line on his face. “We did everything we could.” My mom let out a piercing scream and collapsed backward. Ethan charged forward, grabbing the doctor by the scrubs: “How is that possible?! Did she get him here too late?! If she had gotten him his medicine earlier, he would have lived, right?!” The doctor was silent for a long moment. “A massive myocardial infarction is extremely aggressive. The outcome depends entirely on the progression of the blockage, but generally speaking, the earlier medical intervention begins, the higher the chance of survival.” Ethan violently whipped his head around to stare at me. His eyes looked like they had just found a murderer. “Chloe.” My mom leaned heavily against the wall and slowly pushed herself up. Step by step, she walked over to me. Her voice was as coarse as sandpaper. “You killed your father.” Inside the resuscitation room, a white sheet was pulled over my dad’s face. 3. The funeral was scheduled for three days later. The living room was overflowing with floral wreaths, and a black-and-white portrait of my dad hung in the center. The smile in the photo looked stiff; it was an ID photo he had taken last year for Mia’s pre-employment physical. During those three days, every single relative showed up. My aunt, Aunt Linda, walked through the door and immediately pulled my mom into a sobbing embrace. “Susan, Arthur went so suddenly.” My mom wept so hard she could barely stand, but she didn’t forget to shove me into the center of the crowd. “Ask her! She stood outside the door and refused to open it. She dragged it out until her father died.” Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto me. There was pity. There was disgust. And there was the undeniable, sick thrill of watching a family tear itself apart. Aunt Linda wiped her tears and asked me: “Chloe, is it true you refused to open the door?” “I didn’t have my fingerprint registered in the smart lock, and I didn’t know the new passcode.” My older cousin, Kevin, interjected aggressively: “What kind of daughter doesn’t know her own house’s passcode? Your parents raised you for twenty years, stop making excuses.” The smoke from the incense burner stung my eyes. Mr. Wang, the superintendent, had also come to pay his respects. He stood near the entrance holding a bag of ceremonial paper money. Hearing Kevin’s accusation, he frowned deeply. “The Miller family’s smart lock only had four people registered in the system. Chloe genuinely didn’t have access. I was there that night.” My mom immediately wailed even louder. “If she didn’t have her fingerprint registered, why didn’t she speak up earlier?! We raised her for twenty years! Did she expect me to beg her to let us register her fingerprint?!” I actually laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of that statement. But the moment the laugh escaped my lips, Aunt Linda’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. “Your father’s body isn’t even cold yet, and you’re laughing?!” Mia, dressed in a sleek black dress with artfully swollen eyes, walked over to my side and gently took my arm. To the outsiders in the room, she looked like the perfect, understanding little sister. But her nails dug viciously into my skin. “Chloe, stop provoking Mom.” “Let go of me.” “Just apologize, and we can put all of this behind us.” Behind us? My dad was lying in a refrigerated drawer at the funeral home, and I was still waking up in cold sweats every night hearing that heavy thud. And she wanted to put it “behind us.” Ethan walked out of the back bedroom holding a piece of paper. He slammed it down onto the coffee table. “Chloe. Sign it.” There was a single paragraph typed on the page. I, Chloe Miller, acknowledge that due to personal resentment, I intentionally delayed emergency assistance, resulting in the death of my father, Arthur Miller. I hereby agree to bear full financial responsibility for his funeral expenses, all outstanding debts, and the future living expenses of my mother, Susan Miller. Below the text was a blank line for my signature. I looked up at him. “Are you insane?” Ethan’s face was iron-gray. “You killed Dad. Shouldn’t you pay the price?” My mom lunged forward and grabbed my arm tightly. “Sign it! You have to sign it! If you don’t, I will go to your university and make a scene! I will make sure the entire campus knows what a treacherous, ungrateful sociopath you are!” Her grip left deep, red marks on my wrist. Mia pulled a pen out of her designer purse and shoved it into my palm. “Chloe, just sign it. Ethan is under a lot of pressure with his new mortgage, and Mom’s health is deteriorating. You made a mistake, and you need to take accountability for it.” So it wasn’t an apology they wanted. They wanted me to take on the debt, the public shame, and the financial burden of supporting them for the rest of my life. Just as the tip of the pen touched the paper, a raspy, commanding voice rang out from the front door. “That paper will not be signed.” My grandmother, leaning heavily on her cane, stood in the doorway. She was seventy-six years old, so frail she looked like a skeleton. When my mom saw her, her face instantly darkened. “Mom, what are you doing here?” My grandmother ignored her, slowly shuffling over to my side. She reached out and gently touched my cheek. “Chloe… does it hurt?” Hearing those four words, the tears I had forced back for three days finally shattered and fell. My mom’s expression remained glacial. “What does she have to hurt about? The person who died is her father.” My grandmother looked down at the paper on the coffee table. She slowly bent down and picked it up. The paper trembled in her frail, shaking hands. In the next second, right in front of a living room full of relatives, she ripped the paper cleanly in half. Ethan was furious. “Grandma, stop protecting her!” My grandmother raised her cane and pointed it directly at his chest. “The four of you registered your fingerprints and deliberately locked her out of this house! Now that your father is dead, you’re trying to force her to take the blame?! Ethan Miller, is this the kind of man your father raised you to be?!” Ethan’s face went completely white. Aunt Linda frowned. “Mrs. Miller, you can’t say things like that. How can you connect registering a door lock to someone’s death?” My grandmother turned her fierce glare onto my mom. “Susan. Do you dare look me in the eye and tell me it wasn’t YOU who refused to let Chloe register her fingerprint?” My mom’s lips twitched, her eyes darting away to avoid my grandmother’s gaze. For the first time since my dad died, the living room fell into a deafening, suffocating silence. Just then, Mia suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed dramatically onto the sofa. “Mom… I feel dizzy.” Everyone instantly swarmed around her. My mom held her tightly, wailing: “Mia, don’t scare Mom! Your dad just passed away, if something happens to you too, I won’t survive it!” Ethan roared at me: “What are you standing there for?! Go get her a glass of water!” The torn half of the paper drifted down from the coffee table, landing perfectly over the toe of my shoe. 4. It rained heavily on the day of the funeral. The stone steps of the cemetery were slick. My mom leaned heavily on Ethan as they walked up the path. Mia, holding a black umbrella, stood at the very front of the procession, her shoulders shaking violently as she wept. The relatives whispered about what a dutiful, filial daughter she was. “It’s so tragic. She just secured her government job, and then this happens.” “Arthur always favored his youngest daughter the most. It’s a shame he won’t be around to enjoy her success.” When it was my turn to place a flower on the casket, my mom blocked my path. “Don’t you dare touch your father.” Rainwater dripped from the spokes of the umbrella onto the back of my hand. I gripped the white chrysanthemum so tightly the petals crumpled. “I am his daughter.” My mom’s eyes burned with pure, unadulterated hatred. “He used his dying breath to call you, and you refused to save him. Do you really think you have the right to stand here?” The surrounding relatives began whispering aggressively. Aunt Linda stepped in and said in a low voice: “Susan, let it go. Don’t make a scene today.” My mom abruptly raised her voice. “I’m not the one making a scene! She’s forcing my hand!” She pulled a crumpled invoice from her purse and threw it directly into my face. “The funeral home charged fifty-eight thousand. The burial plot was a hundred and sixty thousand. Your dad borrowed thirty thousand from relatives right before he passed. If you don’t fork over the money to pay for all this today, you’re not leaving this cemetery.” The wet paper stuck to my black coat. “I am a college student. I don’t have that kind of money.” Ethan scoffed coldly. “So what if you’re a student? Don’t you have your scholarship money? Don’t you have a part-time job? You killed him, so you pay his debts. A life for a life, a debt for a debt.” Mia chimed in, her voice soft and trembling: “Chloe, I just got my job, I’m still on my probationary salary. Ethan has a new mortgage and a family to feed. Mom is going to have to rely entirely on us from now on. You can’t just be selfish and only think about yourself.” Every sentence she spoke sounded so soft, so reasonable, yet every word was a shovel digging my grave deeper. Aunt Linda sighed loudly. “Chloe, the family is going through a tragedy right now. You’re a young woman, try to be more understanding and don’t fight them on this.” My grandmother hobbled forward on her cane, leaning heavily on her umbrella. “The allocation of debt is determined by the law, not by whatever nonsense comes out of your mouths.” My mom violently whipped around to glare at her own mother. “Shut your mouth! If it wasn’t for you constantly favoring her when she was a kid, do you think she would have turned into this arrogant, ungrateful monster?!” My grandmother started coughing violently from sheer rage. I reached out to steady her, but my mom violently shoved me backward. “Stop pretending you actually care!” The sudden shove made my grandmother slip on the wet stone steps. She began falling backward. I lunged forward to grab her, my knee crashing brutally against the sharp edge of the granite stairs. My umbrella rolled away into the mud, and the icy rain instantly soaked through my hair and clothes. My grandmother’s wooden cane clattered into a puddle. The crowd gasped in shock. My mom froze for a fraction of a second. But she quickly looked away, her face hardening. “Save your pathetic pity act.” My knee was burning with agonizing pain. The fabric of my pants was torn, and blood mixed with the muddy rainwater, streaming down my leg. My grandmother gripped my hand tightly, her lips turning a sickly shade of blue from rage. “Susan. You are going to regret this.” My mom let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “My biggest regret in this lifetime was giving birth to her.” Those words were colder than the freezing rain. My dad’s urn was slowly lowered into the burial plot. The cemetery staff instructed the family members to scatter handfuls of dirt over the grave. Ethan, Mia, and my mom stepped forward one by one. When it was my turn, Ethan stepped in front of me, blocking the grave. “You don’t have the right.” My grandmother finally lost her temper entirely. She raised her frail hand and slapped my mom hard across the face. Smack. The sound echoed terrifyingly loud through the rain-soaked cemetery. My mom clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. “You hit me… for her?!” My grandmother pointed her trembling finger directly at my dad’s headstone, her voice shaking violently. “If Arthur could wake up right now, the very first thing he would ask is why Chloe didn’t have her fingerprint registered on that damn door!” All the color drained from Ethan and Mia’s faces. In front of the headstone, my mom suddenly lunged at me like a feral animal, screaming as she violently ripped at the black mourning band pinned to my sleeve.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568420”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Eleanor Vance only gave me a personal time allowance of five hours a year. Having dinner with me? Deducted forty minutes. Going back to my hometown with me? Deducted two hours. Even our intimacy was on a meter, the clock starting the exact second she kissed me. Eleanor was the youngest senior partner at a prestigious New York law firm. Her private consultation fee was six thousand dollars an hour. I always thought it was just her nature to be obsessively meticulous with time. That was, until the firm’s annual holiday party. Lucas, the junior associate she personally mentored, suddenly smiled and asked: “Eleanor, how much time does your husband have left this year?” Eleanor glanced at her phone. “Seventeen minutes.” The entire table burst into laughter. Lucas tilted his head, looking up at her. “What about me?” Eleanor reached over and ruffled his hair. “You aren’t on the clock.” “When I take you watch shopping, grab late-night takeout, or go to midnight movie premieres, have I ever tracked the time?” I swallowed the roar of laughter from the table and quietly guarded my final seventeen minutes. A month later, my father died of a sudden, massive heart attack. I used my last seventeen minutes to ask Eleanor to stay with me while I signed the cremation authorization forms. But I suffered a complete breakdown. I grabbed the cuff of her coat, keeping her there for an extra ten minutes. She didn’t push me away. I thought that, in the face of my father’s death, she was finally willing to make an exception for me. The next day, her executive assistant emailed me an invoice for three thousand dollars. That same afternoon, I pawned my wedding ring for three thousand, five hundred dollars. I used the three thousand to pay off the invoice in full. With the remaining five hundred, I paid the deposit for an intensive paralegal program overseas. This time, I wouldn’t waste another second of her time. And I wouldn’t waste any more of my own. … Just moments after I wired the three thousand dollars, Eleanor’s assistant emailed me a payment confirmation receipt. Attached to it was a document titled: Annual Personal Time Usage Breakdown. January: Anniversary Dinner – 90 minutes. She arrived thirty-five minutes late, spent forty-six minutes taking a phone call from Lucas, and the actual time I spent speaking to her was exactly nine minutes. Total deduction: 90 minutes. May: Hospitalization for High Fever. She stayed in my hospital room for six minutes. That same night, she sat in the ER for four hours with Lucas because he had a 99-degree fever. August: Intimacy – 21 minutes. After it was over, longing for her warmth, I held her for two extra minutes. Those two minutes were itemized separately on the ledger. The original file name of the attachment hadn’t been fully deleted. Mr. Five Hours Annual Summary. I stared at those words, my vision blurring. I finally understood. This was what everyone at the firm called me behind my back. Mr. Five Hours. A title I earned with six years of marriage. It felt like a jagged rock was lodged in my throat. It took a very long time to force the tears back down. Also sitting in my inbox was the enrollment confirmation from the paralegal program. Only twelve days left until orientation. I wiped the moisture from the corners of my eyes and drove back to my hometown in Pennsylvania to handle my father’s affairs. While processing the burial paperwork, the funeral director glanced at the ‘Spouse’ section. “Your wife couldn’t make it today?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My father’s oldest friend, Arthur, stepped in to smooth things over. “Eleanor is a high-powered attorney. She’s incredibly busy.” “Before he passed, old Dave always said we shouldn’t let family matters drag down his daughter-in-law’s career.” The room fell completely silent. Arthur looked at my bloodshot eyes. He hesitated for a long time, before finally speaking in a low voice: “Last winter, your dad heard Eleanor was suffering from severe stomach ulcers. He woke up at 4 AM to slow-cook some chicken soup, and I drove him to her firm in Manhattan.” “He waited in the lobby for three hours. He never even got past security.” “That young lawyer, Lucas, eventually came downstairs and asked him if he was trying to eat into your five hours. He told your dad that if he didn’t have an appointment, he needed to leave and stop causing trouble.” My fingernails instantly dug deep into my palms. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Arthur looked away. “Your dad wouldn’t let me.” “He said it wasn’t easy for you to marry into that world, and he didn’t want to make things any harder for you.” I lowered my head, the tears falling without warning, smashing against the polished wood of my father’s casket. My father protected my pride until his dying breath. He had no idea that I had absolutely no pride left in the Vance household. I found the insulated soup thermos in the back of my dad’s kitchen cabinet. Taped to the lid was a note in his messy, crooked handwriting. Eleanor’s stomach is bad. Less coffee. My phone lit up at that exact moment. Lucas had just posted an update on Instagram. In the photo, Eleanor was holding a sleek black Amex card, smiling faintly as she paid the bill. The caption read: “My first big-boy toy as an adult, gifted by Eleanor.” “Cars, watches, apartments, and love—she gives me everything. Try not to be too jealous, someone! 😉” I stared at the screen for a very long time, until it went completely black. When I got back to the penthouse that night, the light in the home office was on. Eleanor had claimed she had extra work to catch up on. But as I walked past the door, I heard her warm, indulgent laughter. “You waited in line for two hours and you still aren’t satisfied?” “Alright, fine. I’ll stay on the phone with you tonight.” “No, I won’t put it on the clock.” I stopped dead in the hallway. A violent, stinging pain flooded my sinuses. Chapter 2 I lowered my eyes and continued walking past the office door. Eleanor saw me, and her smile instantly vanished. She quickly ended the call, followed me into the bedroom, and wrapped her arms around me from behind. Her familiar, expensive perfume washed over me, but my body moved faster than my brain, flinching away from her touch. Eleanor’s hands hovered in mid-air. She was silent for a moment before she slowly, methodically adjusted her cuffs. “You are acting highly erratic today.” “If you are upset about the three-thousand-dollar invoice, you can simply state it.” I gripped my father’s old jacket tightly in my hands. I didn’t look at her. Eleanor’s tone remained perfectly even and clinical. “I understand you are currently in a grieving period, which is why I didn’t push you away at the crematorium.” “But accommodating an emotional response does not mean established rules can be nullified.” She finished speaking, and exactly like she was closing a trivial negotiation, she offered a settlement. “I will increase your allowance by one hour next year.” “And I will not bill you for tonight’s physical contact. That should be sufficient.” My eyes burned hot. “There’s no need,” I replied softly. Eleanor stared at me for several seconds. That rare, microscopic trace of patience in her eyes completely evaporated. “Rejecting a proposed solution and deploying the silent treatment to express dissatisfaction only renders communication entirely pointless.” “Leaving the firm to become a stay-at-home husband was a choice you made based on your own free will.” “You actively accepted the parameters of this marriage.” “Attempting to reframe these choices as sacrifices now is intellectually dishonest and entirely unfair to me.” Every single sentence was rigorous, articulate, and completely bulletproof. She stood in the courtroom of our life, sustaining objections and striking my six years of devotion from the record, line by line. Six years ago, I was also a lawyer at her firm. After I won three consecutive, high-profile cases, Eleanor called me into her office and asked if I was willing to maintain a fixed, exclusive physical relationship with her. “I do not have the time or the bandwidth to vet new men.” “You know my habits. You are the most efficient option.” I asked her what would happen to my job. She answered without a microsecond of hesitation. “Quit.” “When I need you, I do not want to be waiting for you to finish a deposition.” I had been in love with her for too long. Ultimately, I surrendered my budding career and stayed by her side. Later on, I snapped out of it once. I packed my bags and went to the train station. Eleanor chased me down. Amidst a sea of people, she grabbed my hand. Her voice, for once, was actually gentle: “Don’t go. Come home with me.” “I’ll give you marriage. And eventually, I will give you my time.” I believed her. Today, my wedding ring had bought me exactly ten minutes of her presence. And that career she demanded I execute with my own hands was now categorized as “my own choice.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. A new email from the program. Please report for orientation in exactly twelve days. I stared at that sentence, and the tears finally fell. Six years ago, Eleanor knew exactly what train I was on, so she could drag me back. This time, I wouldn’t tell her my flight number. My father spent his dying days terrified of wasting her time. My departure wouldn’t waste another second of it. Chapter 3 When I clicked ‘Confirm Enrollment,’ Eleanor was still standing in the bedroom doorway. She glanced at my screen. “That paralegal program in London again?” “Yes.” “You applied for that three years ago too.” Her tone was dismissive. She clearly wasn’t taking it seriously. “There are a massive amount of logistical hurdles between clicking ‘confirm’ and actually leaving the country. Let me know when you actually finalize the paperwork.” She was absolutely certain I couldn’t pull it off. And she was absolutely certain I couldn’t bear to leave her. As I put my phone away, Eleanor’s gaze landed on my left hand. “Where is your wedding ring?” On my ring finger, there was only a pale, faded indent. That ring cost eighty-five thousand dollars. Before we got married, Eleanor specifically took me to Tiffany’s on Fifth Avenue. She scanned one display case, pointed at the diamond in the absolute center, and said, “That one.” Selecting it took exactly thirty-two seconds. Swiping the card took fourteen seconds. Before the complimentary champagne could even be brought to the VIP room, we were already walking out the door. Back then, the only thing I registered was that she paid the exorbitant price without even blinking. I was secretly thrilled for months. Only later did I realize… she didn’t mind spending money. She just minded spending a single minute on me. “I pawned it.” Eleanor’s brow twitched. “Why?” “To pay the three-thousand-dollar invoice.” She was silent for two seconds, rapidly recovering her composure. “If you lack liquidity, you can draw from the supplementary credit card.” She didn’t even bother to ask if the ring could be retrieved. A sudden knock echoed from the hallway. Without waiting for a response, Lucas pushed the door open and walked right in. “Eleanor, why did you hang up on me?” His tone was intimately casual. His hand naturally landed on Eleanor’s forearm. The limited-edition Rolex on his wrist caught the light, gleaming brightly. Last Christmas, my father gave Eleanor an envelope with a thousand dollars in cash as a traditional holiday blessing. Eleanor immediately handed the cash to Lucas. Then, she spent four hours walking around the luxury boutiques with him, covering the massive difference to buy him that exact Rolex. Lucas’s watch earned him an entire afternoon of her undivided attention and patience. Noticing my gaze, Lucas lifted his wrist and shook it playfully. “Does my brother-in-law still recognize this?” “The holiday money Uncle Dave gave you went straight toward funding this watch.” He paused, as if just suddenly remembering that my father had passed away. “Now that Uncle Dave is gone… does this count as an heirloom?” “You wouldn’t ask me to give it back, would you, bro?” Eleanor shot him a warning glance. “Lucas. Watch your phrasing.” Her tone held absolutely no actual reprimand. Lucas smiled and casually picked up the glass of water on her nightstand, taking a sip. “I just didn’t want him to misunderstand.” Eleanor didn’t stop him. I looked at the two of them. I suddenly wanted to ask one absolute, final question for the man I was for the past six years. “Why?” Eleanor looked up. “Why what?” “Having dinner with me, coming home with me, going to the hospital with me… it all required strict time-tracking.” “But taking him watch shopping, going to the movies, getting late-night takeout… you never once put him on the clock.” Eleanor didn’t dodge the question. Just like evaluating a complex litigation strategy, she delivered the most clinical, brutal answer possible. “Lucas is an associate the firm is heavily investing in.” “His professional growth translates directly into billable hours, which generates long-term, compounding revenue for the firm.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over my face. “You currently generate zero professional output.” “The time you spend waiting for me holds absolutely zero commercial value.” The final, microscopic thread tethering my heart to hers snapped silently in the dark. I lowered my eyes. Even the sorrow felt numb now. Lucas wrapped his arms around her waist, reaching up to adjust her collar. A gesture that would have previously kept me awake in agonizing jealousy for days, now provoked absolutely no reaction in me. Eleanor, however, shot a sharp look at me. It seemed my total lack of a reaction bothered her far more than an argument would have. She pulled out her iPad and AirDropped me the finalized schedule for my personal time allowance for next year. “The five hours have been allocated in advance.” “Time blocks have been reserved for your birthday, our anniversary, your annual physical, and two mandatory family dinners.” Lucas immediately snatched the iPad out of her hands. “I have a mock trial scheduled for the day of his birthday. Push the dinner to next week.” “And the anniversary block needs to be shortened. My flight lands that night, you need to pick me up from JFK.” Holding a digital pen, he recklessly scribbled and altered my meticulously planned schedule. Eleanor only offered a mild warning: “Don’t pack my itinerary too tightly.” Lucas smiled and handed the heavily redacted calendar back to me. “Make sure you confirm the changes, bro.” “If you need to make sudden adjustments, it’s going to eat into your own allowance.” I looked at the completely butchered schedule, and tapped ‘Decline.’ Eleanor frowned slightly. “Why did you reject the invite?” “I won’t be needing it.” Lucas’s hand was still resting on her arm. Eleanor stared at me for a few heavy seconds, but ultimately didn’t push the issue. Later that evening, my mother-in-law called. She only had two sentences for me: “Your father’s cremated. Stop bringing that depressing energy around Eleanor.” “Bring Lucas over for dinner tonight. He made the shortlist for partnership, the family is throwing him a celebratory dinner.” Eleanor set her phone down and looked at me. “We leave after we eat. The family dinner will not be deducted from your five hours.” I nodded. Chapter 4 When Lucas slid into her passenger seat, he looked back at me and offered a brilliant smile. “Sorry you have to endure this, bro. Your dad just died, and now you have to celebrate my promotion.” At the Vance family dining table, Lucas was once again seated directly beside Eleanor. My mother-in-law personally poured his wine. “When you quit the firm years ago, the partnership track slot that opened up went straight to Lucas.” “Looking at it now, I’m glad that position wasn’t wasted.” Lucas raised his glass toward me. “I really should thank you, bro.” “If you hadn’t walked away, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to be personally mentored by Eleanor.” Seeing my bloodshot eyes, Eleanor interrupted him, her tone flat. “Partnership tracks are allocated based on merit and performance. They do not belong to anyone.” “Lucas secured his position because he generated sufficient value.” My mother-in-law laughed and nodded approvingly. “A man needs to have his own career.” “Sitting around the house waiting on a woman all day, eventually having to beg his wife for a pathetic five-hour allowance… what kind of miserable life is that?” The entire table erupted into laughter. I kept my head down, slowly drinking my completely cold tea. After the dinner concluded, a maid carried a cardboard box down from upstairs. My mother-in-law casually shoved it toward me. “I had the staff clear out the nursery in your house.” “When Lucas and Eleanor are working late, he can use it to organize case files. It’s right next to the home office.” Eleanor’s face instantly darkened. “Who authorized you to touch that room?” “It was a baby that didn’t even make it. Why is an empty room just sitting there taking up space?” my mother-in-law scoffed dismissively. “You can’t expect the careers of living, breathing people to suffer just to make room for a baby that’s been dead for two years.” Lucas gently squeezed Eleanor’s arm. “Eleanor, just leave it as it was.” “I’m sure my brother-in-law can’t bear to give the baby’s room to me.” “Keep it.” I picked up the cardboard box. “I won’t be needing it anymore.” Eleanor shot me a look. She seemed to catch the finality in my tone. But Lucas had an international arbitration conference call scheduled for 10:00 PM. In the end, she only said: “Let’s go.” It was pouring rain outside. Lucas sat in the passenger seat. I sat in the back, holding the cardboard box on my lap. As we merged onto the highway, Lucas suddenly turned around, reaching into the box and pulling out an old ultrasound scan. “So this was the baby you guys lost.” He held it up to the streetlights passing by, then clicked the play button on a small, fetal heartbeat recorder resting in the box. The rapid, vibrant sound of a tiny, beating heart filled the car. Lucas smiled. “Eleanor only gives you five hours a year.” “If this kid had survived, would you have had to slice off a few minutes from your five hours to give to him?” My breathing violently stopped. Eleanor gripped the steering wheel tight. “Lucas. Put it back.” Lucas rolled his eyes. As he reached over the center console to toss the items back, a car suddenly cut aggressively into our lane. Eleanor slammed on the brakes. The iced coffee sitting in Lucas’s cup holder launched out, soaking the ultrasound scan completely. The fetal heartbeat recorder flew out of his hand, landed under the passenger seat, and was brutally crushed under the heavy heel of his dress shoe. I lunged forward, desperately clawing it out from beneath the seat. The plastic casing was completely shattered, and the memory card was snapped perfectly in half. The ultrasound scan was utterly drenched in dark coffee. The tiny, blurry silhouette of my child slowly dissolved into a meaningless, black stain right before my eyes. “Oops. Sorry about that, bro.” Lucas looked at my reddened, furious eyes. I tried to wipe the coffee off the ultrasound scan with my sleeve, my hands trembling so violently I could barely hold the paper. “Take the next exit.” “There’s a 24-hour data recovery center near here.” Eleanor glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Lucas’s conference call is in seventeen minutes.” “I will drop him off first, and then I will take you.” I gripped the shattered recorder tightly. “The device suffered water damage. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to recover the files.” “If we go to the tech shop first, it will only delay us by ten minutes.” Her voice was terrifyingly calm and rational. “It is a single image, and a two-year-old audio file. Recovering them will not alter the reality of what happened. It is meaningless.” I looked up, the tears finally overflowing and streaming down my face. “That was our child.” Eleanor looked at me in the rearview mirror, her expression suddenly freezing. She remained silent for a long time. “Next year, I will eliminate the five-hour allowance cap. Family matters will no longer be put on the clock.” “Consider this my compensation to you. Acceptable?” I was just about to scream back, but she turned on the hazard lights and pulled the car over onto the shoulder. It was a torrential downpour outside. The nearest exit was still half a mile away. She looked at my red, swollen eyes, and unlocked the doors. “You need to get out and go home. Your current emotional volatility is going to disrupt Lucas’s preparation for his conference call.” Eleanor personally reached back and opened my door. Seeing my ghost-pale face, a tiny sliver of actual heartbreak finally surfaced in her eyes. She took off her designer overcoat and draped it over my shoulders. “My assistant will meet you at the exit ramp. Don’t catch a cold.” Utterly hollow and broken, clutching the only two remaining memories of my dead child, I stepped out into the pouring rain. I walked down the shoulder of the highway, through the storm, all the way to the data recovery shop. The technician cracked open the recorder, inspected the damage, and slowly shook his head. At 1:00 AM, I placed the signed divorce agreement squarely on Eleanor’s mahogany desk. At 2:40 AM, my rescheduled flight to London took off right on time. This time, her five hours—and every single hour she had left for the rest of her life—I didn’t want a single second of them.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568419”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Right before Thanksgiving, Sarah, our office manager, handed me an envelope with five hundred dollars in cash. Written on the front was: Employee Thanksgiving Gift Budget. The next second, she dropped a message into the main company Slack channel: “I’ve handed the Thanksgiving gift budget over to Mia, the new administrative assistant. If anyone has any special requests, just let her know!” In my past life, I took that five hundred dollars and drove to every wholesale club in the city, desperately trying to stretch it to buy pies, nuts, and fruit baskets for over two hundred employees. When the money ran out, I dipped into my own savings, paying three thousand dollars out of pocket. But when the gifts were distributed, everyone complained they looked cheap. “Is the company really this stingy this year?” “They call this a Thanksgiving bonus?” “Do you think the new admin pocketed the difference?” My face turned beet red as I tried to explain that the budget was only five hundred dollars. But Sarah stood right there in front of the entire office and dropped a bombshell with effortless casualty: “What? I clearly handed you five thousand.” That single sentence nailed me to the cross. Ultimately, I was sued by the company for embezzlement. I became the greedy thief everyone whispered about, and I was beaten to death in a women’s correctional facility. After I died, I heard Sarah laughing on the phone with her husband: “I used that five grand to pay off our mortgage months ago.” “It’s her own fault for being so stupid. Who accepts cash without a receipt?” This time around, I didn’t say a word. I took a photo of the envelope, the cash spread out, and the handwriting on the cover, and dropped it straight into the main company Slack channel. I tagged #everyone. “Hi Sarah, I’ve received the employee Thanksgiving gift budget.” “Five hundred dollars in cash.” “We have two hundred and thirty-five employees in the company. Does anyone have any specific requests?” 1. The Slack channel went dead silent for several seconds. Finally, Mark, the Sales Manager, popped up: “Mia, is this five hundred dollars the budget per person, or the budget for the entire company?” I stared at the screen and typed slowly. “Mark, it’s for the entire company.” “Sarah from HR just handed me five hundred dollars in cash. The envelope literally says ‘Employee Thanksgiving Gift Budget’ on it.” The moment I hit send, the channel absolutely exploded. Dave from Marketing: “Two hundred and thirty-five employees. A five-hundred-dollar budget. So the average is like… two dollars and twelve cents per person?” Kevin from Sales: “What does that buy? A single slice of pumpkin pie? Or do we just get to smell a turkey and pass it around the department?” Josh from IT: “Is the company really doing that badly? Or does the boss just hate us?” Lily from Customer Service: “Honestly, just don’t give us a bonus at all. This is just insulting.” The messages flew up the screen. People who usually lurked in the channel were suddenly furious. Some posted question marks. Some posted sarcastic laughing emojis. And someone tagged the CEO directly. “@Michael, is the Thanksgiving budget really only five hundred dollars?” “We’re just trying to confirm.” The situation was escalating rapidly, but I sat at my desk, completely unbothered. Soon enough, the CEO came online. He posted a single sentence. “@Sarah, what is going on with the budget?” The channel went quiet again. It took a long time before Sarah finally replied. She acted as if she had just seen the messages. “Oh my gosh, everyone is misunderstanding!” “Mia must not have heard me correctly. That five hundred dollars isn’t the total budget for the entire company.” “I just told her to use that money to buy a few samples first.” “We wanted to test out different pies, nuts, and fruit baskets. Once we pick the best ones, we’ll process the official budget.” She quickly added another message. “Don’t overthink it, guys. The company would never shortchange you!” The channel slowly calmed down. Someone joked: “I knew it. Two dollars a person is just too ridiculous.” The CEO didn’t say anything else. On the surface, the crisis had been averted. But exactly ten minutes later. Sarah violently shoved open the door to my small office and slammed her hand hard onto my desk. “Mia, what the hell was that?!” She kept her voice low, but her face was dark with fury. “I gave this task to you because I trusted you.” “And what do you do? You immediately blast it in the company channel! Were you intentionally trying to embarrass the boss?” I looked up at her, my heart terrifyingly calm. In my past life, she had done the exact same thing, heavily implying that this was the CEO’s directive: “Mia, the company’s financials haven’t been great lately. The boss specifically said we need to cut costs. The Thanksgiving gift is just a formality this year.” “You’re young, you have the energy. Work a little harder, stretch the money, and let’s just get this formality over with.” I believed her. I took that five hundred dollars and drove to every wholesale club in the county, comparing prices down to the cent. But even then, it wasn’t nearly enough. In the end, I used my entire first month’s intern paycheck to cover the difference. Three thousand dollars out of pocket. And when the gifts were distributed, everyone accused me of skimming off the top. My face burned as I tried frantically to explain that the budget was only five hundred dollars. But Sarah stood right there in the crowd, pretending to be absolutely shocked: “What? I clearly gave you five thousand dollars.” In the middle of the office, everyone’s eyes drilled into me like daggers. The CEO’s face was livid. Coworkers whispered viciously. “She looked so innocent. I can’t believe she had the nerve.” “She pocketed a five-thousand-dollar bonus all by herself?” “No wonder the gifts were so pathetic. The rest of the money went straight into her bank account.” I had absolutely no way to defend myself. Because Sarah gave me cash. There was no bank transfer. There was no receipt. The security cameras only caught her handing me an envelope, but they couldn’t see what was inside it. She was a veteran employee. I was just a probationary intern desperately trying to get hired full-time. No one believed me. Ultimately, I was sued by the company, branded a thief, and beaten to death in prison. After I died, I heard Sarah talking to her husband on the phone: “I used that five grand to pay off our mortgage months ago.” “It’s her own fault for being so stupid. Who accepts cash without a receipt?” Thinking of this, my fingers slowly curled into fists. This time, no one was going to make me their scapegoat. 2. Seeing that I remained silent, Sarah assumed I was reacting just like my past self—terrified by her intimidation. Her expression softened slightly. “Mia, I’m not attacking you.” “But you know how it is. Squeezing the Thanksgiving budget was the boss’s idea.” “You’re just an intern. Stop being so rigid and blabbing everything to the entire company.” She paused, then lowered her voice further. “Mia, you’re up for your full-time review at the end of the month, right?” “Look at you. You didn’t go to an Ivy League school, you don’t have any connections. Whether you get hired full-time or not is entirely up to the boss.” “If you handle this beautifully, the boss will notice.” “When the time comes, I’ll put in a good word for you. The company will naturally want to keep you. Isn’t that a lot better than showing off in a Slack channel?” In my past life, these were the exact words that trapped me. I was terrified of not getting the job. I was terrified the boss would think I was incompetent. I was terrified that with one word, Sarah could have me fired. So I took that five hundred dollars and ran myself ragged across town. When the money wasn’t enough, I paid out of my own pocket. And I foolishly believed it. I believed that if I just got the job done, the boss would see my hard work, and I’d get to stay. But now I realized… she had calculated me perfectly from the very beginning. She knew I was timid. She knew I wouldn’t dare ask questions. She knew I would swallow the grievance silently. And in the end, she could effortlessly dump all the dirty water onto my head, while using the stolen money to pay off her mortgage! This time, I lowered my head, perfectly mimicking the timid, frightened intern from my past life. “Sarah, I understand.” “I was too impulsive just now.” The anger on Sarah’s face faded a bit more. “Good.” I bit my lip, acting as if I was deeply conflicted. “Can I just confirm one more time?” “For this Thanksgiving, the total budget for all two hundred and thirty-five employees really is just five hundred dollars. Right?” Sarah looked impatient, but she answered: “Yes.” “Didn’t I just tell you? The company needs to cut costs.” I asked again: “And this is explicitly the CEO’s directive?” Sarah replied: “Yes.” “Of course it’s his directive. Do you really think an Office Manager has the authority to slash a budget on her own?” I nodded, continuing my inquiry: “And if I handle this situation perfectly, the boss will consider bringing me on full-time?” Sarah’s face turned serious. “Yes.” “Mia, if you actually want to stay here, get the job done right. Do not cause any more problems for me.” She tapped the envelope sitting on my desk, pushing it slightly closer to me. “Keep the money safe.” “Don’t say another word in the group chat.” “When you go shopping, be smart about it. Make the packaging look nice so people don’t immediately realize it’s cheap.” I replied softly. “Okay, Sarah.” She stood up, issuing one final warning. “Mia, you only get one shot at this. Do not disappoint me again.” The moment my office door clicked shut. The timid, frightened look on my face vanished completely. I picked up my phone and hit “Stop Recording.” The entire conversation, not a single word missed. Five hundred dollars. Total company budget. The CEO’s directive. Handling it poorly will affect my full-time offer. Every single sentence, crystal clear. I saved the audio file and immediately backed it up to my encrypted cloud drive. Then, I spread the envelope out on my desk again. The front: Employee Thanksgiving Gift Budget. The five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. The desktop monitor displaying the exact date and time. I took photos of everything. And saved them all into a locked, encrypted album. This time, I wasn’t going to rely on my words to explain anything. I was going to let the evidence do the talking. Just as I finished, the company Slack channel started blowing up again. Kevin from Sales tagged me first. “Mia, I want those gourmet truffle chocolates.” “The ones the tech company next door gave out last year. They looked super high-end.” Dave from Marketing followed up. “Make sure the mixed nuts are name-brand.” “Don’t get that cheap, bulk-bin trail mix.” Lily from Customer Service chimed in: “Can we get some nice fruit added? Organic grapes or premium cherries would be great.” Josh from IT was the most direct. “I’m not picky.” “Pies, nuts, fruit, Amazon gift cards. Just give us something actually worth having.” Immediately, a wall of “+1” flooded the chat. Sarah popped up in the channel again. “Mia, make sure you write down everyone’s requests. Try to accommodate them as best as you can.” “It’s the holidays! Keeping everyone happy is the most important thing!” She added a smiley face emoji at the end, playing the role of the incredibly thoughtful, caring HR manager flawlessly. I stared at the screen and slowly typed my reply: “Will do, Sarah.” “I’ve noted everyone’s requests and will do my absolute best to accommodate them.” Watching the absolute frenzy in the chat, I felt terrifyingly calm. Because I knew that the day before Thanksgiving… was when the real war was going to start. 3. On the day I went procurement shopping, I didn’t drive across the entire county hitting every wholesale club like I did in my past life. I drove straight to a discount bulk warehouse on the edge of town. The most basic, generic mini pumpkin pies. Two hundred and thirty-five of them. Five hundred dollars. After deducting the delivery fee, it was exactly enough. I demanded the store owner give me an itemized, official receipt. Item description. Quantity. Unit price. Total price. Not a single detail was missing. When I paid the bill, I recorded a video of the entire transaction on my phone. In my past life, I sacrificed my own paycheck just to save face for the company. This time, I operated strictly within the budget I was given. The day before Thanksgiving. The delivery guys from the warehouse hauled several large cardboard boxes into the reception area. I signed for them, moved the boxes into the breakroom, and dropped a message in the company Slack: “The Thanksgiving gifts have arrived.” “Everyone can come to the breakroom to pick theirs up.” The message had barely been sent before a stampede of footsteps echoed down the hall. The Sales team was the first to arrive. Kevin walked in, laughing loudly. “Where are my truffle chocolates?!” Dave from Marketing was right behind him. “Let’s see what kind of haul we got this year.” Lily from Customer Service had her phone out, ready to post. “I need to get a picture of this for my Instagram story.” But the second the boxes were opened, every single voice in the room died. Inside the cardboard boxes, there were no gift baskets. No gourmet nuts. No organic fruit. And definitely no Amazon gift cards. There was only a mountain of generic, shrink-wrapped mini pumpkin pies. Packaged in cheap, flimsy plastic, with a faded label printed on top. Kevin’s face instantly dropped. “What the hell is this?” Dave picked up one of the mini pies, inspecting it with disgust. “This is what we’re getting?” Lily frowned deeply. “Didn’t you say you were going to try and accommodate everyone’s requests?” Josh from IT let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Two hundred people, and we each get one shitty gas-station pie?” Every single pair of eyes in the breakroom snapped directly to me. I stood there, my expression perfectly flat. “The budget was exactly five hundred dollars.” “I bought exactly what the budget allowed.” The moment those words dropped, the crowd exploded. “Five hundred again?!” “Didn’t Sarah say the five hundred was just for samples?!” “Did you actually pocket the rest of the money?” “Even these pathetic things couldn’t have cost five hundred dollars!” I didn’t rush to explain. Because I knew the main character hadn’t arrived yet. Sure enough, Sarah pushed her way through the crowd a minute later. She took one look at the open boxes, and her face instantly darkened. Just like in my past life, she immediately went on the offensive, flipping the blame entirely onto me. “Mia, what is the meaning of this?!” “Didn’t I explicitly tell you to handle this properly?” “And you use this absolute garbage to insult everyone?!” I looked at her. In my mind, the memories of my past life rushed back. The exact same scene. The exact same interrogation. The exact same malicious framing. But the difference was, I was no longer the girl from my past life. “Sarah. The budget was five hundred dollars.” Sarah acted as if she had just heard the most absurd joke in the world, her voice spiking in volume. “Five hundred?!” “Mia, are you seriously trying to lie to my face right now?” “I clearly gave you FIVE THOUSAND dollars!” The breakroom went dead silent. Everyone’s gaze instantly, violently shifted back to me. It was exactly like my past life. Suspicion. Disgust. And the sick thrill of watching a scandal unfold. Sarah’s eyes welled with tears, acting as if she was deeply, personally betrayed. “You’re just an intern. I took you under my wing, I took care of you. How could you do something like this?” “That was the holiday bonus money for the entire staff!” She laid it on thicker, her voice breaking. “If you were having financial problems, you could have just told me! I would have lent you the money! But how could you embezzle the company’s Thanksgiving budget?!” At that exact moment, the CEO, Michael, walked in. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his face livid. “What is going on here?” Sarah immediately turned to him. “Michael, I handed five thousand dollars in cash to Mia and told her to manage the Thanksgiving gifts.” “And this is what she bought. Now she’s trying to claim I only gave her five hundred.” Michael looked at me, his eyes dark and threatening. “Mia. Do you have an explanation for this?” I didn’t answer him. I looked directly at Sarah. “Sarah. Are you absolutely certain you gave me five thousand dollars?” Sarah’s face stiffened for a microsecond, but she quickly covered it with a cold scoff. “Mia, are you seriously trying to shift the blame onto me at this point?” I didn’t take the bait. I simply asked again: “Sarah, think very carefully. Did you give me five hundred, or five thousand?” Sarah ground her teeth. “Obviously, it was five thousand!” Michael’s face was rigid with anger. He pulled out his phone. “Since we can’t get a straight answer, we’ll let the police handle it.” I nodded. “Perfect.” Half an hour later. The police arrived at the office. “Are you admitting to receiving five thousand dollars in cash?” the officer asked me. I shook my head. “I only received five hundred.” Sarah immediately interjected. “She’s lying!” “I handed the money to her myself!” The officer looked at me. “Do you have proof?” That was the exact question I had been waiting for. In my past life, I had no proof. I only had my word. And no one believed me. This time, I pulled out my phone, opened the audio file, and hit play. Sarah’s voice rang out, crystal clear, through the speaker… 4. The recording was flawless. “Can I just confirm one more time? For this Thanksgiving, the total budget for all two hundred and thirty-five employees really is just five hundred dollars. Right?” That was my voice. Immediately following it was Sarah’s impatient, dismissive reply. “Yes.” “Didn’t I just tell you? The company needs to cut costs.” The entire breakroom went dead silent. The recording continued. “And this is explicitly the CEO’s directive?” “Yes. Of course it’s his directive. Do you really think an Office Manager has the authority to slash a budget on her own?” The color began to violently drain from Sarah’s face. She lunged forward, desperately trying to snatch my phone. “Mia, you recorded me?!” I took a quick step back. The police officer immediately raised his hand, physically blocking her. “Ma’am, please step back and remain calm.” I didn’t pause the audio. The recording captured her lowering her voice, taking on that conspiratorial, threatening tone. “Mia, you’re up for your full-time review at the end of the month, right?” “If you handle this beautifully, the boss will notice.” “Keep the money safe. Don’t say another word in the group chat.” “When you go shopping, be smart about it. Make the packaging look nice so people don’t immediately realize it’s cheap.” The recording ended. The silence in the breakroom was suffocating. Every single person who had just been accusing me of embezzlement was now completely, awkwardly silent. Michael’s face had turned an apocalyptic shade of purple. He slowly turned to look at Sarah. “Sarah. You told her this was my directive?” Sarah’s lips trembled uncontrollably. “Michael, I… I didn’t mean it like that.” “I was just trying to control overhead.” “Hasn’t the company been heavily emphasizing budget cuts lately?” Michael let out a harsh, freezing laugh. “Cutting the budget to five hundred dollars for over two hundred employees?” “And doing it under my name?!” Panic flooded Sarah’s eyes. But like a cornered rat, she desperately tried to bite back at me. “But what does that recording actually prove?!” “She only recorded the second half of the conversation!” “Before that happened, I had already given her the five thousand!” “That five hundred was just extra cash I gave her to buy the initial samples!” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Even backed into a corner with undeniable evidence, she was still fighting. I looked at the police officer. “I have more evidence.” I opened my encrypted photo album. The first photo was the front of the envelope. Written in Sharpie: Employee Thanksgiving Gift Budget. The second photo was the flap open, displaying exactly five one-hundred-dollar bills. The third photo was a wide shot showing the envelope, the cash, and my computer monitor clearly displaying the date and timestamp. The fourth photo was a screenshot of my message in the main company Slack channel. I zoomed in on each photo, one by one. “I took these photos the exact second she handed me the money.” “The timestamps match the company chat logs perfectly.” “I explicitly stated in the public channel: ‘I have received five hundred dollars in cash.’” “If she really gave me five thousand dollars, why didn’t she correct me immediately in front of the entire company?” Mark, the Sales Manager, immediately spoke up. “She’s right. Mia said it in the main channel.” “We all saw it.” Dave from Marketing nodded vigorously. “I even asked her specifically if the five hundred was per person or for the whole company.” “She said it was for the whole company.” Lily from Customer Service added quietly: “Sarah came into the chat later and claimed the five hundred was just for samples.” “But she never once mentioned that she had given Mia five thousand dollars.” Josh from IT glared at Sarah, his face flushed with anger. “Were you just playing us for idiots?” “Telling us to submit requests for expensive gifts when you knew the budget was only five hundred bucks?!” Sarah’s eyes were red, panicking wildly. “Don’t listen to her!” “Mia is incredibly manipulative! She’s been gunning for a full-time offer, she wants my job, so she intentionally set me up!” I looked at her with absolute, unwavering calm. “Sarah. All I did was take a picture of the money you handed me.” “And record the exact words that came out of your mouth.” “If this is a trap, you’re the one who built it, and you’re the one who walked right into it.” The police officer turned to Michael. “Sir, what was the actual, officially approved budget for the Thanksgiving bonuses?” Michael turned to look at the Director of Finance. The Finance Director had been standing quietly at the back of the crowd. Her face looked incredibly strained. “Michael, let me pull up the system logs right now.” She pulled out her phone and logged into the corporate accounting portal. A few seconds later, she looked up. “The officially approved budget for the Thanksgiving employee gifts was five thousand dollars.” “The approval signature is Michael’s.” “The cash disbursement was signed out by… Sarah from HR.” The moment that sentence dropped, the breakroom absolutely exploded. “Five thousand?!” “Then where the hell is the money?!” “Sarah withdrew five grand, handed Mia five hundred, and kept the rest?!” “Where did the other forty-five hundred dollars go?!” Sarah’s face was ashen. The color of a corpse. She tried to stammer out a defense. “No, I just… I hadn’t had a chance to give it to her yet.” “The money is still locked in my desk.” Michael asked coldly: “Where is the money?” Sarah opened her mouth, but she couldn’t force a single syllable out. The police officer looked directly at her. “Ma’am, since the company has verified that five thousand dollars was disbursed to you, you need to explain exactly where that cash went.” Sarah’s hands began to shake violently. I stared at her. But I didn’t feel the euphoric rush of triumph I thought I would. Because in my past life, I was the one standing in that exact spot. Surrounded by everyone. Screamed at by everyone. I begged, over and over again, swearing I only received five hundred dollars. But no one believed me. This time, she finally got to taste exactly what that felt like.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568418”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day of my strategic corporate engagement to Nathaniel Prescott, heir to New York’s top billionaire dynasty, he suddenly handed me a DNA test. “Eleanor, I have a son on the outside. He’s already three years old.” Saying this, he pulled the woman in the white dress next to him closer: “This is Vanessa. My son’s mother, and the only woman I will ever truly love in this lifetime.” “As for you and me, this is just a corporate merger arranged by our families. So you’d better play smart. After the wedding, we live our separate lives.” “As long as you behave, the position of Mrs. Prescott will always be yours.” I listened to him and almost laughed out loud. The position of Mrs. Prescott? He said it like he was handing out charity. Did he seriously not know that the Sinclair and Prescott families weren’t merging for prestige? We were merging our resources. So our future children could legitimately inherit everything! But look at him. Before the rings were even exchanged, he produced a three-year-old son to demand a cut of the empire? I slapped the DNA test right back against his chest. “Nathaniel, corporate marriages require smart partners, not idiots who can’t keep it in their pants.” “Since you can’t bear to part with your true love and your son, I’ll go find Grandpa Prescott right now and have him swap out his heir!” “After all… you’re not the only man in the Prescott family.” 1. Nathaniel’s face darkened instantly at my words. He grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Eleanor Sinclair, stop right there.” “Today is the day our families officially merge. This is not the place for you to throw a spoiled princess tantrum.” I glanced down at his hand. “Let go.” He didn’t. Instead, he lowered his voice. “If you walk out there and make a scene in front of my grandfather, you’ll just embarrass both our families.” I looked at him and let out a scoff. “Embarrass?” “Nathaniel, you brought your mistress and your illegitimate child to our engagement party, and you’re lecturing me about being an embarrassment?” His expression grew even colder. “I’ve already made myself perfectly clear. The title of Mrs. Prescott is yours. Vanessa and the kid won’t threaten your position.” “What the hell are you still making a fuss about?” I was so infuriated by his sheer audacity that I almost laughed again. “Won’t threaten me?” “Will that kid have the Prescott last name?” “Will he demand a share of the Prescott stock in the future?” “When you and I have children, are they going to have to call your bastard son their older brother?” Nathaniel frowned deeply. “Oliver is my blood. I can’t just disown him.” I nodded. “So you want the Sinclair family’s resources, you want your true love, and you want your illegitimate son to legitimately inherit a piece of the pie?” “Nathaniel, you’ve really got it all figured out, don’t you?” A few scoffs echoed around us. Not directed at Nathaniel. Directed at me, for being “unreasonable.” Nathaniel’s frat-boy friends circled up. A guy in a floral shirt holding a martini glass drawled, “Ms. Sinclair, let it go.” “Who in our circle doesn’t have a little something on the side?” Another chimed in: “Exactly. Nate is willing to give you the title of Mrs. Prescott. That’s respectful enough to the Sinclairs.” “So what if he has someone on the outside?” “As long as it’s not shoved in everyone’s faces, we all just turn a blind eye, right?” I slowly scanned their faces. I knew them all. Tyler Vance. Wyatt Brooks. And Logan Caldwell, the youngest son who was always trending online for some scandal. They were all useless trust-fund babies kept around for amusement. No company responsibilities. No projects to touch. Their families’ only expectation was that they didn’t cause a PR disaster. Of course they didn’t care. Because they were never in line for the throne anyway. But Nathaniel was different. He was the personally appointed successor to the Prescott empire. He wasn’t marrying me for romance. He was marrying me for the integration of the Prescott and Sinclair empires. It was capital, distribution channels, networks, and shares. And the legitimacy of the next generation of heirs. But here he was, smashing the Prescotts’ most important bargaining chip before the engagement was even sealed. I pulled out my phone and texted my dad. “Nathaniel has a mistress and an illegitimate son. The merger is compromised.” Nathaniel noticed immediately. His eyes darkened. “Who are you texting?” I put my phone away. “None of your business.” As we stood at a stalemate, Vanessa stepped forward, holding the boy. Her eyes were red as she looked at me: “Ms. Sinclair, please don’t blame Nate. It’s all my fault.” “I shouldn’t even exist, and I shouldn’t have come today.” She patted the boy’s head. “But Oliver has wanted to see his daddy since he was a baby.” “I just wanted him to know he isn’t fatherless.” The boy immediately hugged Nathaniel’s leg, his childish voice pleading: “Daddy, please don’t abandon me and Mommy.” The anger in Nathaniel’s eyes instantly melted into heartbreak. He knelt down and scooped the boy up. “Daddy will never abandon you.” Vanessa’s tears fell faster. “Ms. Sinclair, Nate is just too devoted.” “You are the Sinclair heiress, you have everything.” “I only have Nate and our child. I swear I will never fight you for the position of Mrs. Prescott.” She spoke beautifully. Not fighting for the position? Then why show up on my engagement day? Wasn’t that proof enough? I looked at her, my voice turning to ice: “Ms. Miller, you don’t need to play the victim here.” “After all, I didn’t force you to have a kid, and I certainly didn’t force you into Nathaniel’s bed.” Her face turned chalk white. Nathaniel stood up abruptly. “Eleanor Sinclair! Watch your mouth.” I met his gaze: “Too harsh for you?” “Then why didn’t you think it was ugly when you were doing it?” Nathaniel’s chest heaved with rage. He raised his hand, fully intending to strike me. Just then, rapid footsteps echoed from the hallway outside the lounge. Seeing who had arrived, my tense nerves finally relaxed. 2. My dad’s executive assistant, Mr. Hayes, walked in with several security personnel. He had been with my dad for decades. Always steady. Even during corporate crises, he never blinked. But today, his face was terrifyingly cold. He checked on me first to ensure I wasn’t hurt. Then he turned to Nathaniel. “Mr. Prescott, Chairman Sinclair sent me to escort Ms. Sinclair home.” Seeing him, Nathaniel begrudgingly lowered his hand but still sneered: “Mr. Sinclair couldn’t be bothered to come himself, so he sends an assistant?” Mr. Hayes’ tone was flat. “Chairman Sinclair is currently en route.” “Until he arrives, I represent the Sinclair family in handling this matter.” Nathaniel scoffed. “Represent the Sinclair family?” “Mr. Hayes, aren’t you overestimating your worth?” “At the end of the day, you’re just an employee on the Sinclair payroll.” Mr. Hayes remained unfazed. “You can look down on me, Mr. Prescott, but I am not speaking for myself today.” “Ms. Sinclair is the sole daughter and future heir to the Sinclair Group.” “This marriage was predicated on aligning the interests of both heirs.” “By publicly acknowledging an illegitimate child, you have severely undermined the foundation of this merger.” Nathaniel’s expression darkened. “Save the corporate jargon.” “I have a kid. I’m not asking Eleanor to step down.” Mr. Hayes continued: “The issue isn’t the title of ‘Mrs. Prescott.’ The issue is the uncertainty it introduces to the future equity and succession of the Prescott empire.” “The Sinclairs will not bet our resources on someone who is a ticking time bomb for an internal succession war.” That hit Nathaniel right where it hurt. The succession was what he cared about most. And Mr. Hayes was absolutely right. Nathaniel sneered. “Such a high-and-mighty speech. Isn’t this just because Eleanor refuses to accept Vanessa and the boy?” He acted like he was making a massive concession. “Fine. I can agree to this.” “After we get married, Vanessa and the kid won’t live on the main Prescott estate, and they won’t appear in front of Eleanor. Does that satisfy you?” He looked at me, as if expecting me to be grateful. It was purely delusional. He ruined my engagement with his mistress and child, and now claiming they’d stay out of my sight was his idea of a compromise? Mr. Hayes frowned. “Mr. Prescott, you don’t understand the Sinclair family’s position.” “What we cannot accept is the inheritance risk this child inherently represents.” Nathaniel’s face turned completely black. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Hayes.” “My son doesn’t need to be evaluated by an outsider.” Mr. Hayes lowered his eyes slightly. “I am merely stating facts.” “If you insist on maintaining the status quo, the Sinclair family will reevaluate our partnership with the Prescotts.” Nathaniel violently smashed his champagne glass on the floor. Glass shattered everywhere. The room went dead silent. He pointed at Mr. Hayes. “Who the hell do you think you are?” “Threatening me on my turf?” I stepped forward, looking at Nathaniel: “His words are the Sinclair family’s official stance.” Nathaniel looked at me, his eyes frighteningly dark. “Eleanor, are you really going to burn this bridge?” I shot back: “Am I the one burning bridges?” Suddenly, Vanessa fell to her knees, clutching her child. A collective gasp rippled through the room. “Ms. Sinclair, please don’t make this hard for Nate.” “Don’t let me and my child ruin the partnership between your families.” “I know I don’t come from a good background. I know I don’t compare to you.” “I know Oliver shouldn’t have been born.” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “If you truly can’t tolerate us, I can take him and leave.” “We’ll go far away, and you’ll never see us again.” The boy started crying too. “Mommy, I don’t want to go.” “I want Daddy.” Nathaniel immediately pulled her up. “Vanessa, what are you saying?” “I told you, I won’t let you or our son suffer.” Vanessa leaned into his chest, crying harder. “But Ms. Sinclair doesn’t like us.” “The Sinclair family is so powerful, I’m genuinely scared.” At those words, Nathaniel’s glare toward me turned ice-cold, as if I were driving a mother and child to their deaths. I had seen enough. I didn’t want to engage with their toxic drama anymore. I turned to Mr. Hayes. “Let’s go.” “There’s no point in negotiating further.” Mr. Hayes nodded and signaled his security team to escort me out. But we barely took two steps. The heavy doors of the VIP lounge were slammed shut from the outside. A dozen heavily built bodyguards in black suits poured in from the side doors, surrounding us completely. 3. The room fell silent. Nathaniel’s frat-boy friends, however, got excited. The guy in the floral shirt whistled. “Nate’s actually pissed now.” “Ms. Sinclair, don’t push it.” “When Nate loses his temper, he’s not someone you can easily soothe.” Another laughed: “Just submit early and get it over with.” “Why push it to this point?” “Women just need to learn a lesson to know how to behave.” I looked at Nathaniel. “What are you trying to do?” Nathaniel walked toward me, step by step. “Isn’t it obvious?” “The engagement continues.” “The wedding continues.” “The Prescott-Sinclair merger must proceed.” I said coldly: “You can’t bear to lose the Sinclair resources, but you also can’t let go of Vanessa and her son.” “So you want both?” He didn’t deny it. “I can have both.” “Eleanor, you’re not a little girl anymore. How many high-society marriages are actually clean?” “You want the title of Mrs. Prescott and the financial benefits, I’ll give them to you.” “Vanessa wants me, I’ll give myself to her.” “They don’t conflict.” Looking at him, I suddenly felt he was completely alien and repulsive. “Don’t conflict?” “Nathaniel, you’ve never treated me like a human being.” “You just see me as a resource package delivered by the Sinclairs.” He frowned. “Don’t make it sound so ugly.” I smiled. “Fine, I’ll make it sound pretty.” “You fail to meet the Sinclair family’s partnership standards. You’ve been eliminated.” Nathaniel’s eyes darkened. “Say that again.” I enunciated every word: “I do not agree to this marriage.” “The Sinclairs won’t be desperate enough to accept a partner who can’t control his zipper and brings a bastard to split the inheritance.” “If you’re so capable, go confess to Grandpa Prescott.” Hearing this, Nathaniel suddenly smiled. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You think if you run to my grandfather, I’m finished?” “You’re too naive, Eleanor.” He raised his hand. A bodyguard stepped forward with a high-definition camcorder. The dark lens aimed right at me. My heart sank. I guessed what he was about to do. Sure enough, he said: “Eleanor, I know you feel slighted because I have a son. It’s simple.” “As long as I have leverage on you, we’re even.” My stomach churned. “Nathaniel, don’t cross the line!” He stared at me, his voice low. “I’m just teaching you reality.” “As long as I film something tonight, will you still dare to go crying to my grandfather? Will the Sinclairs still dare to back out of the wedding?” “When the time comes, you’ll have to obediently marry me.” Vanessa stood behind him, pale. “Nate, maybe we shouldn’t do this?” Nathaniel sighed and comforted her. “Vanessa, you’re too kind-hearted.” “Someone like her won’t submit unless we show her who’s boss.” He then ordered coldly: “Take her phone.” Mr. Hayes’ men immediately stepped up to block them. But they were outnumbered and quickly pinned to the floor by the Prescott bodyguards. Mr. Hayes was restrained by two massive men. He struggled. “Nathaniel Prescott!” “If you dare touch Ms. Sinclair today, there will be no turning back between our families!” Nathaniel smirked. “Once I have leverage on her, the Sinclairs will be more terrified of losing face than I am.” A bodyguard approached to grab my phone. I gripped it so tightly my nails dug painfully into my palms. In the next second. The phone was violently ripped away and smashed onto the floor, the screen shattering. I was grabbed by the shoulders by two bodyguards and dragged toward the center of the room. I kicked one of them. “Don’t touch me!” Nathaniel stood under the chandelier, his expression cold. “Eleanor, you forced my hand.” The red recording light on the camcorder blinked on. The lens moved closer to my face. In that moment, I felt a bone-chilling cold. I never thought a person could be this despicable. To secure his heir position and swallow the Sinclair resources, he was resorting to this filthy tactic to force me to submit. Mr. Hayes’ eyes were bloodshot. “Ms. Sinclair!” I gritted my teeth and kicked another bodyguard away. But the next moment, a heavy slap landed on my left cheek. I crashed to the floor, my forehead hitting the marble tile. It stung sharply. Just as the men with the camera advanced on me, a massive crash echoed from the heavy doors. An elderly man leaning on a silver-handled cane walked in. “You worthless animal, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” When Nathaniel saw who had arrived, all the color instantly drained from his face. 4. William Prescott Sr. stood in the doorway. Behind him was a small army of people. The Prescott estate manager. Corporate lawyers. And a heavily armed security detail. The room was dead silent. The smirks on the faces of Nathaniel’s friends froze entirely. Nathaniel stood paralyzed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Grandpa…” William raised his cane and slammed it against the floor. “Don’t you call me Grandpa!” “How did the Prescott family raise such a repulsive beast?!” Nathaniel turned deathly pale. He instinctively glanced toward Vanessa. Vanessa was clutching her child, trembling like a leaf, looking for a place to hide. But the exit was blocked. She had nowhere to go. William walked into the room. With every step, his cane striking the marble sounded like a hammer hitting an anvil. He looked at me first. I was still sitting on the floor. My forehead was bleeding. My cheek burned with pain. Mr. Hayes broke free from his captors and rushed to my side. “Ms. Sinclair!” His hands shook as he helped me up. “Are you okay?” I shook my head. “I’m fine.” It hurt. But more than the pain, I felt pure disgust. William’s eyes darkened when he saw the injuries on my face. He turned to Nathaniel. “Is this your idea of a corporate merger?” “Is this the respect you show the Sinclair family?” Nathaniel panicked. “Grandpa, it’s not like that.” “Eleanor was the one making a scene! She threatened to go to you and cancel the engagement, I was just trying to stop her in a panic…” William sneered. “In a panic?” “So you ordered the doors locked.” “You had your bodyguards restrain the Sinclair heiress.” “And you pointed a camera at her?” “Nathaniel, do you think I’ve gone senile?” Nathaniel’s lips went white. “I didn’t actually intend to hurt her.” He looked at me desperately. “Eleanor, I was just trying to scare you.” “I wasn’t really going to do anything.” I looked at him. My stomach churned. “Scare me?” “Nathaniel, if Mr. Prescott hadn’t arrived in time, how far were you planning to take that ‘scare’?” He opened his mouth. But couldn’t form a response. The eyes of everyone in the room were on him. His cronies were dead quiet. Tyler Vance quietly took a step back. William swept his gaze over them. His voice was terrifyingly cold. “Who was it just now who said women need to learn a lesson to know how to behave?” Those boys’ faces turned white as sheets. Nobody dared to make a sound. William asked again: “What, cat got your tongues now?” Tyler Vance broke first. “Mr. Prescott, I was just making a bad joke.” “I didn’t think Nate would actually…” William cut him off. “You didn’t think?” “Weren’t you all enjoying the show immensely?” He turned to his estate manager. “Copy the security footage from this hall and the video they were recording.” “Send a copy to the Vance, Brooks, and Caldwell families.” “Let them see exactly how their precious sons conduct themselves.” The color entirely left those boys’ faces. “Mr. Prescott!” “Please don’t!” “We just had too much to drink!” William didn’t even look at them. “Being drunk gives you a pass to act like accomplices to a crime?” “Then stop drinking permanently.” As soon as he finished speaking, the police officers who had arrived with him stepped forward. “Mr. Nathaniel Prescott, please come with us.” Nathaniel’s head snapped up. “For what?!” The officer was expressionless. “Attempted false imprisonment, assault, and making terroristic threats.” “We need you down at the precinct for questioning.” Nathaniel finally lost his composure completely. “Grandpa!” “I am the heir to the Prescott empire!” “You can’t let them take me!” William looked at him without a shred of sympathy. “As of today, you are no longer the heir.” That single sentence. Like a guillotine. It cleanly severed Nathaniel’s final lifeline. He froze. Even Vanessa jerked her head up to look at him. Nathaniel’s voice shook. “Grandpa, what did you say?” William enunciated every word: “The Prescott empire will not be handed over to a moron.” “Especially not one who sacrifices our corporate bottom lines for a mistress and an illegitimate child.” “Since you value your ‘true love’ so much, you can go be with her out on the streets.” “There is no place for you in the Prescott family anymore.” Nathaniel’s eyes turned red. “Grandpa, you raised and trained me yourself!” “You can’t discard me just because of a few words from Eleanor Sinclair!” William scoffed. “You think this is just because of her?” He raised his hand. A lawyer immediately handed him a stack of folders. William threw them at Nathaniel’s feet. “Take a good look.” “All the dirty deals you’ve been running behind my back for the last few years—did you think any of them could withstand an audit?” Nathaniel’s face turned ashen. He bent down and picked up the files. After just two pages, his hands began to shake. I wasn’t close. But I could see the bolded headings. Offshore accounts. Embezzled project funds. Shell companies. Capital flight. And one specific document. The purchase record for Vanessa Miller’s luxury condo. The funds came directly from a Prescott subsidiary. The room erupted in gasps. Vanessa’s face was chalk white, her grip on her child loosening. William turned to her. “Ms. Miller.” “You repeatedly claimed you wanted nothing from us.” “But the three luxury condos, the two sports cars, and the offshore bank accounts in your name… where did they come from?” Vanessa’s lips trembled. “I… I don’t know.” “Nate gave them to me.” “I didn’t know the money belonged to the corporation.” William said flatly: “You can tell that to the police.” Vanessa’s legs gave out. She almost collapsed to her knees. She looked at Nathaniel, crying. “Nate, explain it to them.” “I didn’t know the money was dirty. You told me it was your personal funds!” Nathaniel glared at her. Resentment flashing in his eyes for the first time. “Now you’re trying to distance yourself?” “You didn’t ask any questions when you were spending it!” All the blood drained from Vanessa’s face. The child, terrified, started crying loudly. “Daddy, Mommy…” That crying made everyone in the room grimace. Nathaniel seemed to grasp at his last straw. He picked up the child and walked toward William. “Grandpa.” “Oliver is innocent.” “He’s your great-grandson.” “Even if you don’t care about me anymore, for the child’s sake…” William looked at the boy. A complex emotion flashed in his eyes. But it quickly hardened back to ice. “The child is innocent.” “The adults are not.” “Today you used a child as leverage.” “Tomorrow you’d gamble the entire Prescott empire.” “Nathaniel, you are beyond saving.” Nathaniel tried to speak again. But the police had already grabbed his arms. This time, he didn’t fight back. Just before he was led away, he shot me a venomous glare. “Eleanor, are you happy now?” I reached up and wiped the dried blood from my forehead. My voice was completely calm. “Why would I be happy?” “I just got the justice I was owed.” He was taken away. Vanessa was also escorted out for questioning. The child was temporarily taken by the Prescott estate manager. The room was a chaotic mess. The people who had been enjoying the show earlier were all staring at the floor. Not a single one dared to utter a word. William walked over to me. He was old. But his gaze was as sharp as an eagle’s. “Eleanor.” “Today was a failure on the Prescott family’s part.” “I will personally visit the Sinclair estate to offer my formal apologies.” I looked at him. I didn’t respond immediately. If it were the old me, I probably would have considered the bigger picture. After all, a corporate merger isn’t a petty squabble. But today, I was almost ruined. I wasn’t going to cover for anyone anymore. I said: “Mr. Prescott.” “You can discuss apologies with my father.” “But the engagement between Nathaniel and me must be formally canceled.” William nodded. “As it should be.” He paused, then added: “There is more than just Nathaniel in his generation of the Prescott family.” “If the Sinclairs are still willing to partner…” I cut him off. “Mr. Prescott.” “I don’t want to discuss corporate marriages right now.” “I just want to go home.” William looked at me for a few seconds. Finally, he sighed. “Very well.” “Go home.” “The Prescott family will ensure you receive a proper explanation.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568417”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the third day of college marching band camp, I “died” right at the feet of my hyper-competitive roommate. I was born with a congenital heart defect. My resting heart rate is naturally slow; at its worst, it drops to twenty beats a minute. I had originally tried to get a medical exemption from camp, but the Band Director held my scholarship over my head: “Either you march on that field, or you lose your funding.” To make matters worse, my roommate, Chloe, had decided she was going to be the “Iron Woman” of the brass section. When others took water breaks, she yelled about endurance; When the drum majors called for dismissal, she volunteered to report people whose formations were sloppy. So, the entire section was forced to run extra laps with her. The resentment was hotter than the August sun. During our third set of penalty laps, I actually passed out. My brother, Ethan, who was working as a student athletic trainer, sprinted onto the field and carried me to the medical tent. Chloe brazenly blocked his path, her face flushed as she held out a bottle of Gatorade: “Ethan, you look so good carrying someone like that. Can I get your Snapchat?” Ethan ignored her completely. From that day on, she was convinced I had ruined her chances with him. She hid my medication. She ripped up my medical excuse notes. She even announced to the entire section that I was a “fragile snowflake who shatters if you look at her wrong,” pressuring the instructors to revoke my resting privileges. I just wanted to survive band camp in peace, but she insisted on dancing in a minefield. When she finally pointed her finger at my face and screamed, “Unless you literally drop dead right here, you’re not getting out of practice!”… I collapsed to the turf, and my heart stopped. On move-in day, I had slumped into my desk chair, watching Ethan efficiently unpack my boxes, hang my blackout curtains, and even zip-tie my power cords so I wouldn’t trip over them. “Ethan, that’s enough.” “I’m here for college, not a prison sentence.” “When your heart rate drops below forty beats a minute, it’s basically the same thing,” Ethan replied without looking back, meticulously organizing my emergency meds in my top drawer. “Your paperwork is filed, and I put five hundred dollars on your meal plan. Let me know if you need more.” The door burst open right at that moment. A girl in athletic wear, hauling two massive suitcases, shoved her way into the room. She looked like she had just crawled out of a swimming pool, sweat dripping down her neck. But the second her eyes landed on Ethan, her heavy, exhausted panting instantly morphed into a delicate, helpless sigh. “Oh my god, I’m so exhausted.” She wiped her forehead, dramatically fanning herself, batting her eyelashes. “Are you her boyfriend? You’re so sweet.” “Not like me. My family is so busy, they made me move in all by myself. They said independent girls are the most attractive.” Her name was Chloe. My first college roommate. Nickname: The Firecracker. I didn’t say anything, just gave a slight nod. Because of my congenital heart defect, my body operates at a fraction of a normal person’s pace. To conserve my pitifully limited energy, I had learned to minimize my daily interactions as much as possible. Ethan offered a polite nod and went back to fluffing my pillows. Seeing that no one was taking the bait, Chloe wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, she strutted over to me, looking down at my pale, sickly appearance. “Maya, right? I saw the housing roster.” Chloe smirked, radiating an inexplicable sense of superiority. “We’re in college now. Isn’t having a guy hang your curtains for you a little pathetic? We women need to be strong and independent. Otherwise, when you get into the real world, who’s going to cater to a fragile little snowflake like you?” I took a sip of my water, not even bothering to lift my eyes. Ethan’s hands stopped moving. He stood up straight, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A flash of intense annoyance crossed his face. “Excuse me, but everyone handles things differently.” “I suggest you refrain from talking to Maya like that in the future.” With that, he plugged my phone into the charger, gently ruffled my hair, and his tone instantly softened. “Your meds are in the top drawer. Call me if you need anything. I have a meeting with the athletic department, so I have to run.” Chloe relentlessly followed him out into the hallway, pulling out her phone. “Wait! You work with athletics? I’m sure we’ll bump into each other a lot. Let me get your snap!” Ethan didn’t even look back, disappearing down the corridor. Chloe’s hand, holding her phone, hung frozen in mid-air. Her face flushed beet red, then turned a sickly shade of green. She angrily dragged her suitcases over to her side of the room. When her eyes swept over me, they were filled with naked jealousy and contempt. “Your boyfriend thinks he’s pretty hot shit, huh? With an attitude like that, he’s going to get crushed in the real world.” “But then again, being stuck with someone who can’t even take care of herself, he’s probably just exhausted.” I didn’t have the energy to correct her twisted assumptions. I just rolled over in bed, ready to sleep. Chloe stomped off to the communal showers, muttering loudly under her breath: “Playing the tragic, sickly princess? Does she think this is a fucking movie?” My other roommate, Sarah, leaned over my bed and whispered cautiously: “Maya, you need to watch out for her. The way she looked at your ‘boyfriend’ earlier… she practically wanted to eat him. She’s incredibly competitive, and she’s definitely going to blame you for him rejecting her.” I pulled the covers over my head and whispered a quiet “thank you.” I just wanted to get through these four years in peace. Even if it meant living like a corpse. Chapter 2 Chloe’s personality flipped faster than a light switch. Early the next morning, she bounded over to my bed holding two artisan coffees and a box of expensive pastries, smiling radiantly. “Maya, I was way out of line yesterday! I was just stressed from moving away from home. Please don’t be mad.” “These are from that insanely popular bakery off-campus. You have to try one!” I sat up, glanced at the pastry box, and then looked at her calculating eyes. I didn’t take it. “What do you want?” My body is like a rusted, ancient machine. First thing in the morning is when my functionality is at its absolute lowest. Chloe didn’t flinch. She sat right next to me, linking her arm affectionately through mine. “Oh my god, nothing! I just wanted to ask…” “That guy who dropped you off yesterday, what year is he? What does his family do? He looks like he comes from money.” She paused, her tone laced with subtle probing. “What kind of food does he like? Does he play any sports? How long… how long have you guys been together?” I pulled my arm out of her grasp and leaned back against the cold metal bed frame, my eyelids heavy. “I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me those things.” The truth was, the line of girls trying to get Ethan’s attention stretched from the student union to the library. But I was far too exhausted to count them, and even more exhausted to explain it to her. Chloe’s smile froze. Her mouth twitched. She clearly thought I was just being possessive and playing hard to get. She took a deep breath, forcibly swallowing her anger, and spouted a few more lines of fake, sugary concern before giving up. I just closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, refusing to utter another syllable. The expiration date on this “friendship” was even shorter than I anticipated. That night, when I went down to the communal bathrooms to shower, I was in a rush and left my phone under my pillow. When I pushed the door open, my wet hair dripping down my back, the temperature in the dorm room had dropped below freezing. When Chloe saw me, her face was twisted in absolute fury. Sarah subtly slid over to me and pointed at my pillow. I lifted it. My phone was lying there, screen facing up. I tapped it. The screen was open directly to my iMessage thread with Ethan. Five minutes ago, Ethan had sent a text. [Maya, some girl named Chloe tried to add me on Snapchat, said she’s your roommate. I declined it.] [Stay away from her. And don’t give my socials to anyone.] It was blatantly obvious. Chloe hadn’t just snooped through my phone; she had walked right into Ethan’s brutal assessment of her. “I requested him five times, and he declined every single one! Then he blocked me! I knew you were the one sabotaging me!” I stared at her for a solid three seconds before my brain processed what she was screaming about. “You’re overthinking it.” “He just thinks you’re annoying.” “You’re lying! I’m pretty, I have a great personality! What reason would he have to reject me?!” Chloe suffered a complete mental breakdown, pointing her finger directly in my face, screaming. “You’re just terrified I’m going to steal your spotlight! You pathetic, sickly freak, what are you good for besides dragging everyone else down?!” She was panting heavily, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated jealousy. “A guy like Ethan belongs with a vibrant, athletic girl like me! You just wait. I’m going to prove to him exactly who deserves to stand next to him.” Her “homewrecker manifesto” was so absurd I almost laughed. “If you want to steal him, go ahead.” I swatted her hand away from my face. “If you can actually get him, I’ll be impressed.” “You…!” Chloe was shaking with rage, her fingernails digging deep into her palms. “Fine! Just you wait! Game on, bitch!” Chapter 3 The next day marked the start of mandatory marching band camp. I walked into the Band Director’s office, holding a medical exemption form officially stamped by a cardiologist. Before I could even speak, Chloe burst into the office like a tornado and slammed her hand down on my paperwork. “Mr. Davis, do not let her lie to you.” She stood tall, her face glowing with a terrifying, cult-like sense of justice. “Maya was hauling massive suitcases around yesterday, and today she magically has a doctor’s note? She’s just trying to get out of doing the hard work!” “College kids these days are so soft. If we don’t build character now, how are we going to survive?” Director Davis pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked at Chloe’s “inspirational” face, and then looked at my completely deadpan expression. He slid the exemption form back across the desk. “Maya, did you buy a fake doctor’s note just to get out of camp?” “Attendance is strictly graded. Either you march on that field, or you lose your scholarship. It’s your choice. Stop trying to find loopholes.” I looked at the rejected form. I didn’t argue. Saying even a single word took too much energy. As long as I didn’t literally die, I’d just suffer through it. But Chloe clearly didn’t want me to survive. Out on the turf, the August sun was blistering. During designated water breaks, not only did she refuse to sit down, she stood in front of the section and screamed: “Come on, guys! We have to push through! If we can’t handle this little bit of heat, how are we going to handle finals?!” Our section leader, a hardcore senior named Marcus, absolutely loved this kind of toxic hustle culture. He nodded approvingly at Chloe, then turned and barked at the rest of us. “Look at her! Then look at yourselves! A bunch of pathetic, lazy zombies!” I was standing in the very back row. My heart rhythm was already beginning to spiral out of control. The suffocating heat felt like a physical weight crushing my chest. I instinctively reached into my pocket for my emergency beta-blockers… but the pill bottle was gone. I looked over at Chloe. She was staring at me, a vicious, triumphant smirk plastered across her face. “Marcus! Maya is breaking formation! She’s out of step!” Marcus stormed over, glaring at me for a solid minute, his voice dripping with disgust. “Penalty laps. Thirty minutes. High knees.” I jogged under the brutal sun, my vision blurring. The dizziness brought on by the severe arrhythmia crashed over me in waves. Cold sweat poured down my forehead. Meanwhile, Chloe was fluttering around like a butterfly, intentionally running routes that repeatedly crossed paths with Ethan, who was working the medical tent. She kept loudly demanding more penalty laps, claiming it was to “build sectional unity.” Marcus, thoroughly brainwashed by Chloe’s “Iron Woman” routine, grew incredibly irritated with me. He pointed directly at me and roared: “Maya! Get your knees up!” “You’re the only one dragging behind! Did you not eat breakfast?!” “Everyone listen up! If anyone slacks off like her, the whole section is running another mile!” The collective resentment of the entire section instantly focused on me like a laser beam. I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself. A dull, crushing pain erupted in my chest. My heart rate dropped so low it felt like it was preparing to stop entirely. Thud. I crashed face-first onto the concrete track. My consciousness violently detached from my body. “Maya!” From the sidelines, Ethan sprinted onto the field like a madman. Incredibly, Chloe actually threw her arms wide, blocking Ethan’s path, her cheeks flushed pink. “Ethan, don’t let her trick you! She’s just doing this so you’ll feel bad for her! She’s totally faking the whole ‘fragile flower’ routine!” “Get the fuck out of my way.” Ethan violently shoved his shoulder into her, knocking her aside, and sprinted straight for the medical tent with me in his arms, leaving Chloe standing there in absolute shock. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I heard Chloe screaming hysterically in the background. “Maya! You manipulative bitch! You’re trying to steal my man! I’m going to expose you for exactly what you are!” When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the campus clinic. Through the privacy curtain, I could hear Marcus and Director Davis talking in low voices. “What Chloe reported is extremely concerning.” Director Davis’s voice was cold. “If this student genuinely has Histrionic Personality Disorder and is faking illnesses for attention, we absolutely cannot tolerate that kind of behavior.” “Marcus, during tomorrow’s evaluations, I need you to give her ‘special attention.’ Let’s see if she’s actually sick, or just putting on a show.” Marcus grunted in agreement. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow is individual drills in the direct sun. I’ll watch her personally.” I stared at the ceiling panels. The heart monitor beeped with a faint, agonizingly slow rhythm. Chapter 4 The second day of band camp. And the first day of my period. “Marcus, I need to request a medical break. Severe menstrual cramps.” I clutched my stomach. Cold sweat had already soaked straight through the back of my t-shirt. With my condition, my resting heart rate is already dangerously slow. Adding severe cramps to the mix felt like walking the razor’s edge of a heart attack. Before Marcus could even open his mouth. Chloe let out a loud scoff and stepped out of the formation. “Wow, Maya, you haven’t gotten tired of this routine yet? Yesterday you passed out, today it’s cramps. Do you own this band? You think you can just take a break whenever you feel like it?” She turned to Marcus, her eyes shining with manic ‘righteousness.’ “Marcus, I know you value fairness above all else. I believe Maya’s behavior isn’t just challenging your authority, she’s actively dragging down the integrity of our entire section!” Marcus already suspected I was faking it, and he absolutely despised my weak, sickly appearance. Goaded by Chloe, his face turned terrifyingly dark. He violently kicked the medical excuse slip I had handed him away and pointed directly at the flagpole in the dead center of the blazing hot turf field. “The whole section is out here sweating, and you think you’re special? Maya, look at Chloe, and then look at yourself.” “Since you think your body is so fragile, go stand at attention under the flagpole. Solo penalty drill.” “When you fix your attitude, then you can rest!” Chloe’s hand immediately shot into the air. “Marcus, I volunteer to supervise her! Students with zero willpower need someone to hold them accountable!” Marcus waved his hand dismissively. “Approved.” Chloe practically dragged me to the base of the flagpole. It was the most exposed, glaring spot on campus. It was the peak of afternoon drills, and thousands of eyes from different sections were watching us. “Drop the act, Maya. There are no guys around here to feel sorry for you.” Chloe lowered her voice, dripping with venom and jealousy. “Ethan had an off-campus meeting today. You could literally die right here, and he wouldn’t even see it.” I was in so much agonizing pain my vision was going black. The cold sweat drenched me, dried, and drenched me again. A few girls nearby couldn’t watch anymore and started whispering. “Maya’s face is literally grey. She doesn’t look like she’s faking it…” “What do you know?!” Chloe whipped her head around and glared at them, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “She’s been faking this her whole life! She’s a professional!” “Maya, let me tell you something. A bloodsucking, pathetic leech like you deserves to suffer out here. Is this the exact same routine you used to seduce Ethan?” I gritted my teeth. I felt a sudden, heavy rush of fluid. My shorts were soaking wet, cold, and sticky. The absolute humiliation combined with the agonizing physiological pain made my knees buckle. “I need to go change my pad. Ten minutes.” I leaned against the metal flagpole, my voice so weak it was barely a whisper. Chloe acted like she had just heard the funniest joke in the world. She aggressively shoved my shoulder. “We don’t take luxury breaks on the field! Do you think soldiers asked for tampons during basic training?!” “Unless you literally drop dead right here, you are not escaping this drill!” I looked at Chloe’s face, twisted and grotesque with excitement. I looked at Marcus in the distance, completely ignoring the situation. Every single drop of energy drained from my body. I was so incredibly tired. Since she wanted to see me die so badly. Then I would die for her. THUD. I crashed heavily onto the concrete base of the flagpole. The back of my skull slammed against the metal, letting out a hollow, sickening crack. Chloe hadn’t registered the severity of what just happened. She crossed her arms and casually kicked my leg. “Alright, get up. You used this exact same move yesterday, aren’t you embarrassed?” I didn’t move an inch. “Maya? Get up!” Chloe kicked me again. Sarah sprinted out of the formation. She dropped to her knees, her hands shaking violently as she checked my nose for breath, and then pressed her fingers against my carotid artery. The next second. A shrill, horrifying scream ripped across the entire football field. “She’s… she’s not breathing! Marcus! I can’t find a pulse!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568416”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Among the eight daughters-in-law of the Crawford family, I was the one considered an absolute lost cause. While my sisters-in-law were dominating the Forbes lists, I was maxing out credit cards on Rodeo Drive. While they discussed mergers and corporate restructuring, I only cared about my VIP quotas for exotic Hermès Birkins. In their eyes, I was just the brainless gold digger that Arthur, the youngest Crawford son, was blind enough to marry. I didn’t care. As long as I could swipe my husband’s black Amex without a limit, my only job was to look drop-dead gorgeous. That was, until the Crawford Empire was cornered by a cartel of international corporate raiders, facing absolute annihilation. The opponent came in hot, using three massive overseas gold mines as collateral to completely drain Crawford Enterprises of its last drops of cash flow. The entire family was in a state of panic, and my father-in-law’s hair turned snow-white overnight. The elite sisters-in-law exhausted every connection they had, but couldn’t dig up a single piece of background info on the rival. The enemy sat arrogantly in the master armchair of our living room, forcing my father-in-law to hand over the Chairman’s voting seal. Holding a cup of hand-poured artisan coffee, I walked down the stairs and frowned. “Where did this cheap wannabe come from? He’s dirtying my sofa.” Victoria, the eldest sister-in-law, yanked me behind her and snapped: “Get back to your room right now!” My husband instinctively covered my eyes, trying to drag me backward to safety. In the moment of extreme crisis, the entire family subconsciously moved to protect me. I reluctantly turned around, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the Patek Philippe on the rival’s wrist. No way! The big boss who supposedly owns three global gold mines… is wearing a Patek Philippe with crooked hour markers? Chapter 1 “The cash flow is completely severed. New York just pulled all our lines of credit.” Victoria slammed the encrypted satellite phone down. It hit the antique Persian rug with a heavy, muffled thud. The entire living room fell into a deathly silence. The Crawfords were one of the oldest, most formidable old-money dynasties on the East Coast. A family of absolute elites. The eldest sister-in-law, Victoria, was a ruthless M&A shark on Wall Street. The second sister-in-law, Eleanor, was a legendary queen in Silicon Valley venture capital. My father-in-law, William Crawford, had steered the Crawford corporate empire for forty years. And then there was me. Serena Sinclair. The wife Arthur Crawford brought home. In their eyes, the most pathetic, irredeemable gold digger to ever grace their halls. I was currently leaning back into my custom, Hermès-orange leather sofa. My head was down as I swiped through my iPad. On the screen was the exclusive exotic leather inventory list sent over by the boutique manager in Beverly Hills. Three Himalayan crocodile skin Birkins. Two diamond-encrusted Kellys. My fingertip hovered over the screen, hesitating. “Eleanor, did the European funds reply?” Victoria asked, rubbing her temples. Her voice was terribly hoarse. Eleanor shut her MacBook. She shook her head exhaustedly. “All rejected.” “The enemy came prepared. They’ve drained our last liquid reserves.” “They used three overseas gold mines as collateral to completely cut off all our escape routes.” William Crawford sat in his vintage mahogany armchair. He looked as though he had aged ten years overnight. His gray hair was disheveled. His usually straight spine was hunched. Arthur walked over carrying a plate of freshly peeled Cotton Candy grapes. He sat down next to me. He pierced a grape with a toothpick and held it up to my lips. “Open.” His tone was incredibly gentle. As if the fact that his family was facing bankruptcy didn’t even exist. I bit the grape off the toothpick. It was very sweet. Victoria looked up at us, her eyes full of complex emotions. “Arthur.” She spoke sharply. “Look at the situation we are in. How do you still have the mood to feed her grapes?” Arthur grabbed a silk napkin and gently wiped the corner of my mouth. His movements were light. “Victoria, you guys are handling the company.” “Serena scares easily. Don’t frighten her.” Victoria looked like she was going to have an aneurysm. She turned her head away, refusing to look at us anymore. In her eyes, I was just a brainless vase who only knew how to spend money. I couldn’t be bothered to explain. I tapped on the image of the Himalayan crocodile Birkin and sent a message to my private sales associate. “I’ll take this one.” I said it casually. Hearing my voice, Eleanor frowned deeply. “Serena, the family’s accounts are about to be frozen.” “Could you maybe hold off on buying two bags for right now?” Her tone was laced with suppressed anger. But she didn’t scream at me. That was the Crawford family for you. No matter how much they looked down on me, in a crisis, they still maintained a sliver of aristocratic grace toward me. “Let her buy it.” William suddenly spoke up. His voice was weak. “Arthur, use your personal offshore account to pay for it.” “The Crawfords haven’t fallen so low that we can’t afford a handbag for our daughter-in-law.” The hand holding my iPad paused. I looked up. I stared at this patriarch whose hair had turned white overnight. “Thank you, Dad,” I said softly. Victoria let out a heavy sigh. “Dad, Vincent Sterling will be here any minute.” She glanced up at the Patek Philippe wall clock. “If he forces you to hand over the Chairman’s seal… what are we going to do?” William closed his eyes. His fingers trembled slightly. The roar of powerful engines echoed from outside the estate. Carson, the estate manager, rushed into the room, his forehead slick with cold sweat. “Sir, Mr. Sterling is here.” Arthur stood up immediately. He positioned himself directly in front of me, shielding me. “Go upstairs,” he ordered in a low, serious voice. His eyes carried a strictness that left no room for argument. “No matter what you hear, do not come out.” I looked at Arthur’s tense jawline. I didn’t move. “I haven’t finished shopping yet.” I waved the iPad in my hand. Victoria took a deep breath. Suppressing her explosive temper. “Serena Sinclair.” She marched over and stood towering over me. “Now is not the time for you to act like a spoiled brat.” “Vincent Sterling is a psychotic shark who eats people alive and doesn’t even spit out the bones.” “Staying down here will only make you a target.” She reached out. She snatched the iPad right out of my hands. And tossed it onto the sofa. “Carson, escort Mrs. Arthur back to her room.” Victoria ordered the estate manager. Carson walked over. He bowed deeply. “Madam, if you please.” I looked at Victoria’s fierce, strict face. I actually found it hilarious. Even when she was furious, she was still trying to protect me. Terrified that a pretty, useless vase like me would catch the eye of a ruthless corporate raider. I stood up. I casually smoothed out the hem of my silk robe. “Sure,” I replied breezily. I turned and walked toward the grand spiral staircase. My heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor. Emitting a crisp, rhythmic tap-tap-tap. When I reached the second-floor landing. I stopped. I looked down through the wrought-iron railing. The heavy mahogany front doors were pushed open. “Mr. Crawford. I trust you’ve been well?” Chapter 2 “Quite an entrance, Mr. Sterling.” Victoria glared coldly at the man walking through the doors. Vincent Sterling wore a bespoke silver-gray suit. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. A polite, cultured smile played at the corners of his mouth. He looked like the absolute textbook definition of corporate scum. He held a thick manila envelope in his hand. Behind him stood four massive, heavily armed private security contractors. They completely blocked the entrance to the Crawford estate. The air in the room instantly grew thin. Vincent ignored Victoria’s icy sarcasm. He walked straight to the center of the living room. His gaze swept over the antique Persian rugs and the priceless museum-grade paintings on the walls. Finally landing on William. “Mr. Crawford, you’re looking a bit under the weather.” His voice was soft. Almost gentle, like a man showing concern for an old friend. “At your age, you really should take better care of your health.” William gripped the armrests of his chair. His knuckles turned white from the force. “Vincent. Spare me the pleasantries.” William’s voice was gravelly. “Why are you here?” Vincent smiled. He sat down on the master sofa—the seat normally reserved for William. He crossed his legs. His posture was lazy, yet overwhelmingly arrogant. He placed the manila envelope gently on the coffee table. Very slowly. He slid it toward William. “Mr. Crawford, Crawford Enterprises’ cash flow has completely dried up.” Vincent adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “Your three major M&A projects in the European markets have entirely stalled.” “The daily breach-of-contract penalties you’re incurring are an astronomical figure.” Victoria stepped forward. Planting herself between Vincent and William. “Those are internal Crawford matters.” “It is none of your concern.” Vincent tilted his head up slightly. Looking at Victoria. His gaze held a trace of mocking pity. “Victoria, your reputation as the Queen of Wall Street M&A is indeed formidable.” He clapped his hands together lightly. “It’s just a shame that in the face of absolute capital, personal talent means nothing.” He tapped the manila envelope with a long, slender finger. “I have an agreement right here.” “As long as Mr. Crawford signs it and hands over the Chairman’s voting seal…” “I will immediately inject thirty billion dollars to bail Crawford Enterprises out of this crisis.” Hearing this, Eleanor let out a cold laugh. “Thirty billion to swallow the entire Crawford Empire?” “Vincent, your appetite is dangerously large.” Vincent wasn’t angry. He maintained that chillingly gentle smile. “You misunderstand, Eleanor.” “The market capitalization of Crawford Enterprises is evaporating by the hour.” “In three days, it will be nothing but a pile of worthless scrap metal.” He leaned forward. His eyes locking onto William. “Mr. Crawford, I am not negotiating with you.” “I am informing you.” Arthur took a step forward. Blocking Vincent’s line of sight. “Even if the Crawfords go bankrupt, we will never hand our legacy over to a parasite.” Vincent looked at Arthur. And suddenly laughed out loud. “The youngest Crawford son is as stubborn as ever.” “I just wonder if that stubbornness is going to put food on the table.” He leaned back into the sofa. And unbuttoned his suit jacket. “I forgot to mention…” “The three overseas gold mines I used as collateral to secure the debt from your creditors? Their market value has doubled.” “Right now, every single one of your creditors is standing behind me.” He looked at William’s ashen, lifeless face. His tone grew even softer. “Sign it, Mr. Crawford.” “Save your entire family from living on the streets.” I stood on the second-floor landing. Watching this masterful theatrical performance. Vincent Sterling was incredibly thorough. He used the softest voice to deliver the most lethal stab to the gut. My father-in-law, William, suddenly erupted into a violent, chest-tearing coughing fit. Arthur rushed forward to rub his back. Eleanor quickly poured a glass of warm water and handed it to him. “Dad, please don’t get worked up.” Victoria spun around, glaring at Vincent. Her eyes were red. “Who the hell are you?!” “We searched the databases of every global mining conglomerate on the planet. Your name does not exist anywhere.” Vincent stood up. And casually adjusted his cuffs. “Who I am isn’t important.” “What’s important is that right now, the life or death of the Crawford family is resting entirely in my hands.” He checked the watch on his wrist. “I’ll give you exactly one hour to consider.” “In one hour, if I don’t have the Chairman’s seal…” “The bankruptcy liquidation process for Crawford Enterprises will officially begin.” He turned his head and looked up toward the second floor. His gaze landed with laser precision on the exact spot where I was standing. “I’ve heard the youngest Mrs. Crawford is a breathtaking beauty.” Vincent’s lips tugged into a sleazy, playful smirk. “I wonder… once Crawford Enterprises goes bankrupt, will she still be able to afford her Hermès bags?” Chapter 3 “Keep your eyes off her.” Arthur whipped his head around. His voice was colder than absolute zero. He stepped into Vincent’s line of sight, shielding me. His fists were clenched tight. Vincent pulled his gaze back. He casually brushed invisible dust off his immaculate suit. “Why so tense, Arthur?” His tone was breezy. “I was merely asking a question out of curiosity.” “After all, a canary accustomed to a gilded cage won’t survive long once she’s thrown out into the wild.” Victoria walked over to Arthur’s side. And gripped his shoulder tightly. “Don’t lose your temper,” she warned in a low whisper. She turned back to Vincent. “Mr. Sterling, one hour is impossible.” “We require time to verify the source of your funds and the authenticity of your mining credentials.” Vincent laughed. He sat back down on the sofa. His posture even more arrogant than before. “Verify?” “Victoria, are you still in denial about reality?” He pointed at the manila envelope on the coffee table. “The credentials are all in there.” “Reports issued by the most prestigious, top-tier valuation firms on the planet.” “Go ahead. Verify them all you want.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “But I must remind you…” “For every minute you waste, Crawford stock drops another percentage point.” William finally stopped coughing. He pushed Arthur’s hand away. And shakily sat up straight. “Bring the files to me.” The patriarch’s voice was old, brittle, and exhausted. Eleanor walked over. Carefully unwinding the string closure of the manila envelope. She pulled out a thick stack of documents. She began flipping through them rapidly. As she read, her face grew paler and paler. “Dad…” Eleanor’s voice trembled. “The documents are real.” “The reserve assessments for all three gold mines, the extraction permits, and the collateral agreements… they are all legally airtight and authenticated.” Victoria snatched the documents from her. Scanning the pages with lightning speed. Her legendary, highly-touted Wall Street investment banking experience was rendered utterly useless in this moment. These documents were flawless. Absolutely impeccable. They formed a perfectly woven web of death. Trapping the Crawford family entirely. “Impossible.” Victoria muttered to herself. “A transfer of gold mines on this massive of a scale… Wall Street would have definitely caught wind of it.” Vincent picked up an antique teacup from the coffee table. He gave it a look of mild disgust. And set it back down. “Victoria, the world is a very big place.” “Not everything operates under the surveillance of your precious Wall Street.” He looked at the despairing faces of the Crawford family. A glimmer of triumphant malice flashing in his eyes. William closed his eyes. Two trails of murky tears slid down his deeply wrinkled face. “So, the Crawford legacy finally ends in my hands.” “Dad.” Arthur dropped to his knees in front of William. Gripping his cold hands. “It’s not over yet. We can still find a way.” William slowly shook his head. “It’s no use.” He opened his eyes and looked at Carson, who was standing nearby. “Go to my study. Bring down the Chairman’s seal from the safe.” “Dad!” Victoria and Eleanor yelled simultaneously. “You can’t give it to him!” Victoria bit her lip so hard it almost bled. “If you give him the seal, Crawford Enterprises officially belongs to him.” William let out a heavy sigh. “If I don’t give it to him, tomorrow the creditors will force every single member of this family onto the streets.” “I am an old man. I don’t care if I die.” He looked at Arthur. His eyes filled with profound guilt. “But you are all still young.” “Especially Serena.” Hearing my name, I paused on the staircase. “She hasn’t suffered a day in her life. She married into this family, and I will not let her suffer because of our failure.” William turned to look at Victoria. “Victoria.” “Go bring Serena down here.” “Have her sign the divorce papers.” “Arthur has an irrevocable trust fund set up in his name that is separate from the corporate asset package.” “Let Serena take that money and leave.” Victoria’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She looked at her father-in-law, finally unable to hold them back. “Dad… Serena might not know anything about business.” “But she is still a Crawford.” William waved his hand dismissively. Cutting her off. “Go get her.” His tone was absolute and final. Vincent sat on the side, coldly watching this tragic family farewell. He even casually crossed his legs. “Mr. Crawford, what a touching display of loyalty and honor.” Vincent clapped his hands in mock applause. “It’s just a pity that when disaster strikes, everyone scrambles to save themselves.” “That delicate little trophy wife of yours has probably already packed her bags and is dying to run out the door.” “Shut your damn mouth.” Chapter 4 Arthur shot up from his knees. His eyes burning with red-hot fury as he glared at Vincent. If Victoria hadn’t been gripping his arm with all her strength. His fist would have already connected with Vincent’s hypocritical face. “Go get her.” William repeated. His voice carrying the heavy, chilling weight of absolute finality. Carson wiped his tears and began walking toward the stairs. I watched this scene unfold. An indescribable, complex emotion spread through my chest. For the past three years. Almost everyone in this house had looked down on me. They resented me for embarrassing the elite, highly accomplished Crawford family name. Yet, facing total annihilation. Their very first instinct was to use their final trump card to eject me from the game and guarantee my safety. I took a deep breath. I turned around and walked back to my bedroom. I walked over to the massive marble wet bar. And turned on the custom Italian espresso machine. The sound of the coffee grinder was a bit jarring in the quiet room. I meticulously crafted a cup of pour-over coffee. The rich, dark aroma filled the air. Picking up the fine bone china cup. I clicked my stilettos against the floor. Walking down the grand staircase step by deliberate step. Carson had only made it halfway up to the second floor. When he saw me coming down, he froze. “Madam…” I walked right past him. Heading straight into the main living room. Every single pair of eyes locked onto me. I was wearing my seven-figure silk robe. My long hair casually pinned up at the back of my neck. I held a steaming cup of coffee in my hand. Looking entirely out of place amidst the oppressive, despairing atmosphere of the room. When Vincent saw me. His eyes lit up. His gaze sweeping over my body with blatant, disrespectful hunger. “The rumors about the youngest Mrs. Crawford certainly didn’t do her justice.” He stood up. Giving a slight, mocking bow. Putting on the airs of a polished gentleman. “Still in the mood for coffee at a time like this?” “I must admit, your composure is far superior to these so-called ‘iron women’ of business.” I ignored him completely. I walked over to the master sofa. Looking down at the spot where he had just been sitting. I furrowed my brow in absolute disgust. “Where did this cheap wannabe come from? He’s dirtying my sofa.” My voice wasn’t loud. But in the dead silence of the living room, it echoed clearly into everyone’s ears. The smug smile on Vincent’s face shattered instantly. A flash of venomous malice crossed his eyes. But it was quickly masked by his cultured facade. “The Mrs. Crawford has quite a sense of humor.” Victoria’s face drained of color. She grabbed my arm and yanked me forcefully behind her. “Get back to your room right now!” She hissed, her palms slick with cold sweat. “You have no right to speak here!” Arthur finally snapped out of his shock. He stepped in front of me. Instinctively covering my eyes. Trying to pull me backward. “Serena, be a good girl, listen to me.” His voice was tight with panic. “Do what Victoria says and go upstairs.” In the moment of extreme danger. The entire family moved in perfect unison to shield me. They were terrified I would enrage the psychopath holding the power of life and death over the Crawford empire. “Mr. Crawford.” Vincent’s voice dropped to a freezing temperature. Dropping the gentleman act entirely. “It seems the Crawford family truly won’t shed a tear until they see the coffin.” “Since this little trophy wife has so much backbone.” “We can skip signing the divorce papers.” “You can all go to hell together.” He pulled his phone from his suit pocket. Preparing to issue the final liquidation order. William squeezed his eyes shut in agony. Eleanor collapsed onto the floor in total despair. Reluctantly, I pulled away from Arthur’s protective grip. And turned around. And in that exact moment. I caught a glimpse of Vincent’s raised wrist. As the sleeve of his silver-gray suit slid back. A watch gleaming with a metallic luster was revealed. A Patek Philippe. Grand Complications Celestial. The hand holding my coffee cup paused mid-air. My eyes locked onto the watch. No way? A billionaire boss… wearing a fake watch? I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. “Trying to play the international corporate raider.” My crisp, clear voice cut through the tension in the room. Interrupting Vincent just as his finger hovered over the dial pad. I pointed directly at his wrist. “The hour markers on that Patek Philippe are crooked.” “And those mining credentials you brought? I’m guessing you whipped those up using Photoshop, too?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568415”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night before our wedding, my fiancé took me to see the “underwater starry sky.” Instead, we were attacked by pirates. They hung me upside down over the ocean countless times, and even threatened to drop me into a shark tank. Just as I was on the absolute brink of a mental breakdown… The pirate standing closest to me ripped off his ski mask and doubled over in hysterical laughter. It was my younger sister! She mocked me, unable to catch her breath. “Maya, you have no idea how pathetic you looked begging on your knees.” “It’s a good thing I got it all on video. I’ll make sure to edit it into your wedding montage tomorrow.” While I was being tortured, no matter how excruciating the pain was, I never begged. But when Ethan lunged forward to save me and was beaten until he was covered in blood… I was genuinely terrified. I dropped to my knees on the deck and begged for his life. To my absolute shock, Ethan—who a second ago looked like he was dying—casually stood up, wiped the “blood” off his face, and smirked. “Don’t worry, it’s just fake blood. Your sister made a bet with me to see if you would actually get on your knees to save my life.” “You really should thank Chloe. If it wasn’t for her, I never would have known just how much you love me.” Seeing the fury and betrayal on my face, he immediately shifted into a coaxing, apologetic tone. He guided me down into a submerged shark cage to see the “underwater starry sky,” but as soon as I was inside, he slammed the gate and locked it. “Mia, I lost the bet. A bet is a bet. This wedding has to go to Chloe.” “But you’ve always been so stubborn and controlling, I was worried you’d cause a scene. Just wait here like a good girl and watch the stars. Once the ceremony is over, I’ll come back and get you.” Watching him walk away, my heart turned to complete ash. My oxygen tank was only a third full. I knew I probably wasn’t going to live long enough for him to come back and get me… or our baby. … I gripped the iron bars of the cage. The freezing temperature of the deep ocean seemed to pierce straight through my wetsuit, chilling my very soul. Seeing my silence, Ethan’s expression softened slightly. He communicated with me using diving hand signals: [Don’t blame me. You used to swear you would rather die than beg on your knees. I didn’t expect you to break your own rule.] My grip on the iron bars tightened, a bitter ache surging in my chest. He forgot. He forgot that he was the one who swore he would rather die than let me kneel. Back then, Ethan Sterling was notorious in our social circle as a reckless, arrogant trust-fund playboy. At a high-society gala, his stepmother falsely accused me of stealing a diamond necklace. She physically forced me to the ground, trying to make me kneel and apologize. When I refused, she ordered her security to throw me into the freezing decorative fountain outside. When Ethan finally pulled me out of the freezing water, he wrapped his arms around me, shaking uncontrollably. “Maya, I swear to God, from this day forward, no one will ever make you kneel again!” In five short years, that reckless playboy transformed into the ruthless, universally feared CEO of the Sterling Group. No one ever dared to speak down to me again, and no one ever dared to make me bow. Yet today, the person who wanted to see me humiliated and broken in the dirt… was him. But right now, I didn’t have the luxury of being heartbroken. I frantically pointed at the pressure gauge on my oxygen tank. It clearly showed only one-third of the air remaining. [Let me out! The tank is almost empty. I will die!] Ethan didn’t even bother to look closely. He brushed it off dismissively. [Alright, stop playing games. I prepped that tank myself. It’s fine.] [Relax. The wedding ceremony goes to Chloe, but you will always be the real Mrs. Sterling.] I pressed my lips together tightly, pointed desperately at my stomach, and shook my head violently. [I am pregnant. I can’t stay in the freezing water for this long.] Ethan froze for a second. Then, a deep, irritated frown crossed his face. [Maya, that is a pathetic excuse. Did you forget? You can’t have children anymore.] Every single word he signed mutated into a jagged knife, plunging directly into my heart, hurting so much I couldn’t breathe. When I was thrown into that freezing fountain years ago, I was pregnant. The water was too cold. I lost the baby. The trauma left me with severe internal scarring and chronic circulatory issues. The doctors told me it would be nearly impossible for me to ever conceive again. That night, Ethan sat in his study, tightly gripping the small, custom-engraved silver baby rattle he had designed himself, chain-smoking until dawn. He never brought up having children again. But he never threw that silver rattle away. It had been locked in the top drawer of his desk for five years. I knew he was waiting for a miracle. So, when I found out I was pregnant, I carefully placed the ultrasound photo into a waterproof pouch, planning to surprise him with it while we were looking at the “underwater starry sky.” Terrified that the photo might get ruined by the seawater, I even scheduled an automated email to send it to him as a backup. My body began to shake violently from the cold. I frantically fumbled to pull the waterproof pouch out of my gear pocket. But when I looked up, all I saw was his back as he swam away. I hammered my fists against the iron cage, holding the photo up as high as I could. He stopped, looking back at me from a distance, completely ignoring what was in my hand. [Stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll come get you as soon as I can.] His silhouette vanished into the murky darkness. The ocean floor fell into a deathly, suffocating silence. There was no “underwater starry sky” down here. He had been lying to me from the very beginning. The freezing cold slowly seeped into my core. My lower abdomen began to cramp painfully. The oxygen tank could last, at an absolute maximum, one more hour. I wasn’t going to survive long enough for him to come back. Chapter 2 I placed my right hand over my stomach, tears blurring my vision inside my mask. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared. Mommy is going to get you out of here.” My eyes darted to the specialized, heavy-duty smart watch strapped to my wrist. The sight of it brought a complex wave of emotion. When I first started learning how to scuba dive, I made a critical error and nearly drowned in the training pool. Ethan was the one who pulled me out. After that, he gave me this custom-engineered watch. It maintained a cellular signal even at a depth of 150 feet. He promised me that if I ever called it, no matter where he was, he would come. Acting on pure survival instinct, I dialed Ethan’s number. The video call connected. Through the screen, I heard the deafening cheers of a wedding reception. No one seemed to have noticed, or cared, that the bride had been swapped. Ethan apparently didn’t realize the call had connected in his pocket. As he moved, the camera lens swept across the venue. The massive bridal portraits had all been replaced with pictures of Chloe. The venue decorations, which were supposed to be blue roses, had been swapped out for white lilies—Chloe’s favorite. And the custom haute couture wedding gown that I had waited an entire year for… was currently draped flawlessly over Chloe’s body, looking as if it had been tailored specifically for her. In that moment, a brutal, horrifying realization crashed over me. This wedding… was never meant for me from the very beginning. My best friend, who was supposed to be my Maid of Honor, was still wearing her bridesmaid dress, but she was affectionately linking arms with Chloe. “Chloe, Ethan actually flew you out to Vegas to get a confidential marriage license and threw this massive reception? I honestly thought you guys weren’t going to do a wedding.” “Especially since Maya is so petty and controlling. If she threw a fit, you’d be the one who ended up looking bad.” When my best friend was brutally bullied in middle school, I was the one who stood in front of her, taking the hits to protect her. She used to tell me I was the only person in the world who loved her unconditionally. My sister playfully adjusted her veil, a smug, triumphant smile curling her lips. “Honestly, I didn’t even want to get legally married yet. But Ethan was so worried I’d feel insecure. He said that once you sign the papers in Vegas, it’s legally binding everywhere, so he insisted on taking me.” “And this wedding too. Ethan wanted to permanently reserve a guest room in the bridal mansion for me, but my sister threw an absolute fit and refused.” “Ethan only came up with this whole ‘bet’ idea to break her ego and put her in her place.” One of Ethan’s groomsmen let out a loud, mocking laugh. “If Maya knew the whole ‘bet’ was just a smokescreen, and that whether she kneeled or not, she was always going to lose… man, I can’t even imagine the meltdown she’s gonna have.” A month ago, that exact same groomsman was being hunted by loan sharks. His own family had disowned him. I was the one who hid him, paid off his debts in secret, and protected his fragile, crumbling pride. My mother walked into the frame, a warm smile on her face. “Maya has a soft heart. You just need to coax her a little bit after this is over, and she’ll be fine.” Her tone shifted, carrying a hint of genuine reluctance. “I just feel terrible for Chloe. Just to appease her sister, she’s going to have to move to Europe, and it’s going to be so hard to even see her.” Ethan’s arm wrapped naturally around my sister’s waist, offering reassurance. “Mom, you don’t need to worry. Whenever you miss Chloe, I’ll fly you out on the private jet to stay with her.” My heart felt like it was seized by a hydraulic press, crushing it until I couldn’t draw a breath. Even my mother knew! Every single one of them had conspired to hide this from me! My entire body convulsed with violent tremors. I forced myself to regulate my emotions, breathing as shallowly as possible, terrified of wasting even a fraction of an ounce of air. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. I frantically tapped the screen of the smartwatch, sending an emergency SOS ping. Ethan finally noticed his phone vibrating. He paused, a flicker of panic crossing his face as he looked at the screen. “Maya, did you hear all of that?” It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters. Right now, I just want to survive! I just needed him to see the ultrasound photo. If he saw it, maybe he would let me live. I looked down, fumbling with the waterproof pouch, when Ethan’s heavy sigh echoed through the speaker. “It’s probably for the best that you know. I’ve been making Chloe sacrifice too much for too long.” “She’s pregnant now. I have to prioritize her emotional well-being.” My hand, gripping the photo, froze. It felt like my heart had been violently shredded. After falling into that freezing fountain years ago, I developed a crippling phobia of deep water. Two months ago, he gently coaxed me back into scuba diving, promising me that he would help me conquer my fear and take me to see the “underwater starry sky.” I fought through the panic attacks, step by agonizing step, battling the nightmare of losing my first child. But from the very beginning… he was only doing it to humiliate me and get revenge for Chloe! To him… Chloe’s “emotional well-being” was worth risking my actual life to appease. On the screen, Chloe smoothly held a small box up to the camera. It was a velvet box I had seen a thousand times. Inside was the silver baby rattle Ethan had kept locked away for five years. His “miracle” had already been provided by someone else. I was on the absolute edge of a total psychological collapse. But I couldn’t break down. I could not break down. My entire body shaking, I gently tapped the screen of the watch, transmitting a desperate, pleading code. Two taps every 1.5 seconds. Five times in a row. Ethan once told me that two beats every 1.5 seconds was his exact resting heart rate. And tapping it five times in a row… was my exclusive, personalized SOS signal to him. The last time I used that signal was when I fell into the freezing fountain. He arrived in exactly three minutes. He didn’t hesitate for a second, diving into the freezing, ice-choked water in the dead of winter to save me. But this time… He froze. A flash of distinct hesitation crossed his face. Chloe immediately started wiping away fake tears, crying beautifully for the camera. “Ethan, please, go save my sister. The ceremony hasn’t officially started yet. Bring her back, let her be the bride.” “I don’t need to get back at her anymore. I just want our family to be peaceful and happy.” Hearing those words, every trace of hesitation vanished from Ethan’s face. His expression turned completely frigid. “We established that SOS signal for life-or-death emergencies. Not for you to throw petty tantrums.” “Chloe already agreed to move to Europe after the wedding and never bother you again. It’s just a ceremonial party. You need to learn when to stop!” Seeing him reach to end the call, I shook my head frantically. “I don’t want the wedding! My air is almost gone! I’m really going to die!” Ethan waved his hand dismissively in annoyance. “If there’s actually a problem, signal the dive instructor!” He didn’t say another word. He hung up. The screen went black. The only source of light vanished, and the crushing, absolute darkness of the ocean swallowed me whole. The tears I had been fighting back finally broke free, flowing relentlessly. Ethan knew I was terrified of the water. When we practiced diving, he was neurotically paranoid about my safety. No matter how shallow the dive was, he insisted that a certified dive instructor be on standby directly above me at all times. I never expected that paranoid safety measure would be the only thing keeping me alive today. Because of my earlier panic, my oxygen consumption had spiked. I had, at most, thirty minutes left. I forced myself to calm down and dialed the dive instructor’s number. I tapped out the pre-arranged emergency SOS rhythm. The dive instructor answered the call. He was silent for several seconds before letting out a helpless sigh. Chapter 3 “Ms. Quinn, we are indeed stationed in the support boat directly above your coordinates. But Mr. Sterling gave us explicit, strict orders: absolutely no one is allowed to retrieve you until the wedding reception has concluded.” I shook my head frantically, using one hand to sign desperately in front of the camera, explaining that my oxygen tank was completely empty. The instructor hesitated, thinking for a moment. “Logically, the tank you have should easily last until sunrise. But just in case, I’ll lower a few spare tanks down to you.” “Mr. Sterling was worried something might go wrong, so he had us stock plenty of reserves.” I let out a massive, shuddering exhale. I gently touched my tightening stomach, tears of relief flooding my eyes. Baby, we’re going to be okay. Just hold on a little longer. Hold on until morning, and Mommy will get you out of here. Within moments, a spare oxygen tank, tied to a weighted rope, slowly descended through the dark water. Due to the ocean currents, it drifted slightly off course. I swam toward it, fighting through the exhaustion. All the rules about “minimizing movement to conserve air” were completely forgotten. I grabbed the tank with overwhelming joy… but my heart instantly plummeted into the abyss. The tank was completely empty! I panicked and called the instructor back immediately. He sounded even more shocked than I was. “Wait, hold on!” I heard him scrambling on the boat, frantically checking the remaining tanks. His voice was filled with confusion. “That makes no sense. The pressure gauges on the remaining tanks show they’re full. Just wait there, I’ll lower another one down to you right now.” But to my absolute horror… when the next tank arrived, the pressure gauge clearly indicated it was full, but when I attached my regulator, there was absolutely zero airflow! I called him back again. This time, his voice was dark and guarded. “Ms. Quinn, we’re just employees. If we disobey Mr. Sterling’s direct orders, we’ll be fired.” “My wife just had a baby. I can’t afford to lose this job. Could you please stop making this so difficult for us?” Before I could even respond, he hung up. A single second later, Ethan called me. He was actively suppressing a violent rage, his voice a low, furious growl. “When are you going to stop this psychotic behavior?! The instructor lowered three or four different tanks down to you, and you claimed every single one of them was empty!” “Are you absolutely determined to ruin this wedding before you’re satisfied?!” “If you keep this up, I won’t come get you after the reception ends. I will leave you down there until the sun comes up!” I shook my head in absolute despair, my hands flying as I signed frantically. [No, I’m not lying! The tanks really are empty!] [Ethan, I’m begging you. I don’t want anything anymore.] [Just let me out. Please. I am really going to die.] He froze for a second. Right at that moment, my mother’s voice drifted through his end of the call. “Ethan, hurry up and get ready! It’s almost time to exchange rings!” When Ethan looked back at the screen, his expression was completely drained of patience. “Maya, stop causing a scene. Just wait a little longer. It’s almost over.” The call was disconnected again. I suffered a total, catastrophic mental collapse. Why was it so impossibly, agonizingly hard just to stay alive?! I refused to give up. I kept trying to call them back. But neither Ethan nor the dive instructor would answer. I let out a broken, bitter laugh. They had both blocked me. At that moment, the battery icon on my smartwatch flashed red and died. My oxygen tank was completely depleted. I held my breath, silently counting down the final three minutes of my life. I looked up. Nothing but pitch-black, suffocating darkness. The “underwater starry sky” was a complete lie. In my blurry, fading vision, a dark silhouette slowly swam toward me through the gloom. Chapter 4 My eyes snapped wide open. It was Ethan. He had actually come. Through the earpiece he was wearing, I could faintly hear my mother’s urgent voice. “Hurry up! Hurry!” Tears exploded from my eyes. At the end of the day, they were my family. The people I loved the most. How could they actually, truly leave me here to die? I swam toward the gate of the iron cage, but Ethan violently shoved me backward. He quickly pulled a heavy-duty padlock from his gear, snapped it onto the cage door, and ripped off the flimsy, prop lock that had been there previously. Through the earpiece, my mother let out a massive sigh of relief. “Thank god you made it in time!” I stared at Ethan in absolute, horrified disbelief. His hands moved quickly as he signed to me. [Thank god Chloe noticed the lock on this cage was faulty, otherwise you really might have escaped.] [Just wait a little longer. The reception is almost over.] I shook my head in absolute, blinding despair. I grabbed the ultrasound photo and shoved it against the bars toward him. [Let me and the baby go! I’m begging you!] Ethan swatted the photo out of my hand with irritated disgust, not even bothering to glance at it. [Stop playing your manipulative little games. Just wait.] The photo drifted through the water, floating right past the camera lens on Ethan’s communication gear. My mother’s face on his screen instantly changed color. But when she looked at me, her eyes carried a distinct, familiar look of pleading. I had seen that exact look countless times. When we were kids, and Chloe wanted to steal my toys. When we grew up, and Chloe stole my guaranteed admission spot for a Master’s program. “Just let your sister have it this one time.” Every single time my mother said that sentence, she looked at me with those exact same eyes. But Mom. I don’t want to let her have it this time. I want to live. I want my baby to live. I looked at Ethan with absolute, suffocating despair, chasing the absolute last microscopic sliver of survival. [I am begging you, please let me go. I don’t want the wedding. I don’t want you. I just want to live.] I pulled my knees to my chest, mimicking a kneeling position while floating in the abyss, tears pouring endlessly from my eyes. Please. I don’t want to die. Ethan froze completely, a flash of genuine hesitation crossing his face. Right then, Chloe’s face appeared on the video feed. She was sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath. “Maya, are you still mad about my pirate prank?!” “I’ll get on my knees and apologize right now! Just please forgive me!” She made a dramatic motion to kneel, but the next second, she clutched her stomach and let out a piercing scream of pain. The wedding reception instantly descended into chaos. Ethan didn’t even look back. He turned and swam aggressively toward the surface. I floated in the deep ocean, sobbing silently, uncontrollably. I had held my breath for too long. My lungs felt like they were literally exploding. The freezing, suffocating seawater flooded into my nose and mouth, burning my internal organs like acid. My vision grew darker and darker. In my fading, delirious consciousness, the surface of the ocean suddenly erupted with brilliant, sparkling light. Neon colors exploded across the water… It turns out there really was an underwater starry sky. He didn’t lie to me. He just didn’t tell me… That the “starry sky” he wanted me to see… Was the reflection of the fireworks celebrating his wedding to Chloe. … When the wedding reception finally ended, Ethan didn’t stay to watch the fireworks. He couldn’t shake the deep, gnawing anxiety in his chest, so he decided to go back down with the dive instructor to bring me up. He deliberately grabbed a thick, heated thermal blanket and a thermos of hot cocoa. He always remembered that I had poor circulation and was constantly cold. As the fireworks began detonating overhead, he zipped up his wetsuit and prepared to dive. Right at that moment, his phone chimed. An automated email delivery. The sender was me. He frowned, tapped the notification, and instantly froze exactly where he stood. The attachment was an ultrasound photo. 5 Weeks Gestation. [Ethan. We finally got our miracle.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568414”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1 Once I hooked up with one of the most powerful billionaires in New York, I played the “perfect, devoted girlfriend” role to the absolute limit. When Ethan Sterling was messing around with Instagram models, I was the one who personally drove them to the clinic for STI testing. When Ethan was cornered by paparazzi outside a luxury hotel, I was the one working the phones, paying off media outlets to bury the story. Even when his new flavor of the month showed up at my front door to provoke me. I could smile and politely brief her on his daily habits and dietary preferences. Everyone in our elite circle said I loved Ethan so much I had completely lost my self-respect. They said I would do absolutely anything just to stay by his side. But what they didn’t know was that I was the one who intentionally hired Chloe Thorne to catch his eye. And they definitely didn’t know just how generous Ethan was whenever he felt guilty about cheating. A medical bill? Fifty thousand. A PR crisis? Two million. And the endless stream of jewelry and designer bags he showered me with as “compensation” was incalculable. Over the years, not only had I amassed a nine-figure bank account. I also owned multiple high-end properties around the world. After ten years of playing the ultimate sugar baby, I could finally officially retire! When Ethan proposed to Chloe, I was curled up on the sofa in my Bel Air mansion, binge-watching Netflix. Ethan had transferred the deed of this mansion to me not too long ago. It was my compensation for the time Chloe pushed me down a flight of stairs, causing me to miscarry his child. I tore open a bag of Doritos. My phone screen lit up constantly as notifications from our mutual friend group chat flooded in. “Ethan is really going all out for Chloe.” “The wedding of the century. Even Mia didn’t get this kind of treatment back in the day.” “Looks like Ethan finally found his true love.” “Chloe bullied Mia so relentlessly, and Ethan didn’t even say a single harsh word to her.” “Do you think Mia is going to get thrown out on the street? She loves Ethan so much, if he dumps her, she’ll probably just jump off a building.” The potato chip crunched loudly in my mouth. Savoring the absolute satisfaction of high-calorie junk food, I couldn’t help but smile. I was about to keep reading the gossip when the front door suddenly swung open. Ethan walked in. He glanced at the bag of chips in my hand, his brow furrowing deeply. “Mia, you know I hate the smell of junk food.” As a top-tier sugar baby, providing emotional support and maintaining a flawless figure were basic job requirements. I instantly slipped into my ‘understanding girlfriend’ persona, answering with sweet obedience. “I know.” “I just didn’t think you were coming back tonight…” Ethan’s footsteps halted. His expression softened significantly. “I just came back to grab the keys to the old estate.” “Your body hasn’t fully recovered yet. Stop eating that garbage.” “Chloe needs Maria to take care of her full-time now. I’ll transfer some money so you can hire a new housekeeper.” After sending the money, he walked over to the wall safe and punched in the code. Besides the keys, he also pulled out the Sterling family’s heirloom diamond necklace. Before his mother passed away, her dying wish was that the necklace be given to the true matriarch of the Sterling family. It seemed Ethan had finally made his choice. I felt a twinge of regret over losing the diamonds, but I still forced a perfectly understanding smile. “There’s no need for more money, Ethan.” “You’ve given me more than enough over the years.” Ethan froze for a second. “What did you just call me?” I lowered my eyes, refusing to say another word. He sighed, walking over and gently stroking my cheek. “Mia, don’t overthink things.” “You’ve been with me for so long. I would never mistreat you.” His touch was gentle. But the moment his thumb brushed against the faint, almost invisible crow’s feet forming at the corner of my eye… He quietly pulled his hand back. “I’m taking Chloe to stay at the old estate for a few days, so I won’t be coming around for a while.” “Take care of yourself.” The old estate? I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. I knew Ethan was infatuated with Chloe. But I had no idea their relationship had reached that level. Chapter 2 After all, the old estate was the one place Ethan absolutely refused to touch. It was his ultimate psychological taboo. The women in our social circle always mocked me, saying I couldn’t survive without Ethan. Honestly, they were absolutely right. They were trust-fund babies born with silver spoons in their mouths. Even if they got dumped, they had massive family conglomerates backing them up. But I had nothing. I was just an impoverished student whose tuition was paid for by the Sterling Family Charity Foundation. When I was eighteen, I got accepted into an Ivy League university with top honors, and was invited to the Sterling estate for a celebratory dinner. That was the exact same day Ethan’s mother—the most envied society wife in New York—threw herself off the roof of the mansion, unable to endure the relentless humiliation from her husband’s mistresses. A human body plummeting from that height. Ethan and I were completely covered in her blood. Because of that day, Ethan developed severe, crippling PTSD. He was terrified of the color red, and the sound of heavy objects hitting the ground would send him into violent panic attacks. Every single night, the moment he closed his eyes, he dreamed of his mother lying in a pool of blood right in front of him. He smashed every mirror in his bedroom, and he absolutely refused to ever set foot in the old estate again. Ethan’s grandfather hired the best psychiatrists in the world, but nothing worked. Finally, he came to me, begging. “Mia, you’re the only person who can calm him down when you’re by his side.” “I’m asking you to stay. Please, keep him company.” Perhaps it was because we shared the exact same, horrific nightmare. Ethan trusted me implicitly. He silently allowed me to stay by his side. My heart ached for this pale, shattered, fragile boy. And I was deeply grateful for everything the Sterling family had done for my education. I wanted to do whatever I could to help him. When Ethan couldn’t sleep, I sat on the edge of his bed, staying awake with him all night. When Ethan couldn’t eat, I studied recipes and cooked every single meal for him. When he woke up screaming in the middle of the night, I held his hand and sat with him until the sun came up. In those early years, there was no Chloe. There were no corporate power plays, no financial calculations. There was only him and me. Like two wounded animals trapped in the dark. Holding onto each other, surviving together. I knew my background meant I would never be accepted as his legal wife. But. When Ethan’s fingers brushed through my hair… When our lips met, and he whispered that he loved me… When he spent millions of dollars to fill an entire city block with my favorite flowers… I couldn’t stop a tiny, foolish spark of hope from blooming in my heart. That hope lasted exactly until my 25th birthday. We were laying in bed after making love. Ethan reached out and casually pinched the tiny bit of soft flesh on my waist. Leaning against the headboard, he let out a quiet, mocking laugh. “Mia, you’ve gained weight.” “If you don’t start managing your figure better, you might not get your allowance next month.” My brain exploded with a deafening buzz. In a single second, I plummeted from heaven straight into hell. It was in that exact moment I violently woke up to the truth. No matter how well Ethan treated me. No matter how deeply I loved him. In his eyes, I was nothing but a commodity. An unpresentable, high-priced escort. He was never going to fall in love with someone like me. And he was never going to truly commit to me. But I also knew Ethan would never just let me go. He was born arrogant and possessive. Even if he didn’t want a toy anymore, he would never allow anyone else to play with it. I refused to drown in a toxic relationship with no future. I needed to secure an exit strategy before he got completely sick of me and threw me out with nothing. That was exactly when Chloe Thorne caught my eye. She was bright, lively, and instantly captivated Ethan’s attention. I intentionally leaked information to her, helping her mold herself into the exact type of woman Ethan was obsessed with. Chapter 3 And just like that, the two of them slowly drifted together. But Chloe wasn’t satisfied just being the side piece. She wanted to destroy me, take my place, and become the undisputed Mrs. Sterling. So, she went out of her way to torment me. And the more she bullied me, the guiltier Ethan felt. The guiltier Ethan felt, the more money he threw at me as compensation. He threw so much money at me that I could permanently retire from the sugar baby industry long before my looks faded. My phone screen lit up. Another massive compensation wire transfer had just cleared. I stared at that long string of zeros. Any lingering bitterness or jealousy in my chest was instantly wiped clean. This arrangement was perfect. She got the love. I got the money. Everyone got exactly what they wanted. Win-win. After Ethan left, I started auditing my global assets. Thirty million dollars in liquid cash. More than enough to live in absolute luxury for the rest of my life. Once everything was verified, I booked a one-way first-class ticket to Switzerland. The flight was scheduled for exactly three days from now. All I had to do was tie up a few loose ends, and I would finally be free. Just as I finalized my itinerary, Ethan called. I panicked for a second, terrified he had found out about my escape plan. Instead, his voice came through the speaker, issuing a non-negotiable command. “Come to the old estate.” “Chloe hasn’t had much of an appetite lately, and she’s craving that fish stew you make.” I let out a massive sigh of relief. Without a word of complaint, I changed my clothes and drove straight to the estate. The Sterling estate hadn’t been this lively in years. The massive driveway was packed with luxury cars. Ethan’s grandfather’s booming laughter echoed through the halls, impossible to hide. “Wonderful, wonderful! The Sterling family finally has an heir!” “You’ve been a playboy your whole life, Ethan, but it looks like you’re finally settling down.” Chloe sat in the center of the crowd, one hand resting delicately on her flat stomach. Ethan sat right beside her, smiling as he peeled an orange for her. They were surrounded by fawning, wealthy guests. I was long accustomed to being ignored and left in the shadows. But hearing Ethan and his friends excitedly discussing baby names for Chloe’s child… I involuntarily looked down at my own flat stomach. There was a baby there once, too. My child. Ethan’s child. On the day Chloe pushed me down the stairs, I was over three months pregnant. When the blood started pooling between my legs, I was paralyzed by absolute terror. Panicking and helpless, I frantically called Ethan’s phone over and over again. I called over a dozen times. The only answer I eventually got was the muffled sound of Chloe moaning in ecstasy in the background. It wasn’t until late the next afternoon that Ethan finally found out about the miscarriage from his executive assistant. He didn’t offer any elaborate explanations. He only said two sentences to me. “It’s better this way. Saves us a lot of trouble.” “Make sure you take your birth control on time from now on.” After saying that, he transferred the deed to the Bel Air mansion into my name. Back then, I forced a smile and consoled myself. Trading an unborn mistake for a twenty-million-dollar mansion. It was a good deal. But now, looking at the overflowing tenderness in Ethan’s eyes, seeing how incredibly excited he looked… A bizarre, unprecedented wave of agonizing sorrow suddenly surged in my chest. “Why are you so late?” Ethan’s voice violently snapped me out of my memories. His cold gaze swept over my pale face, finally landing in the direction of the kitchen. “The fish is already prepped. Chloe is extremely sensitive to the smell of seafood right now, so be careful when you’re cooking it.” I smiled. A sugar baby. A mistress. I didn’t have the right to feel sad or throw a tantrum. I nodded and obediently walked into the kitchen. Behind me, loud, undisguised mocking laughter erupted from the living room. “Oh my god, look at the ‘little Mrs. Sterling’ playing the perfect housewife.” Chapter 4 “Her man is marrying another woman and having a baby, and instead of causing a scene, she actually comes over to cook for them!” “What husband? Ethan never married her. She’s nothing but a high-priced escort he keeps on the side.” “Now that Ethan has a real fiancée, she’s gonna get tossed out on the street any day now!” I had heard these exact insults a million times before. I washed my hands and dropped the sliced ginger into the simmering pot. In my head, I silently counted down the days until my flight. I was so lost in thought that I jumped when someone suddenly tapped my shoulder. It was Ethan’s executive assistant. He grabbed my hands and shoved them into a bucket of industrial sanitizer sitting on the counter. Then, he handed me a black surgical mask, explaining in a deadpan voice. “Ms. Thorne said she is a severe germaphobe. She says women like you are ‘unclean,’ and from now on, you must undergo full-body sanitization before entering the Sterling estate.” “Ms. Thorne also said that looking at your face makes her so nauseous she can’t eat. She demands you wear this mask whenever you are in her presence.” “Also, once you’re done with the soup, you can leave.” “Today is a private Sterling family dinner. You don’t have the right to sit at the table.” More childish, pathetic power plays. I was completely immune to these tactics by now. Not too long ago, Chloe had actually demanded I get on my knees and wash her feet. Wearing a mask was nothing. As long as the money cleared, I didn’t care. I nodded obediently. I put on the mask and continued watching over the simmering fish stew. Chloe was incredibly picky. One minute she complained it was too hot, the next she complained it was too fishy. I had to remake the entire pot of soup four separate times. My hands were covered in painful, red burn blisters from the boiling water and hot pots. Only then was she finally satisfied and allowed me to leave. The old estate was secluded. By the time I finally drove back to the Bel Air mansion, it was close to midnight. My body still hadn’t fully recovered from the miscarriage. I laid in bed, in agonizing pain for hours, before finally slipping into a feverish, exhausted sleep. I had barely fallen asleep when a sharp, brutal pain clamped down on my wrist. Ethan was standing by the bed, his face terrifyingly dark. He violently yanked me up by my arm. “What the hell did you put in that soup?!” “Chloe drank it and her stomach hasn’t stopped cramping!” I was completely disoriented, mumbling groggily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ethan glared at me, a vicious sneer twisting his face. “Stop playing dumb. Don’t think I don’t know exactly what kind of trash you are.” “You’re exactly like the cheap whores who drove my mother to suicide! Desperate for money, desperate for status, willing to do absolutely anything to secure the bag!” “You tried to trap me with a baby and failed, so now you’re trying to murder the baby in Chloe’s stomach?!” My wrist felt like it was going to snap. My poorly-healed abdomen cramped with a sharp, agonizing pain. Operating on pure instinct, I shoved Ethan away and yelled. “Ethan, are you out of your fucking mind?! Chloe’s stomach hurting has absolutely nothing to do with me!” “She’s the one who murdered my child first! If something actually happens to her, it’s called karma!” The moment the words left my mouth, a brutal, ringing slap crashed against my face. Ethan grabbed me by the throat, his eyes blazing with murderous rage. “Mia, who the hell gave you the right to disrespect Chloe?!” “Do you honestly think you’re even worthy of breathing the same air as her?” “Chloe comes from a prestigious family. She is pure. She is innocent.” “And you? You’re nothing but a dog I pay to feed. A cheap whore who opens her legs for anyone with a checkbook.” “If I’m in a good mood, I’ll throw you a bone. If you piss me off, I can destroy your entire life in a heartbeat!” Ethan was practically roaring. He violently ripped my silk nightgown open. He was about to do worse when his phone suddenly rang. Whatever was said on the other end of the line made his face drop. His rage instantly mutated into pure, unfiltered panic. He turned and sprinted toward the door. Right before he crossed the threshold, he stopped and looked back at me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “568413”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel