My husband Mark and I had been married for five years. We had one daughter, Chloe, and while we weren’t exactly rolling in dough, we owned a house in the city and a car. A big plus? I didn’t have to deal with my mother-in-law breathing down my neck, since she lived back in their hometown. Life was pretty comfortable. My friends often told me how lucky I was, that I’d married a good guy with minimal family drama. Until one day. I was about six months pregnant with our second child. We were visiting Mark’s family back home for the holidays when my mother-in-law suddenly told me I should let Mark’s older brother, David, adopt Chloe. See, when they were kids, David got into a fight defending Mark and ended up with a permanent limp. Because of it, no woman had ever wanted to marry him. My mother-in-law carried a lot of guilt over David’s injury and worried constantly about him growing old alone with no one to care for him. So, she set her sights on my daughter, Chloe. “Sarah,” my mother-in-law started, trying to sound reasonable, “I saw a psychic, and she said this baby you’re carrying is another girl. Since they’re both girls, why not let David raise Chloe for you? It would be a big help, wouldn’t it?” Was she serious?! This was my child – the one I carried for ten months and endured agonizing pain to bring into the world! My blood ran cold. I forced myself to stay calm. “Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “even if this baby is another girl, Chloe is still my daughter.” My direct refusal clearly annoyed her. “Sarah, don’t you understand? If it wasn’t for Mark back then, would David be like this now? Of course, he was the older brother, protecting his little brother was the right thing to do. But now, as Mark’s wife, shouldn’t you help Mark repay that debt to his big brother?” “Mom, that’s not how it works,” I argued. “We both know David saved Mark, and Mark and I are grateful. We’ve helped him out plenty over the years, financially and otherwise. But giving him our daughter? I will not agree to that.” “What’s wrong with letting him adopt her?” she snapped back, glaring at me. “Are you and Mark just swimming in money? Raising all these girls who are just going to get married off and leave anyway.” She continued, “You’ve got two daughters, give one to David. He helps raise her, you repay the debt – it’s a win-win! How can you not see something so simple? Your fancy college degree hasn’t made you any smarter than this old woman!” Listening to her twisted logic made my head pound. I knew arguing was pointless. She was stuck in her old-fashioned ways, valuing sons over daughters, and nothing would change her mind. “Mom, I’m not feeling well, my stomach hurts,” I lied. “I’m going to lie down for a bit. We can talk later tonight.” “Wait, Sarah, your brother-in-law is waiting to hear…” I quickly slipped into the guest room and shut the door, hearing her muttering outside, “…popping out girls who are just a burden… offer someone to help raise one and she acts insulted… what kind of education is that…” Trying not to let her words upset the baby, I took deep breaths to calm down. I decided I’d tell Mark everything when he got back and let him handle his mother. There was no way, absolutely no way, I would let my daughter be raised by a man like David. I remembered a few visits back home… getting up late one night for water and catching David in the den, watching porn on his laptop. When he saw me, he didn’t even flinch, didn’t try to hide it. Just stared right back at me. A man like that could never be a good father. 2 Later that evening, the moment I heard keys jiggling in the lock, I darted out of the room just as Mark walked in. “Honey! You’re back,” I rushed over, taking his coat. “Come on, let’s get you changed in our room.” I practically dragged him down the hall before his mom could emerge from the kitchen. Mark stumbled slightly. “Whoa, Sarah, slow down! Remember you’re pregnant.” I shut the bedroom door behind us and turned to face him, anger bubbling up. “You remember I’m pregnant, so why aren’t you handling your mother?” “My mom? What did she do now?” “Your mom told me this afternoon that we should let David adopt Chloe! Can you believe that? David! He’s a single man, never raised a kid in his life! How could he possibly take care of her? Besides, Chloe’s a little girl, it’s completely inappropriate for her to live alone with him! And your mom actually expects Chloe to take care of him someday? She’s only four! And this whole ‘repaying a debt’ thing? Is she serious? Has she lost her mind?” I unloaded on him, and Mark’s expression grew darker with every word. “Are you done?” he asked sharply. “You’re a mother now, Sarah. Show some respect. That’s my mom you’re talking about. ‘Lost her mind’? What if Chloe hears you talking like that and picks it up?” He had a point there, and I felt a pang of guilt. “Okay, fine, maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that,” I mumbled, “but I was just so angry. And you should hear the things she said… You know I usually respect her.” Mark sighed, took off his jacket, and gently guided me to sit on the bed. “Look,” he explained, “Mom mentioned this to me before. And honestly… I’ve thought about it, and maybe it’s not the worst idea.” My eyes shot wide open. He quickly put his hands on my shoulders. “Just hear me out,” he pleaded. “David got hurt because of me when we were kids. His leg… no girl ever wanted him after that. I owe him, Sarah. Big time. And besides, Mom had that reading… you know, the psychic said this baby is another girl. So, we’d still have our younger daughter even if Chloe went to live with David. It could work out.” Like mother, like son. His reasoning was exactly the same as hers. I stood up, staring at him in disbelief. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you crazy, Mark?! That’s your daughter! You’d just… give her away? What kind of father are you?!” “It’s not ‘giving her away’!” he retorted. “It’s David! My own brother, who’s always been there for me! He would take good care of Chloe. And listen, I was thinking… I could give David a job at my company, get him set up in the city nearby. That way, you could see Chloe whenever you want.” “For me? Or for yourself?” I shot back. “Yes, Mark, your brother helped you. You owe him. We can repay that debt in so many ways! Money, help finding him a job, setting him up on dates – anything! Why does it have to be our daughter?” “Why can’t you understand? It’s not giving her away! He’d be living close by. You could visit all the time.” It was like talking to a brick wall. I was furious. “Well, it’s not happening!” I snapped. “You are being completely unreasonable!” “Me, unreasonable? Fine! If I’m so unreasonable, then go talk to your perfectly reasonable mother and brother!” With that, I furiously grabbed a few changes of clothes, threw them in a bag, and stormed out of the room. My mother-in-law was standing right outside the door, clearly eavesdropping. Before she could say a word, I announced, “I’m not staying for dinner. I’m taking Chloe back home.” “Back home? This is your home,” she started. I ignored her, grabbed Chloe’s hand, and walked out. We caught a cab back to the city that night. In the car, Chloe held my hand tightly, her little face full of worry. “Mommy,” she asked in her tiny voice, “are you okay? Why isn’t Daddy coming with us?” She was only four. Too young to understand that her own father wanted to give her away. Thinking about it, the tears I’d been holding back finally started to fall. 3 The next day, Mark came back from his mom’s place. Seeing him, the anger I’d managed to push down resurfaced. I gave him the silent treatment, pretending he was invisible. He pulled out the charm offensive he used when we were dating, apologizing profusely. “Sarah, I messed up. I really did. Please, forgive me just this once?” “Oh yeah? Tell me exactly what you did wrong.” “I was wrong… wrong to upset you,” he stammered, watching my face. “I should have considered your feelings. I shouldn’t have been so focused on my own ideas.” Seeing my expression soften slightly, he continued, “You know how things have been lately, with the economy up and down, business has been slow… I’ve been stressed out. Mom kept going on and on about it, and seeing David like that… I just feel so bad for him. I wasn’t thinking straight when I argued with you.” Seeing him look so genuinely sorry, most of my anger melted away. I found myself comforting him. “Honey, I know how hard you work. Don’t worry too much. Business might be slow now, but things will turn around. You’re smart and hardworking, you’ll figure it out.” For the next couple of months, I used the excuse of my growing belly and nearing due date to avoid going back to his hometown. My mother-in-law called occasionally, but she didn’t bring up the adoption thing again. I started to think maybe the whole issue had blown over. Then, one evening, Mark came home from work, and trailing behind him were his mother and David. “Mom. David.” I managed a tight smile, shooting Mark a questioning look. My mother-in-law glanced at me and gave a little sniff. David looked around our living room before his eyes landed on me. We made eye contact, and he smiled. It was a smile that sent a chill down my spine. I instinctively grabbed Mark’s arm, my eyes silently asking, Why are they here? Mark quickly explained, “Sarah, Mom and David are going to stay with us for a while. Could you get the guest room ready?” He gently pulled me toward our bedroom, turning back to say, “Mom, David, make yourselves comfortable. I ordered some takeout, it’ll be here soon.” I was fuming. He hadn’t mentioned a word about them coming. As soon as Mark closed our bedroom door, I demanded, “What is going on? Why are they here? Did you deliberately not tell me because you knew I’d be upset?” “No, Sarah, you’ve got it wrong this time!” Mark insisted, looking genuinely surprised. “They called me when they were already at the bus station! What was I supposed to do, tell them to turn around and go back? Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “I asked them on the way here. David’s just here to see a specialist about his leg. They won’t be staying long.” Hearing that eased my mind slightly. “You’re not lying? Just for his leg?” “I promise,” Mark assured me. “How long are they planning to stay…?” I started to ask, then saw Mark’s expression shift. This was his family, and despite the adoption issue making me wary of them, it was his house too – the one he worked hard to pay the mortgage on. I quickly changed my tone. “Well, if David needs medical help, we should definitely support him.” Mark immediately smiled and pulled me into a hug. He leaned in for a kiss, then looked down at my belly and teased, “If this little girl doesn’t come out soon, I’m going to go crazy.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Oh, you!” During David’s stay for his treatment, he acted perfectly normal. Sometimes, if I couldn’t sleep, I’d wander into the living room late at night, but I never heard anything unusual coming from his room. Still, remembering that incident from before… catching him watching those videos… I couldn’t bring myself to let Chloe spend much time alone with him. My mother-in-law still made snide remarks under her breath whenever she thought Mark wasn’t listening – things like “ungrateful,” “what’s the big deal,” “some people forget who helped them.” But Mark usually stepped in and defended me. Slowly, the atmosphere in the house became less tense. I started to relax my guard, even feeling a little guilty for being so suspicious of David. Not long after, I gave birth to our second child – another beautiful daughter. We named her Annie, and I was overjoyed.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392279”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Because of the pandemic, our apartment building suddenly went into lockdown. I glanced at the small fortune I’d spent stockpiling food. I wasn’t worried. What I didn’t expect was that my soon-to-be ex-husband, Ethan, who’d come back to pack his things, and his soon-to-be fiancée, would also get locked down… in my apartment. Oh god, what kind of fresh hell was this? 1 “Urgent notice: Due to the ongoing health crisis, the building is temporarily locked down. All residents must cooperate…” Locked down. Again. I was used to it by now. Looking down at the two huge grocery bags in my hands – easily four figures worth of panic-buying – I wasn’t panicking. When I got to my apartment door, I was fumbling in my purse for my keys when I realized the door was already slightly ajar. Ethan’s voice drifted out, “I told you, I can pack up my stuff myself.” I pushed the door open and came face-to-face with Ethan and a stunning woman standing beside him. The beautiful woman looked a little flustered. She glanced at Ethan, then lowered her gaze, a charming hint of softness in her eyes. Okay, I got it. This must be Ethan’s long-lost ex-girlfriend, the one he was crazy about, who just got back from overseas. “Hi, I’m Lily – Ethan’s soon-to-be ex-wife,” I chirped, maybe a little too brightly. “Oh… hi, Lily. I’m Sarah…” Ethan’s ex was clearly taken aback by my enthusiasm. After a surprised pause, she offered a gentle smile back. We even made a move like we were going to shake hands, friendly as could be. Except my hands were full. Ethan frowned at me, then walked over and took the heavy bags. “What’d you buy all this for? Celebrating our divorce?” His tone was clipped, annoyed. Remembering why I’d bought it all, I blurted out, “The building’s on lockdown!” “Lockdown?” Ethan’s frown deepened. He glanced over at the suitcase standing near the door, a serious look clouding his dark eyes. Sarah looked worried now too. She turned to Ethan, her voice soft, “Ethan, what do we do? We still have…” “We’ll have to stay put for now. Wait until the lockdown lifts,” he cut her off. It finally hit me. With the sudden lockdown, Ethan and his old flame were going to be stuck here… with me. Great. Making the beautiful Sarah stay in what was technically still Ethan’s and my “marital home.” I almost felt bad for her. 02 Ethan and I didn’t get married for love. It was purely a marriage of convenience. Back then, my family was relentlessly pressuring me to get married, and he happened to need a wife for appearances. We “met” on some upscale matchmaking site and got married practically overnight. About a month ago, I found out his ex, Sarah, was back in the picture. So, I did the decent thing and offered him an out – asked for a divorce. We were just waiting for him to get back from a business trip to file the papers. Never thought we’d get hit with a lockdown before we could make it official. Since this apartment was Ethan’s before we got married, and he was being pretty decent about it – agreeing to sign it over to me in the divorce settlement – I did the polite thing. I cleared out the master bedroom, which I’d kept spotless, and generously offered it to him and his future wife. I moved my stuff into the smaller spare room next door. And just like that, the three of us began our extended quarantine life together. After a few days, I could see why Ethan was hung up on Sarah for so long. Sarah was efficient with housework and an amazing cook – a total domestic goddess. “Sarah, you’re incredible! Ethan would be the luckiest guy in the world if he married you!” I laid it on thick, smiling sincerely. Hey, when someone’s cooking gourmet meals for you, you gotta lay down some compliments, right? Sarah blushed, clearly flattered. Her eyes, full of affection, drifted towards Ethan. But he just kept eating slowly, methodically, barely acknowledging her. What was Ethan’s deal?! Not exactly Mr. Warmth. Or… was I, the soon-to-be ex-wife, making things awkward? Thinking maybe I should stop being the third wheel, I decided to head downstairs for the mandatory COVID testing. As I got up, Sarah headed towards the kitchen, probably feeling hurt by Ethan’s coolness. I nudged Ethan’s arm discreetly. “Sarah’s amazing,” I whispered. “You gotta treat her better, you know? Don’t be so cold, like you always were with me!” Ethan paused mid-bite, shooting me an icy glance. “Doesn’t all that food you inhale ever shut you up?” “…” Ouch. Sharp tongue. I was used to it, though. I rolled my eyes at him. As Sarah came back from the kitchen, I said, “Sarah, your future husband here has been looking gloomy these past few days. Am I cramping your style? Interrupting your quality time?” Sarah blushed crimson. Ethan’s face darkened. See? Called it! “Lily.” Ethan’s voice was suddenly low and sharp, calling my name… 03 I jumped, startled. He hadn’t used that tone with me since we got married. What was his problem? I quickly grabbed my mask and face shield by the door. “Just going down for my COVID test!” And with that, I bolted. Seriously, if they wanted alone time, they didn’t have to treat me like the enemy! As I pulled out my phone to find my ID, a notification popped up – a message from Ethan. I tapped it, but it vanished. “Message retracted.” Ugh, I hated when people did that! Given our super awkward situation, and with his old flame right there, I couldn’t exactly text back asking what he’d said. So, I took my curiosity down to the testing line. The person administering the tests – clad head-to-toe in PPE, but I recognized her voice as my neighbor, Deb – expertly swabbed my throat, twisting it just long enough to make me gag. Seeing no one else waiting, she leaned in conspiratorially. “Someone’s been eating well during lockdown, huh? Looking a little… healthier.” I chuckled nervously, about to mention the unexpected “domestic goddess” in our apartment, aka Ethan’s girlfriend. But Deb beat me to it. “Speaking of, where’s your husband and his… cousin? Haven’t seen them down here.” Cousin? It clicked. Deb must have thought Sarah was Ethan’s cousin. When Ethan and I first got married – partly because my parents were breathing down my neck, partly because I saw flashes of kindness beneath his reserved exterior – we somehow managed to make our convenient arrangement look real to outsiders. So, I figured Ethan must have told people Sarah was his cousin to avoid gossip, to protect her reputation. Smart. I just laughed vaguely and mumbled something noncommittal to Deb before heading back upstairs. Since we were still under lockdown, the building staff told everyone to head straight back to their apartments after testing. Walking back, I couldn’t help but hope I’d walk in on some classic rom-com scene – maybe a steamy make-out session against the wall, or some intense flirting. Anything to justify how hard I was trying not to get in their way…

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392278”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I never should have agreed to go camping with my ex-boyfriend! Lying here in this hospital bed, remembering what happened that day makes my eyes well up, and I still tremble with fear. If I hadn’t brought Buddy with me, he wouldn’t have died. I regret it so much! I don’t know what got into him that day, but Alex Thorne, usually the most boring guy on earth, suddenly suggested taking me camping. I thought, is hell freezing over? Since when did he get spontaneous? I happily agreed, not really thinking about why he was acting so out of character. Once we drove deep into the mountains, the cell signal died. I was left stroking my husky Buddy’s head to pass the time. As we neared the summit, Alex looked preoccupied, driving faster and faster. A knot of worry formed in my stomach. He wasn’t usually this reckless. What was he rushing for? “Alex, slow down a little.” Instead of slowing down, he sped up. “There’s a spot up ahead with an amazing view. We’ll miss it if we’re late.” Oh, was that it? I relaxed a bit, teasing him, “Wow, you even scouted it out? That doesn’t sound like you, Alex.” It was just an offhand comment, but Alex flinched, instinctively flooring the gas before slamming on the brakes. If it weren’t for our seatbelts, Buddy and I would’ve smashed into the windshield. “Alex, what the hell are you doing!” “Sorry… guess I stayed up too late gaming last night.” His eyes darted away as he kept driving towards the summit. Five minutes later, Alex pulled over to the side of the road, killed the engine, and said, “Let’s get out and take some pictures.” “Here?” The spot overlooked distant mountains and the harbor below. The view was definitely decent. I looked around. Besides the view, there wasn’t much else here. I shook my head. “I don’t really feel like taking pictures.” “Mia, come on, you’ll see. See that viewpoint marker over there? The ocean and sky behind it… the photos will look incredible!” Following his finger, I saw a narrow, half-overhanging rock ledge next to the marker, maybe only a couple of feet wide. It definitely had that risky, adventurous photo-op vibe, but just walking over there looked terrifying. I was still hesitant. “It looks so high up.” Getting amazing photos was tempting, but not enough to make me risk my neck. While I was hesitating, Alex grabbed my wrist. “Come on, I’m right here. What are you afraid of? Besides, this is probably part of the park, it’s gotta be safe, right?” Even if it was an official spot, I thought, it looked like it hadn’t been maintained in years. Alex, the total homebody, clearly didn’t get out much. But I didn’t want to spoil the mood, so I got out of the car with Buddy. “Okay, fine. Just one picture to remember it.” But who could have guessed? The second I opened my door, before I could even grab Buddy’s leash, he bolted straight for the wildflowers near that rock ledge! Huskies are like that – see something interesting, gotta pounce. “Buddy, no! Stay!” I scrambled after him, but in that split second, Buddy had already leaped onto the rock ledge. Suddenly, everything went wrong. The ledge lurched violently, and there was a loud cracking sound! “Buddy, get off there! Now!” My face drained of color as I rushed forward. But I was too late. With a sickening crash, Buddy and a large chunk of the crumbling ledge plummeted down! A heartbreaking yelp echoed through the mountains, then silence. “Buddy! BUDDY—” In an instant, my blood rushed to my head. I threw myself towards the cliff edge, leaning way over, tears streaming down my face. But I never heard Buddy again. Instead, I saw a sickening smear of red on the cliffside below. 2: Disfigured “Al… Alex! Quick, we have to drive down the mountain!” Panicked, I looked behind me, expecting Alex to reach out and help me up. Instead, he kicked me square in the chest, sending me flying backward! What was he doing?! I didn’t even have time to react before I was airborne. My eyes wide open, I couldn’t make out the expression on his face as I fell like a rag doll, straight down from the mountain… My mind went blank. Agony and darkness swallowed me whole. I don’t know how long I was out. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. Tubes snaked in and out of my body. My face was covered in bandages. Just moving my lips sent searing pain through me. I tried to lift my hand but couldn’t move. A woman I didn’t know, maybe a nurse or an aide, saw I was awake. She gasped excitedly and ran out, calling, “Sir, sir, she’s awake!” Soon, a man appeared beside my bed. His voice was gentle. “How are you feeling now?” He was handsome, with a kind, easygoing vibe. Definitely the gentle type, but I was sure I didn’t know him. I couldn’t speak, so I just blinked at him. He understood, smiling with relief. He politely explained, “My name is Liam Walker. I was driving near the base of the mountain that day and saw you lying unconscious. I brought you to the hospital. You’ve been in a coma for a month.” A month ago… The image of Alex standing on the cliff edge, kicking me down, flashed before my eyes. The wave of pain washed over me again. I pressed my fingers lightly to my temple. After a moment, my thoughts cleared with terrifying clarity. I should have known – when something seems too good or too weird to be true, it usually is! Alex and I had been dating for six months. Besides work, he barely left our neighborhood. But that day, he suddenly wanted to take me camping, specifically to that mountain, to that spot for pictures. Thinking back to how jumpy he was driving, how he slammed on the brakes… all the little details clicked into place. It all felt deliberate! That rock ledge couldn’t have just crumbled on its own. He must have messed with it somehow, then deliberately lured me over there to take pictures. Except, my playful dog accidentally took my place. Seeing no one around and me leaning over the edge, Alex must have decided to finish the job and kicked me off. But why? Why would he want to kill me? I couldn’t figure it out. My head throbbed, and my eyes burned red. The man beside my bed noticed my distress. He quickly took my hand, calming me. “Don’t move too much, and try not to think too hard. The doctor said you need complete rest if you woke up. No stress.” Just as he finished speaking, the aide returned with a doctor. I put my thoughts on hold. The doctor performed a series of checks, gave me an injection, and then said, “Ms. Evans, aside from a few fractures, all your vital organs are functioning well. You should be fine with another month of recovery here. However, the injuries to your face… those will take time to heal. We can discuss options with our hospital’s plastic surgeons later. They’re excellent, Ms. Evans, you can rest assured.” “Okay, thank you,” Liam answered for me. But my attention snagged on the words “plastic surgeons.” My face went pale— Plastic surgery… why would I need plastic surgery? Realization dawned. Frantically, I grabbed the aide’s phone from the bedside table and opened the camera app. I saw it – the face hidden beneath layers of gauze, with a jagged scar running from my eyebrow across the bridge of my nose. That was just the part I could see. What about the rest? In an instant, I understood – I was disfigured. 3: A Woman Who Looks Just Like Me Liam gently took the phone from me, his large hand resting reassuringly on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re alive, that’s what matters. Your face can be fixed. It’ll be okay.” The doctor, catching on, quickly added, “Ms. Evans, please don’t worry. Plastic surgery techniques are very advanced these days. We can definitely restore your appearance. Falling from that height… waking up this quickly is already a miracle. It shows you have incredible willpower. Try not to be burdened by this. Besides, your husband has been so worried about you, barely leaving your side this past month. You wouldn’t want him to keep worrying, right?” Husband? The doctor must have misunderstood, but right then, I had zero desire to correct him. Tears dripped onto the white sheets I was clutching tightly. All I could picture was Alex’s foot connecting with my chest that day. I couldn’t forget the feeling of tumbling down the mountain, the tearing pain, the utter despair. But what had Alex been doing this past month? My parents were gone, and I had no other relatives. If I had actually died, what would Alex gain? Probably my hefty company shares and my downtown condo. The answer settled grimly in my mind. A fierce hatred bloomed inside me. My lips trembled as I forced the words out, my voice raspy. “Don’t worry. I won’t give up.” In that moment, an unprecedented will to live surged through me. Only by getting better could I stand before Alex again, demand answers, or… get justice for myself. Seeing my determination, Liam nodded, relieved. He then clarified our relationship to the doctor. After the doctor left, the aide went to handle some paperwork. Liam sat beside me, picked up a fruit knife, and started peeling an apple. He had broad shoulders and was undeniably handsome. From my angle, I could see the sharp line of his jaw, his clear, kind eyes. He was infinitely better looking than Alex. I never thought I’d meet someone like him, especially not after my face was ruined. But why did he save me? And take care of me so diligently for so long? Are some people just naturally saints? Or was he after something? My looks? But I was disfigured now, so what could he possibly gain… I couldn’t figure it out, so I decided to just think of him as an angel for now. Liam carefully cut the apple into small slices, placed them within my reach, poured me a glass of water with a straw, and then said, “It’s great that you’re feeling stronger. I was worried about how you’d handle… everything.” I took a few sips of water, my voice finally returning. I had to ask. “You just found me by the road, why did you take care of me for a whole month? You really didn’t have to do all that.” His fingers tightened slightly around the knife. He smiled, “Just wanted to see it through, I guess. Call it paying it forward.” I nodded. So, people like that really did exist. “What do you do, Mr. Walker?” “I work at Apex Holdings.” “That’s a coincidence. My parents used to work with Apex Holdings too.” My expression darkened. “But they passed away a year ago.” The smile on Liam’s lips froze. His eyes flickered with a complex emotion, but it vanished so quickly I thought I’d imagined it. “Everything will get better,” he said softly. “Just focus on healing. I’ll be here to help.” “Thank you.” Liam felt like the only lifeline I had in this abyss. I trusted him and didn’t want to let him down. I cooperated fully with the doctors, kept my spirits up, and my recovery was surprisingly fast. A month later, I was discharged. After leaving the hospital, I sent Liam a text, planning to go home first to sort things out before contacting him again. But I never expected what I saw before I even reached my building— Walking down the street, arm in arm, were two people: Alex, and a woman who looked exactly like me!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392277”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It took everything I had, but I finally married her. She could be sweet as pie one minute and fierce as a mama bear the next, but I loved every bit of her. Then one night, I found my wife, eyes glowing red, gulping down a bowl of… goat blood? 1 “I don’t care! You don’t cough up sixteen grand for the bride price today, you can forget about marrying my daughter!” Watching my future mother-in-law practically spit nails, I felt cornered. My relatives who came with me to pop the question were all shifting uncomfortably. Ashley just kept her head down, silent. She couldn’t help me here; she’d warned me it wouldn’t be pretty today. We’d secretly agreed on $8,800 before. I never expected her mom to double it today and basically block the door. “She’s my only daughter! And you won’t even move in with us, so why shouldn’t I ask for more money?” I’m the only son in my family; moving in with her family was out of the question. Things were getting messy. I tried to smooth things over with her mom. “Ma’am, look, all our relatives are here. Let’s just stick to what we agreed on. I promise I’ll take good care of you and your husband, and I’ll always treat Ashley right. You don’t have to worry.” I’m just a regular working guy. I couldn’t pull that kind of cash out of thin air, especially after already putting a down payment on a house. “I don’t care! Money talks!” The old woman wouldn’t budge. That’s when Ashley, usually so gentle and shy, suddenly dropped to her knees. “Mom, I’m pregnant. We have to get married. Or else.” Ashley pulled out a pair of scissors and, looking dead serious, aimed them at her own arm. I lunged forward, grabbed her, wrestled the scissors away. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Her mom’s face barely flickered. Then, cold as ice, she said— “Buy one, get one free. All the more reason you should pay up, Kevin! Fine. Twelve thousand. Not a penny less. Otherwise, you don’t get either of them!” “Deal!” I was set on building a life with Ashley. Her mom only cared about money; we could just keep our distance later. “And one more thing,” her mom added. “You two are paying for the wedding reception yourselves. I don’t have any money for that.” Looking at Ashley beside me, I gritted my teeth and agreed. Half an hour later, a buddy brought the cash over from the bank. Seeing the greenbacks, my mother-in-law beamed and welcomed us in. Everything went smoothly after that. The wedding was set for a month later. Even though it was more of a country wedding, my family made sure it was respectable. We each invited our own friends and family, plus booked thirty tables at a hotel in the city. That day, Ashley walked towards me in a pure white gown, her eyes shimmering with tears. I was a bundle of nerves myself. But for a split second, the woman walking down the aisle looked uncannily familiar. Like someone else. Someone who should have been at the wedding, but wasn’t. An old friend I’d lost touch with. Married life was mostly peaceful. My parents weren’t thrilled that Ashley didn’t have much book smarts, but they didn’t give her a hard time. While she wasn’t educated in the traditional sense, she was sharp when it came to managing money and making deals. “Kevin,” Ashley said one day, “we bought the house in town, but Mom and Dad are still out here. Why don’t we build them a new house here so they can retire comfortably?” I was surprised. I hadn’t even thought of that. My folks would definitely stay in the countryside, and our place would be too small when we eventually had kids and came back to visit. Soon, we started construction. I bought a used pickup truck for two grand to haul materials. We hired a crew for the main construction; we just handled the supply runs and support stuff. But before the first floor was even finished, weird problems started popping up. First, a main water pipe joint cracked. Then, workers started calling in sick one after another. The project ground to a halt. We were scratching our heads, wondering what was going on, when the culprits basically showed up on our doorstep. 2 The cement delivery guy called, saying the road was blocked. He couldn’t get through. My whole family rushed out to check. There they were: the Miller family, lounging by the side of the road like they owned the place. They’d hammered seven or eight wooden stakes into the ground, blocking the driver’s path. My family and the Millers had bad blood going way back. I couldn’t believe they’d stoop this low. They must’ve been behind the busted pipe and the workers skipping out, too. The Millers had a bit of money and some connections in town hall. “Mike Miller! This isn’t your road! What gives you the right to block us?” I yelled. As soon as the words left my mouth, his whole family burst out laughing. “Kevin, this used to be our land right here. Sure, other folks can pass, but you definitely can’t!” “You pull this crap, you think I won’t make a bigger stink?” It had to come to this eventually. We needed to settle things with them before the house was finished. I moved to pull out the stakes, but Mike and his brothers immediately rushed me, shoving hard. They were built like linebackers and knocked me flat. Forget keeping cool; I started swinging back, and we were all rolling in the dirt. Suddenly, I heard the piercing honk of a car horn. I looked up – Ashley was flooring it in my beat-up pickup, heading straight for us! I scrambled out of the way. The Millers, terrified, jumped back, screaming. CRUNCH! The truck slammed into the stakes, shattering them all. My jaw dropped. Ashley had never driven before, only watched me from the passenger seat. Silence fell over the crowd. Everyone was stunned by my wife’s insane, bold move. Ashley opened the truck door, got out, and flung a gleaming butcher knife. It landed point-down in the dirt right in front of the Millers. “Wanna see who’s crazier? You keep messing with us, and Ashley Carter doesn’t mind doing some jail time!” Everyone froze, shocked by Ashley. The Millers just stared at each other, speechless. I scrambled to my feet and stood beside Ashley, pulling the hunting knife I kept clipped to my belt and flashing the blade. “Mike, the Hayes family isn’t some pushover you can just bully! If you’re gonna act like this when you know you’re wrong, I’ll fight you to the end!” Might as well fight fire with fire. God knows how they hassled my parents when I wasn’t around. It was time I stood up like a man. Before I could react, Ashley snatched the knife from my hand, rushed forward, and quick as lightning, held the blade to Mike Miller’s throat. “You gonna try anything else?” I held my breath. The Millers were in chaos. “Crazy bitch! Crazy bitch! Let’s go!” The Millers scrambled away, looking pathetic. We got back to work. After that incident, the Millers didn’t dare bother us again. Sometimes, you learn the hard way: nice guys finish last, and you have to get tough with bullies. Ashley became notorious in the village. Most people whispered about the fiery temper of this outsider wife, someone you didn’t want to cross. My parents, though? They actually liked Ashley more after this. Only I felt this strange, unsettling feeling whenever I looked at Ashley. When I first met her working out of state, she was shy, quiet, hardly spoke. But she was gentle, always spoke softly, rarely got emotional. We fell in love, and I adored her calm, soothing nature. After we got married, she seemed different. I couldn’t pinpoint it. Her temper flared hot and cold. And sometimes, I’d catch this look in her eyes… it wasn’t the same Ashley I knew. 3 Six months later, the house back home was finally finished. Mom and Dad moved in. Ashley and I went back to our place in town. She kept her job as a front desk clerk at a hotel, and I used the wedding gift money to start a small business. One night, I woke up needing to pee. There was a faint light coming from the kitchen. I tiptoed over, peeked around the corner. There was Ashley, gulping down… something. In an instant, bright red liquid trickled down her neck. She looked like she was savoring it. Suddenly, she whipped her head around to look at me. Her eyes glowed red, blood smeared around her mouth. Like a vampire. “What are you doing?” She had just chugged a bowl of goat blood. Just like that, Ashley seemed to snap back to herself, dropping the bowl in panic. “I was thirsty, just getting some water. Go back to sleep, honey.” I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next day, Saturday, I followed Ashley on her grocery run, all the way to the farmer’s market. She chatted and laughed with the vendors along the way, totally normal. Until she reached the butcher stall selling live poultry. What I saw next, I couldn’t believe. Ashley grabbed the butcher’s cleaver, and with a swift chop, killed a chicken. Then she immediately held a large bowl under it, collecting the gushing blood, and drank it down in one go. Then a second chicken, a third. Bowl after bowl of chicken blood, she drank like she couldn’t get enough. People in the market stared, mouths open, speechless. They slowly backed away, whispering among themselves. Soon, Ashley had the butcher pack up some more blood to go, and walked away calmly, ignoring the stares. Back home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Honey, have you been feeling sick lately?” “Nope! Healthy as a horse! Eating great!” Ashley looked so innocent, didn’t seem like she was lying. “Do you have… maybe a weird craving? Like, for drinking blood?” I watched her closely, but couldn’t find anything off. She was acting completely natural. “Oh, that? Yeah, just been feeling really thirsty lately. Goat blood and stuff seems to quench it better.” The conversation died there. I went to see a therapist myself. The doctor said I was probably just overworked and stressed, letting my imagination run wild. He prescribed some meds to help me relax. Less than two weeks later, Ashley started acting jumpy, looking worried all the time. I asked her again and again what was wrong, but she wouldn’t say. And then there was the fridge – it was filling up with containers of different kinds of animal blood. Her need for blood was growing, like a bottomless red pit. I even got a call from a guy at a pig farm, saying my wife had made an appointment to buy a pig… for slaughter. I secretly followed her there once. Again, Ashley wielded the knife herself, collecting basin after basin of pig blood. She drank her fill, then packed the rest to take home. The guys at the pig farm were seriously freaked out. They refused to sell her any more pigs. But what about all the times I didn’t see her? How much animal blood had she really drunk? Or maybe… maybe it wasn’t just animal blood? The thought terrified me, sent shivers down my spine. To test my horrifying suspicion, one afternoon when Ashley came home from work, I poured her a glass of watermelon juice. She took it happily, but the moment it touched her lips, she spat it out violently, then ran to the bathroom and threw up. She poured the rest of the juice down the drain. Mixed into that juice was blood from a small cut I’d made on my own wrist. Thank God. She didn’t drink human blood. But what was happening to her? What would she become? I felt like I was losing my mind

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392276”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I felt a gentle hand stroking my cheek. Was it my wife, Sarah? How could it be? Sarah died just a few days ago. My heart leaped in shock, and I forced my eyes open. Going from darkness to sudden light stung my eyes. I squinted, uncomfortable, but desperate to see the person by the bed. 1. She stood bathed in what felt like an explosion of white light, her form hazy, almost a silhouette. As the stinging faded and my vision cleared, her features sharpened. Delicate eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes, and that habit of pressing her lips together slightly before breaking into a smile. It really was Sarah! Was she alive, or was I dead? Is this a dream? I stared, dumbfounded, at the living, breathing person before me. Then I heard her say, “It’s almost seven. Get up, Sleepyhead, Andy.” Sleepyhead, Andy. Hearing that familiar nickname, tears rolled down my cheeks without me even realizing it. I scrambled up and pulled my wife into a fierce hug. Through my own sobbing, I felt her warmth seep into me, heard her slightly exasperated voice asking what was wrong, right beside my ear. After a long moment, I managed to calm down. Right now, I couldn’t tell if Sarah dying in that plane crash was real, or just a terrible nightmare I’d had. I told her about it. She listened, laughing softly, then gently wiped the tears from my face— “You dream about what you worry about, huh? ‘Fess up, did you take out a big life insurance policy on me?” Hearing that, I laughed and pulled her close again, overwhelmed by the happiness of having her back, of loss reversed. I breathed in her familiar scent, sighing, “I was so scared of losing you…” Sarah patted my back comfortingly. “It was just a nightmare. You’re awake now, it’s okay.” She gently pulled away. “Come on, get up, or you’ll be late.” I grabbed my phone and checked the date again: December 5th, 2022, 7:03 AM. I vaguely remembered sitting by Sarah’s headstone, seeing the engraved letters. Sarah Miller (November 15, 1993 – December 5, 2022) A wave of confusion washed over me. …Was it really just a nightmare? I swung my legs out of bed and followed Sarah, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, then touch her hand. She turned and hugged me, resting her chin on my chest— “Andy, I would never, ever leave you like that. It was just a dream.” “When you wake up, the pain from the dream fades away. Can you even clearly remember how it felt now?” I tried hard to recall the feelings from the dream. Seeing the news about the missing plane, watching her casket… no, the container with her ashes being prepared for interment, sitting on the damp, cold ground staring at her grave marker. All that crushing grief… it was starting to feel distant, fuzzy. I slowly shook my head. Seeing me shake my head, Sarah slipped out of my arms and headed towards the kitchen. “Then hurry up and get ready! Breakfast is almost done. I made pancakes.” She stood at the kitchen doorway and gave me a playful wink. Shaking off the lingering confusion, I asked, “Did you use hot water for the mix, or cold?” Sarah hesitated. “Cold… water? Isn’t cold better for dissolving the powder?” I walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid off the pan on the stove. A puff of steam cleared to reveal… well, a soupy, slightly sad-looking pancake. She looked up at me sheepishly— “Whoops, sorry! I just thought since you were working late, I’d make breakfast so you could sleep in a bit longer.” Working late? Suddenly, I remembered a detail from the nightmare. In the dream, I’d also had to work late, forcing me to cancel my ticket. I couldn’t go with Sarah on the plane. That flight to Boston… I remembered it was at 2 PM. I walked to the kitchen doorway and looked into the living room. Just like in the dream, there was a half-packed, open suitcase lying next to the sofa. My voice urgent, I asked, “Is it the two o’clock flight?” Sarah looked at me, puzzled, but nodded. A cold dread started spreading from the pit of my stomach. Could the plane crash, just like in my dream, actually happen? 2 I told Sarah about the dream again, insisting, over and over, that it felt like a premonition. The same late-night work, the same suitcase by the sofa, the same flight time. At first, Sarah patiently tried to reason with me. She said I had it backward. The work, the flight, the suitcase – those were all things that were real before I went to sleep. My subconscious had just woven them into a nightmare. Her logic made me waver for a second. But I was still terrified. What if…? That tiny chance it could actually come true. So I kept trying to persuade her, until Sarah finally lost her patience. She yelled, “You’ve been watching too many Final Destination movies! A premonition? Yeah, right, a premonition about bubblegum!” I opened my mouth to argue again, but she shot me a look, frowning impatiently. “Go to work, or deal with me. Your choice.” I wanted to say more, but I stopped myself. Finally, with dignity, demonstrating sound judgment, I chose… to go to work. Sitting on the subway car, I kept thinking about what Sarah said, about the subconscious. Maybe it was just my subconscious playing tricks. But… I had this nagging feeling, a memory from the nightmare, something that happened after I fell asleep. Something from the morning of December 5th. Something I did before getting on this subway… I felt like it was crucial. But what was it? I couldn’t remember. The automated voice announcing the next stop broke my train of thought. The crowd surged out like a receding tide, leaving the car emptier. I looked out at the platform sign revealed as people dispersed: Tech Center West. My stop was next. I stood up and walked towards the door, watching the ads flicker past outside the window. My mind uncontrollably drifted back to the nightmare details. In the dream, after leaving the cemetery, I’d walked forever, unable find a bus stop. The rain got heavier, the cold seeped into my bones, and I stumbled, dazed, into a subway station I’d never seen near the cemetery before. It was a weird station – silent, cold, completely empty. Trains waited on both sides, but only the one on the left had its lights on, doors wide open, as if waiting just for me. Soaked from the rain, head throbbing, I hadn’t even bothered to check the station name before getting on. … My thoughts kept looping, giving me a splitting headache. Outside the window, the advertisements had vanished. The subway plunged into an unnatural, thick darkness. The car suddenly became silent, like sinking into the deep ocean. Then, in the endless darkness stretching ahead, a single beam of light appeared. And in the light… was a girl? She was dressed all in black, hair pulled back in a ponytail, facing my direction. I couldn’t see her face clearly, but I felt like that blurred face under the eerie light was glaring at me, furious. The scene from my dream was happening again! Fear froze me in place. Suddenly, a fragment of memory flashed through my mind. I remembered a detail. When Sarah called me from the airport gate to say she was okay, she mentioned running into someone she knew. Who was it? Right, the daughter of her parents’ neighbors, Brenda White. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. If Sarah ran into Brenda White at the gate this afternoon… then I absolutely could not let Sarah get on that plane. 3 Even though I’d made up my mind, I couldn’t focus at work. I fidgeted anxiously, barely able to sit still, until finally, lunchtime arrived. I choked down a few bites of food, then rushed out of the cafeteria, found a quiet corner, and dialed Sarah’s number. It rang for a long time before she picked up. I could faintly hear the noise of the airport terminal in the background. I quickly asked if she’d gotten her ticket okay, if the trip to the airport was fine, standard stuff. Then I got straight to the point: had she run into anyone she knew? “Someone I know? Who?” “Brenda White?” “Brenda?” Her voice sounded distant; I guessed she was looking around. After a moment, her voice came back clear. “Nope, haven’t seen her. Who told you she was flying back to Boston today too?” This was different from the dream. A wave of relief washed over me; the huge weight I’d been carrying lifted. I chuckled to myself, thinking, Seriously, believing in nightmares? Maybe I have watched Final Destination too many times. I mumbled some excuse about hearing it from someone, changed the subject, chatted for a few more minutes, and then hung up. That afternoon, I threw myself into my work. Just as I finished color-correcting a video and started the rendering process, I noticed the office had descended into a low buzz of chatter. Confused, I pulled out my phone. No signal. Somehow, it had been switched to airplane mode. The last message I’d received was from Sarah. “Just asked Brenda. She is going back to Boston today, but couldn’t get a plane ticket, so she’s taking the train instead.” I switched off airplane mode, reconnected to the Wi-Fi, and was about to reply when Mike from the next cubicle leaned over. “Andy, you seen the news? The afternoon flight to Boston… it’s gone missing.” I froze. I heard something shatter inside my head. “The flight… to Boston?” “Yeah, the one that left at two. Flight number was…” He scrolled on his phone for a second, then looked up at me, his eyes wide— “Holy crap, Andy! That was the flight I couldn’t get tickets for! I was just bitching about having to work late because I couldn’t get on it… Man, am I lucky—” I slowly stood up, the room spinning around me. All the emotions, all the memories, rushed back at once. I remembered identifying Sarah’s… what was left of her body, the rage I felt. Watching her become nothing but a box of ashes, the utter despair. How could I have risked it? How could I have let myself hope, only to watch Sarah walk towards death again? The helplessness inside me exploded. I bolted towards the office door, pushing with all my might against the heavy glass, and then— ice-cold water slammed into me. The force knocked me back, forcing me to let go of the door handle. Standing behind the glass door was a girl. Dressed in black, ponytail. I looked at her furrowed brow, heard her cold voice muffled through the glass— “Why did you let her get on the plane again?” 4 I sat bolt upright, gasping for air. As oxygen filled my lungs and my senses slowly returned, I felt sticky, drenched in sweat. A hand was rubbing my back, a voice murmuring softly near my ear. “Sarah?!” My voice came out raspy. She answered, leaning in to hug me. Tears instantly flooded my eyes. I remembered the girl in black who’d splashed water on me just before I woke up, how she’d dragged me into that empty subway station. As the subway started moving and my consciousness faded, I heard her say: “Don’t let her get on the plane again.” The plane? Right! The plane that had killed Sarah twice now. I pulled away from Sarah’s embrace and fumbled for my phone. The date displayed: December 5th, 2022, 7:03 AM. I was back again. On the morning of the day Sarah died. I looked at Sarah, saw the worried, sympathetic look on her face as she asked, “Bad dream?” I nodded automatically. Honestly, whether she knew the truth or not didn’t matter right now. What mattered was keeping her off that plane. No matter what. Sarah waited until I seemed calmer, then went back to the kitchen to finish the pancakes. Urged by her, I went into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I tried to figure out how to stop Sarah from getting on that flight. There seemed to be two options. One: stop Sarah from going to Boston altogether. Two: get her to use a different mode of transportation. The first option was basically impossible. Sarah was going to Boston because her younger brother, Ben, who was still in high school, had beaten up one of his teachers. He’d injured the teacher so badly the man was in a coma, hadn’t woken up yet. But Ben had also gotten stabbed by the teacher in the fight and was currently laid up in the hospital himself. When the police investigated who started it, Ben initially claimed the teacher had done something absolutely disgusting, and he’d only fought back to protect a girl. According to the investigation, besides the two of them, there was a middle-school-aged girl present at the scene. But when the police found the girl, she denied being there at all. And then, weirdly, as soon as Ben heard the girl denied being there, he completely changed his story too. He stopped mentioning protecting the girl. He just said he hit the guy out of a sense of justice, that his conscience was clear. Beyond that, he refused to say another word. Now, the teacher’s family was suing Ben for assault and battery, maybe even aggravated assault. The teacher was still in a coma, unable to give his side. But from talking to people who knew him, the teacher seemed like a quiet, well-mannered guy, well-liked, with a great reputation. Ben was eighteen. If he didn’t start telling the truth, things looked really bad for him. If he got convicted of felony assault, his life would be ruined. Ben’s parents were frantic, like ants on a hot pan. They kept calling us, begging us to come home and talk some sense into Ben, while also pressuring Ben to just tell the truth. But nothing worked. Ben just clammed up, repeating, “My conscience is clear.” We were worried sick about Ben too. We’d called him several times, tried reasoning with him, but got nowhere. Sarah was so stressed she couldn’t sleep at night. Meanwhile, the project I was on was nearing its deadline, and my boss wouldn’t approve any time off. Sarah was teaching a senior class heading towards graduation; finding a substitute teacher to cover for her was impossible. Finally, just two days ago, she managed to arrange for someone to cover her classes and got three days off. Telling her not to go back now? Absolutely no way. So, option one was out. I started thinking about option two.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392275”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend dumped me. Funny thing, the guy at the table next to us just got dumped by his girlfriend. Talk about fate. I immediately slapped the table, ready to drag this guy down to City Hall? The guy looked up, and—even funnier— 1 “Nora, we need to break up.” Today was the seventh anniversary of when Ethan and I got together. But the second I sat down, those were the words I heard. I looked up, barely believing it, staring at the familiar face across from me. We’d already decided to get married by the end of the year. I thought he asked me here to propose, not to break up? “Why?” My vision blurred. My voice came out hoarse. “I just don’t love you anymore.” Ethan said it so bluntly, so matter-of-factly. I couldn’t even see a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “You jerk! We’re done!” Before I could even process the hit, the woman at the next table grabbed her water glass and threw it right in the face of the man sitting opposite her. Well, I thought, guess today’s a popular day for breaking up all over the world. I stood up, looked Ethan straight in the eye, and said, “Fine.” I don’t know what possessed me, but right there in front of him, I walked over to the guy who just got soaked. “Hey handsome, getting dumped on the same day? Must be fate. How about we just cut our losses and get married?” The drenched guy turned his head, his eyes holding an expression I couldn’t quite read. When I got a clear look at his face, I froze. Damn it! Why is today so unlucky? This was Caleb freaking Moore. The guy I crushed on hard back in high school, captain of the basketball team. The same guy who, when I confessed my feelings in a letter, basically told me I was way out of his league. The untouchable golden boy. Apparently, even golden boys get dumped? I didn’t expect him to agree, but then he actually— “Okay,” Caleb said, a slight smirk playing on his lips. Even soaking wet, he was ridiculously good-looking. The moment he said it, Ethan’s face turned sheet white, then an ugly shade of purple. I walked back over, linked my arm through Caleb’s, and shot Ethan a defiant look over my shoulder. Then, bold as brass, I walked out with my new “boyfriend.” Walking out of that restaurant, I felt like a proud swan myself. But the second we stepped outside, I instantly deflated back into a frog. “Thanks for that. I owe you dinner sometime.” Caleb glanced sideways at me. “So, you weren’t actually serious about that marriage proposal?” “…” “When exactly is ‘sometime’?” I pressed my lips together, gave him a frantic, dismissive wave, turned, and ran. Seriously? Seven years of my life, down the drain just like that. He says “I don’t love you anymore,” and it’s over. And the ‘golden boy’ who once shot me down so brutally? No way was I getting tangled up with him again. 2: Nora, Don’t Cry I bought booze and called my best friend, Chloe, for a session to mourn my dead relationship. Ethan, that absolute dog. He was the one who said he loved me. Now he’s the one saying he doesn’t. But back then, he was also the one who jumped into that river without a second thought to save me. How could just a few years change everything so much that he could toss me aside like this? Tears just kept streaming down my face. “Nora, don’t cry.” Chloe looked at me sympathetically. “I told you from the start, getting together was kind of rushed. That whole ‘damsel in distress falls for her rescuer’ thing is straight out of a bad romance novel, you know?” “Ugh, I’m not even that sad,” I croaked, my voice thick with self-pity. “I just feel like I dated him for years and didn’t even get any good perks out of it. What a rip-off.” Okay, that part was true. Ethan wasn’t bad-looking, just a notch below my old crush, Caleb. “Good thing you didn’t ‘get any perks’,” Chloe quipped. “What if he was bad in bed? Then you’d really feel ripped off, right?” Chloe always knew how to hit the nail on the head. Just then, my phone buzzed violently. I picked it up. It was a picture message from an unknown number. A photo of Ethan with his arm around some woman, heading into a hotel. From the back. The room number was crystal clear, practically burning my eyes. Wasn’t this just a slap in the face? Furious, I downed the rest of my drink, my eyes wide. Chloe was just as outraged. “Well, I’ll be damned! So it wasn’t that he couldn’t perform? Turns out he just couldn’t perform with you!” “Chloe.” “Yeah?” “I can’t let this go.” “Alright, girl. Let’s go get some payback!” We were instantly on the same page, hailing a cab straight to the hotel. 3: I’m Serving Justice! Standing outside the hotel room door, fists clenched, I reared back and kicked the door—hard. Thump! The door didn’t budge, but Ethan heard the noise and opened it. Seeing me, his eyes widened with obvious confusion and panic. Seven years, and this was the first time I’d ever seen him look like that. So, the whole “I don’t love you anymore” was bullshit. Cheating was the real reason! “Nora? What are you doing here?” Ethan physically blocked the doorway. I glanced at Chloe beside me. Best friends: useful in times of crisis! Chloe immediately understood, lunging forward and grabbing Ethan’s arm. “Nora, get in there! Ethan, if you dare push me, I’ll scream bloody murder!” While Ethan was flustered, I quickly ducked under his arm and slipped inside. The room was empty. The large bed was pristine. But I could hear the distinct sound of a shower running in the bathroom. I marched straight to the bathroom and threw the door open— Inside, sure enough, was a woman with fair skin! Seeing the woman showering inside, my brain just exploded. Deception! Betrayal! All these emotions mixed with heartbreak shattered inside me like ice. “Nora Zhao, are you crazy?” Ethan, seeing what happened, shoved Chloe aside forcefully and rushed towards the bathroom, clumsily shielding the woman behind him. I just stood there, staring at the cheating pair, watching their faces shift from pale green to white, then flush red with anger and embarrassment. “Nora Zhao, you… I…” Suddenly, I realized the woman looked familiar. Ha! Of course. It was the same woman who dumped the ‘golden boy’ just yesterday. Ethan getting involved with his partner? Was that a coincidence? Thinking about it, that anonymous text message suddenly made sense. It must have come from him. Caleb. Looking closer, I noticed the woman’s features, especially her eyes, were slightly similar to mine. Curved, just like mine. I laughed bitterly. “Ethan, is it because of her? Seven years, you just throw it away? Was I just her stand-in the whole time in your eyes?” Asking this, I felt like I’d hit the truth. My voice was trembling. Ethan didn’t answer, just couldn’t meet my eyes. His evasiveness felt like an admission. I lunged forward, smack, smack, landing two hard slaps across his handsome face. When I went for a third, he grabbed my wrist. I don’t know what I said that set him off, but he gripped my hand tightly and dragged me forcefully out the door. Chloe tried to argue, but he shoved her out too. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, unleashing all my fury. Damn it! That cheating bastard used me for seven years, and now he thinks he’s justified?! “Ethan, get your ass out here!” “Ethan, you bastard! Who the hell do you think you are? Playing substitute games with me?” “Ethan, come out, you spineless, cheating scumbag!” I hammered on the door with all my might, but Ethan stayed hidden like a turtle in its shell. Chloe pulled me into a hug. “Nora, that’s enough. Let’s go home first. He’s clearly got no shame left. We’ll figure out how to get even later.” I took deep, ragged breaths. “Chloe, you’re right. We messed up earlier. We should have brought baseball bats before coming into the hotel. I should have used that jerk’s head for batting practice!” Under the curious and gossipy stares of everyone around, Chloe dragged me out of the hotel. Back at my place, she sighed and hugged me again. “If you really need to cry, just let it out. We did just waste seven years of your youth.” I’d already cried all my tears outside the hotel. Right now, I just wanted to be alone, to cool down. I went to my room and threw myself onto the bed, venting my frustration. Just then, a notification popped up on my phone—a message request on a social app. I glanced at the request message: It’s Caleb Moore. Figured it was him. I accepted the request. But I didn’t message him first. Instead, he sent a message: Saw it? Finding out you were cheated on right after the breakup? Must hurt, huh? Pot, meet kettle, I thought. Finding out you were cheated on then getting dumped isn’t much different from my situation, is it? “Yep,” I replied curtly. Caleb, however, didn’t seem fazed by being cheated on. He started a video call. On screen, he was wearing a crisp white shirt, looking as composed and elegant as ever. So, swans and frogs really are different. Even after being humiliated, a swan’s inherent confidence is unshakable. “What do you really want?” I couldn’t help but ask. He smiled. “Want to get even?” I hesitated, then asked tentatively, “Are you suggesting we team up? To get revenge on this lovely pair?” “Yep,” he replied, mimicking my earlier tone. His smile was devastatingly charming. Then, his lips moved as he slowly told me a little story. That’s when I learned that he and Ethan were childhood friends, grew up together. And apparently, whatever Caleb liked, Ethan also liked. Back in high school, Ethan had already stolen a girl Caleb was interested in. This time, he was just using the same old playbook. And according to Caleb, his situation was even worse than mine. He and the woman had only kissed twice in their entire relationship. Then Ethan swooped in, and boom – she was pregnant. The reason Caleb showed up at the restaurant yesterday was because he suspected he was being cheated on and went there to catch them in the act. He hadn’t expected to walk right into my breakup scene with Ethan. The woman had apparently been sitting at a nearby table the whole time, planning to watch my entire breakup unfold. But when Caleb arrived, she got defensive and, in a fit of pique, threw the water in his face. After hearing all this, I actually felt calmer. Lying on my bed, memories of Ethan flooded my mind, but all I felt was indignation, no sense of loss. And so, almost on autopilot, I replied to Caleb with a single word: “Okay.” Even if Ethan had some twisted reason for pursuing me relentlessly back then, the fact remained: he played with my heart for seven years. That was undeniable. Besides, his habit of stealing other people’s partners just to prove a point? That needed to stop. This wasn’t revenge. This was… serving justice!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392274”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend, Ethan, is dead. They pulled his body from the river. My roommate, Jessica, said I couldn’t handle seeing him like that. Said I just… passed out. Except… When I woke up, I’d lost my memory of that entire day. The doctor called it selective amnesia. Said the shock was too much, that my mind refused to accept the reality of it. The police closed the case quickly. Just another tragic suicide, they said. My roommates keep telling me to face facts, but I can’t trust them. Not really. Because deep down, I suspect every single one of them could have been the one who killed my boyfriend. To find the truth, I started digging, piece by piece. And in the end, I uncovered the earth-shattering secret Ethan had been hiding. 1. Ethan Cole and I had been together for two years. I fell for him the second I saw him freshman year. Fell hard. I went after him relentlessly, and it didn’t take long to win him over. Nobody thought we’d last. Ethan was the golden boy, Northwood University’s campus king, always top of his class in Law School. He turned heads everywhere he went. And me? Sarah Jenkins. About as plain as my name suggests. Average looks, average grades. Even when I started chasing him, I was mostly just shooting my mouth off, trying to impress my friends. Even I was shocked when he actually chose me. After we got together, the campus forums were buzzing. People started betting pools on how long we’d last. Three days, some said. A week. The longest bet was a month. They all lost. Nobody predicted we’d make it three whole years. We went from having zero supporters to being voted the campus forum’s favorite couple. Our bond just kept getting stronger. Ethan was incredibly thoughtful, always putting me first. He loved burying his face in my neck, telling me how good I smelled, a scent I couldn’t even detect myself. He couldn’t handle spicy food; I loved it. Every time we ate out, he’d order mine extra hot, wincing but never complaining. Whenever I got mad, right or wrong, he’d apologize first, curling up against me, breathing in my scent. I hated studying. Before every final, he’d patiently tutor me. Thanks to him, I never failed a single class. We even got each other’s names tattooed on our collarbones. It was Ethan’s idea. Ethan was always so cheerful. The day before he died, he was talking about us getting married right after graduation, dreaming about our future together. I was ecstatic. He really, truly loved me. I only had one more year until I could marry him. But now… he’s dead. I just don’t believe Ethan would kill himself. I asked the cops if maybe he just accidentally drowned. They just patted my shoulder, saying lots of couples hang out down by Whisper Creek, that the safety rails are solid, inspected regularly. No way he just slipped. Based on the footprints, they said, he jumped. I don’t buy it. They just wanted an easy case closure. Ethan was murdered. I know it. I begged the police to reopen the case, pleaded with them. They just kept saying the conclusion was clear, urging me to accept it. I feel so helpless. 2 Back in the dorm, I felt hollowed out, just drifting through the days. Jessica Vance started acting weirdly nice to me, which was… strange. Jessica’s my roommate. And one of my many romantic rivals. Like me, Jessica fell for Ethan freshman year. We were basically competing from day one. Her family’s loaded. She was always trying to give Ethan expensive sneakers and stuff, but he never took anything. The moment Ethan and I got together, things got ugly between Jessica and me. I knitted Ethan a scarf once. She called it pathetic and cheap. The next day, Ethan wore it to class. Sometimes I’d get back to the dorm late, and she’d ‘accidentally’ lock me out. Even after Ethan and I had been together forever, she still openly hit on him. Never gave me the time of day unless it was a sneer. Ethan, thankfully, ignored her completely. But after he died, she started being… considerate. Hovering, bringing me food. At first, I figured she just felt bad seeing me so broken. I didn’t suspect a thing. Until I finally looked at Ethan’s phone. His passcode was my birthday. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to open it before. But the longing was too much. I logged into his messages, reading his texts to me from his perspective, laughing through tears one minute, sobbing the next. I was the only contact pinned to the top. As I backed out of our chat, I saw Jessica’s name right below mine. Something felt wrong. My finger hovered, then tapped. The messages loaded. It was Jessica, asking Ethan to meet her down by Whisper Creek. The time? Nine p.m. on the night he died. The coroner put his time of death around midnight. Jessica met him just three hours before he supposedly jumped? What did they talk about? Why didn’t she say anything? My breath hitched. My hands started shaking. She never mentioned meeting him that night. Not once. Rage boiled up inside me. I stormed back into our dorm room, phone in hand, confronting her. “Why didn’t you tell me you met Ethan that night?” Jessica was alone in the room. When she saw the chat log on my phone screen, the color drained from her face. Pure panic. “I… I just confessed my feelings again,” she stammered, her eyes darting around, refusing to meet mine. “Just like all the other times. He turned me down flat, and I left. I swear, Sarah, I have no idea why he killed himself after that.” Jessica was never this flustered around me. Usually, she was all arrogance and disdain. This guilty act proved she was hiding something. I slammed the door shut and locked it, stalking towards her. “What did you really say to him? Why did he jump? You want me to blast these messages all over the campus forum?” I backed her towards the balcony window. She looked like she was about to shatter. Suddenly, she crumpled to the floor, kneeling in front of me. “I just wanted to know more about him,” she sobbed. “So… so I dug into his family background.” I knew Ethan was an orphan. He never talked about his parents much. What did his family have to do with his death? Jessica continued, her voice trembling, “When he was ten, his father, Grant Cole, drowned himself. Jumped off a bridge. Then, when Ethan was sixteen, his mother, Linda, drowned too… in the bathtub at home.” A chill went down my spine. Drowning? Both of them? Why that specific way? Ethan never told me his parents died like that. He was always so optimistic, so full of life. How could someone carry that kind of tragedy and still be so… sunny? It felt like Ethan had a whole secret life I knew nothing about. “After his dad died,” Jessica choked out, “his mom was in a car accident. Lost the use of one leg. Then she killed herself too. I knew Ethan had it rough. I just… I wanted to help him. That night, I met him and… I offered him money. A lot of money. Said I’d give it to him regularly if he’d just… spend a few days a month with me.” I almost laughed. It was pathetic. Ethan? The proud, brilliant Ethan Cole? Agreeing to be her paid companion? Impossible. Jessica pulled out a stack of photos. “He refused, obviously. Said he only loved you. I knew he did. So… I showed him these. The stuff I found out about his parents. I wanted to break him down, shatter that pride of his. He got furious when he saw them. Really angry. Then I just… left.” She was crying hard now. “Sarah, I swear, I don’t know why he killed himself! It wasn’t my fault! Please, just let this go. Don’t drag me into it.” She actually looked like she was telling the truth, mostly just terrified of being implicated. My head was spinning. “Get out,” I choked out, pointing to the door. “Just… get out!” Jessica scrambled to her feet, a mess, and stumbled towards the door. But just before she left, she turned back, her eyes suddenly dark and cold. “Before I left,” she whispered, her voice low and chilling, “Ethan said it was a curse. Sarah, I’m warning you. Stop digging. You don’t know who the curse will hit next.” 3 I didn’t understand what Jessica meant by a curse. I numbly picked up the photos she’d dropped. Ethan’s bright smile stared back at me from the first few pictures, taken freshman year. I remembered exactly what he was doing in each one. Then I saw photos from his high school days, pictures I’d never seen before. I tried to piece together the boy he was before I knew him. Suddenly, I flipped to a photo of a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Didn’t look much like Ethan. I didn’t pay much attention and flipped again. Same boy. Confused, I kept going. The next dozen photos were all of this kid, from childhood up to his teens. I looked closer. There was… maybe a flicker of Ethan in the eyes, the shape of the jaw? A wild thought started forming in my mind. Could this boy be Ethan? No way. Ethan was the campus heartthrob, classically handsome. This kid in the photos… objectively speaking, even by normal standards, he wasn’t attractive at all. Then I found another photo: the boy being held by his mother. She was stunning, a vibrant beauty with a radiant smile, but you could see one of her legs seemed… off, maybe disabled. In contrast, the boy in her arms looked miserable, practically scowling. Was this Ethan’s mother? Was this awkward, unhappy kid really him? Jessica’s words echoed in my head. The drowning deaths… the curse… I felt a wave of goosebumps. What had Ethan been hiding from me? Three years together, and suddenly, I felt like I didn’t know his past at all. The mystery of Ethan’s secrets pulled at me, but I had no leads. Life had to go on, somehow. With Ethan gone, I started to change. I began avoiding spicy food, like him. I caught myself mimicking his little habits, the way he’d run a hand through his hair. I finally started focusing on my studies, really applying myself. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. If Ethan could see me now, hitting the books, he’d be so happy. I held onto Ethan’s phone like a lifeline, scrolling through his old messages, his posts. Every chat with his friends, every casual comment, radiated his love for me. Today, scrolling through his social media feed, I noticed someone strange. Their profile picture was just a single period: “.” No name, just the punctuation mark. Their latest post was simple text: Third month without you. I miss you so much. A weird feeling washed over me. It felt like it was meant for Ethan. I’d never seen this profile before. Ethan hadn’t tagged them or interacted publicly. On impulse, I clicked on their profile. It was filled with posts, almost daily entries, pouring out grief and longing for someone lost. I scrolled back, further and further. Then I saw it. A photo. It was Ethan. Standing by Whisper Creek, looking out over the water. It looked like a candid shot, taken from nearby. The timestamp: September 7th, 9:48 PM. The night he died. My heart pounded. This meant someone else was there after Jessica left. I opened a direct message. Who are you? No reply. Silence. Frustrated, I went back to scrolling through their feed, desperate for clues. The feed was almost entirely about Ethan. Pictures of him on campus, in the library, laughing with friends. Some scenes felt familiar… too familiar. Scenes where I had been with him. But I wasn’t in these photos. Just Ethan. It felt like this person was a stalker. Someone I probably knew. Then it hit me. I looked closer at the photos where the background was clearer. There was a common denominator in many of the pictures taken when I was also present. Someone else was often there too: my other roommate, Megan Riley. Megan came from a small rural town. She was always shy, timid, kind of faded into the background. I was pretty much the only one in the dorm who made an effort to befriend her. When Jessica used to lock me out, it was always Megan who eventually let me in. Over time, she became my closest friend in the dorm. She didn’t have many other friends, so sometimes, when Ethan and I went out, I’d invite her along. Megan was pretty in a quiet, mousy way, very introverted. Plenty of guys had asked her out over the years, but she’d always said no. I used to wonder why she never dated. Now I knew. Megan was in love with Ethan. And I’d had absolutely no idea. She must have added him using this anonymous account way back freshman year. I could tell it was her style, her quiet obsession. Ethan must have known too. Why didn’t he ever tell me? A sickening thought crept in: Was Ethan cheating on me?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392273”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My college boyfriend, Ethan Vance, became a pop idol in some new boy band. I went to LAX to meet his flight, like a fan. He took the flowers I brought and tossed them straight into the nearest trash can. A year later, I became the president of the entertainment company he was signed to. “I want the lead role in Director King’s new movie,” he begged, kneeling on the floor, starting to pull off his shirt, his eyes pleading. I let out a small laugh, pushing his face away dismissively with the toe of my high heel. “Go shovel manure for six months, then we’ll talk.” 1. My ex-boyfriend, Ethan Vance, made his debut. I found out from Sophia, my roommate. Sophia is obsessed with celebrities, a total fangirl. This morning at ten, she spent a solid ten minutes screaming in our dorm about her latest obsession. Finally, out of breath, she just kept repeating like a broken record: “Aiden, oh my god, he’s so hot, so hot!!” “Wait, I thought you were into boy bands? When did you start following European stars?” I teased casually from the side. “He’s not European!” Sophia instantly shot up. “He’s American! His real name is Ethan Vance!” Ethan Vance… seriously? The same name as my college ex? Turns out, it wasn’t just the same name. It was him. Later, grabbing dinner, I walked past Sophia’s laptop and glanced over. She was watching a live stream. The guy on screen, with bleached hair, holding a mic, singing and dancing his heart out. Wasn’t that my ex-boyfriend, Ethan Vance? 2. We dated for a year in college. He was gorgeous, tall, athletic. When he played basketball, his white t-shirt would sometimes ride up, showing a sliver of his waist, making girls on the sidelines swoon. I never dreamed someone like him would date me. My style was pretty basic, my grades were average, nothing special about me, really. But somehow, we ended up together. He’d bring me coffee and a bagel on cold winter mornings before my 8 AM class. He’d buy me iced tea to cool down during the scorching heat of club recruitment week. He’d run laps with me, rain or shine, when I was struggling to meet the required campus miles for PE. But we still broke up eventually. It was Valentine’s Day. I gave him a gift that cost me about a hundred dollars. He squinted, holding the watch I gave him between his fingers like it was something disgusting. He didn’t even bother with a polite thank you. He broke up with me right after he got back to his dorm. His reason? I was too cheap. He couldn’t accept such an inexpensive gift. But the truth was, that watch cost me nearly a month’s worth of my food budget. My family wasn’t well off; he was always decked out in designer labels. Our financial situations were worlds apart. Looking back, the breakup wasn’t surprising. I calmly agreed to it at the time. But even two years later, I realized I still wasn’t completely over him. Maybe because he was my first love, maybe because he was just that good-looking, maybe because no guy had ever treated me that well before. Whatever the reason, I definitely still had feelings for him. 3. When he came to LA to film a show, I went to the airport to meet him, pretending to be just another fan. It was July, brutally hot. As soon as he walked out of the gate, the crowd surged forward. I was crammed in with a bunch of other fans, my t-shirt soaked with sweat, sticking completely to my back. Security guards formed a circle around him, pushing back the fans who got too close. He was wearing a suit, gold-rimmed glasses, looking polished and polite as he accepted gifts awkwardly handed to him by fans. Including the bouquet of flowers I brought. The entertainment industry’s packaging had made him even more elegant and handsome than he was in college. For a fleeting moment, I even thought about trying to get back together with him. Until I saw a bouquet of flowers in an airport trash can. I knew it was mine because the note I’d written was still tucked inside. Written from the perspective of a devoted fan, not an ex-girlfriend. July, nearly a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, but I suddenly felt ice-cold, right down to my bones. I felt like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing onto a nearby bench, wondering why I had even come. To see him, just for a second, I’d taken time off work, endured the blazing sun, paid for an expensive cab ride rushed to the airport. All to give him a bouquet of flowers. And he couldn’t even be bothered to take them with him, just tossed them in the trash. 4. I was bummed out for days. My work performance tanked. Sophia thought I’d had a bad breakup. I could only laugh bitterly, “Who’d even be interested in me?” Yeah, who? The Ethan Vance of today certainly wouldn’t look twice at me. What were flowers I bought for a hundred bucks to him? Probably no different than scrap metal. To try and cheer myself up, I decided to go out for some late-night BBQ. It was hot out, but the food truck scene was lively. I picked a popular spot near my apartment. I hadn’t taken more than a few bites when some guy dressed kind of weird asked if he could share my small table. The owner apologized profusely, saying they were packed and there were no other spots, asking if I minded. I’m pretty introverted, but looking around, the place was jammed. The only empty stool was across from me. Since the owner had already asked, it felt rude to refuse, so I agreed, and the guy sat down. That single agreement turned out to be a huge mistake. 5. Paparazzi snapped photos of me and the guy from the BBQ truck, and suddenly, I was splashed across gossip sites as his girlfriend. Yes, the weirdly dressed guy turned out to be an idol. Even more absurdly, he was Jax Colton, a member of Momentum. Momentum – the very same boy band Ethan was in. A hot idol supposedly having a girlfriend, whether there was proof or not, is always a major blow to their image. I watched in horror as the hashtag #JaxColtonBBQGirlfriend climbed the trending charts. The comments section was already filling up with angry fans ditching him. Panicked, I quickly made a new burner social media account to set the record straight. My denial actually seemed to work. The paparazzi only had pictures of us eating near each other, nothing even remotely romantic. Jax’s management team quickly provided solid evidence debunking the rumors. The online narrative shifted rapidly. Relieved, I closed my laptop… 6. Nobody expected the curveball that came next. Jax Colton did have a real girlfriend. Worse, she believed the paparazzi’s flimsy story. I watched, stunned, as she started leaking scandalous, intimate photos of Jax. She also threw shade online, vaguely warning me not to pick up someone else’s trash. My blood pressure skyrocketed. This situation was spiraling way beyond my control. My DMs filled up with messages from strangers trying to pry information out of me. Whispers and weird looks followed me at the office. Within a week, I was drowning in an endless flood of online drama and real-world gossip. Feeling overwhelmed, I chose to quit my job. Quitting a job in LA without another lined up takes guts. But I got lucky. Just two days after I resigned, Someone contacted me, saying they wanted to offer me a position. Seeing the familiar number on my phone screen, I hesitated. Ethan Vance… 7. Ultimately, I answered the call. He said he wanted to offer me a job. “How did you know I quit?” I asked, suspicious. “Heh,” a dismissive, contemptuous sound came through the phone. “You caused such a huge scandal, your whole life story is practically online now thanks to the fans digging.” “I didn’t cause anything!” I shot back angrily. “It was the paparazzi taking things out of context! Besides, with all this stuff about me out there, you think you’re totally safe?” “Are you threatening me?” His voice turned cold instantly. “My PR team isn’t incompetent.” “I could leak stuff about you too… just like your bandmate’s girlfriend did.” “Go ahead,” his voice was so dark it made me shiver. “You leak anything, and I’ll make sure you find out what it feels like to be ripped apart by the entire internet.” Even though it was scorching hot outside, a sudden chill ran down my spine. “What kind of job are you offering me?” I steered the conversation back to the point. “Personal assistant to an artist… interested?” “You want me to wait on you?” My voice jumped an octave. “So you can torture me more conveniently?” “Like I need you to wait on me?” The mockery in his voice was barely disguised. “It’s for a different idol, a rising star. Interested or not?” I had zero experience as a PA, let alone for a job offered by Ethan, which sounded suspiciously like a trap. But I needed to make a living. So, I tentatively agreed. I’d go interview at Apex Entertainment in a few days.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392271”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband cheated on me. And my dog was the one who helped me find out. … I have a dog named Ghost. One day, when Ethan came home, Ghost rushed up and started sniffing obsessively at Ethan’s coat, circling him again and again. I even laughed and said, “What’s got you so worked up? Smell another dog on him?” Ethan just chuckled and told me I was imagining things. But then, for the next several days, Ghost did the same thing every time Ethan walked in. My gut told me. Something wasn’t right. Even when I finally learned the truth, I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t just have one affair going on; he had multiple partners. One of them had even had his child aborted after getting pregnant. His reaction to all this? He wanted “peaceful coexistence.” He even had the audacity to tell me: “I’m just doing what a lot of guys dream about doing. Lighten up, Rach. All men are like this.” Yeah, right. If I let him get away with this, I’d be betraying every ounce of self-respect I have. … I married Ethan back then mostly because he was incredibly good-looking. You hear people say, find a handsome boyfriend, so even when you fight, looking at his face makes it harder to stay mad. That was honestly my thinking when I decided I wanted a guy like that. But I met a few guys, and none of them clicked. Then, a chance encounter brought me to Ethan. It was a company trade show. I was head of PR, overseeing our booth, making sure everything went smoothly with our partners. I’d been so busy I barely ate all day. My blood sugar crashed, and I started to sway. Suddenly, someone caught me, steadying me and pressing a piece of candy into my hand. “Skipped breakfast rushing here, huh? Have some sugar, take it easy.” It was Ethan. I fell for him, right then and there. At the company dinner that night, he coincidentally ended up sitting next to me. “Eating something that spicy on an empty stomach will wreck you. You’ll regret it tomorrow,” he said, stopping my hand just as I was about to dive into the spicy Szechuan dish. Chatting after that felt completely natural. We talked a lot about work collaborations. He was articulate, and I really admired his perspectives on the industry. We exchanged numbers – well, added each other on social media. After that, he asked me out a few times. He was so thoughtful. He’d always make reservations, pull out my chair, specifically ask if I was feeling okay having cold drinks, and serve me food. He remembered everything I liked. When he started pursuing me seriously, it felt like a dream. Because I was five years older than him, and honestly, I was overweight. I asked him why he chose me. He looked at me intensely. “Love is just… one of those mysterious things. I just like you.” “You don’t think I’m fat?” He leaned in close, whispering so his warm breath tickled my ear, “Not at all. I love curvy girls. More to hold onto.” Nobody can easily refuse a confession from a young, handsome guy like that. I certainly couldn’t. I was completely swept off my feet. During our relationship, I definitely made my girlfriends jealous. But they all said Ethan seemed too good to be true. “No guy is that considerate. He knows exactly how to handle women, like he’s been trained.” “Either he has a sister he totally dotes on, or he’s got a ton of experience with women.” “Bullshit! No way!” I argued with my friends. “He just loves me! That’s what love looks like! Besides, what could he possibly want from me? Aren’t I the one who’s lucky to have him and his good looks?” “Alright, alright. Fine. A girl drunk on love… whatever, sis, I’m not jealous!” My friends couldn’t win the argument, so they let it go, muttering that we wouldn’t last. But we did last. And even more, he was the one who proposed. Yes, on our one-year anniversary, he asked me to marry him. 2 It was Christmas Day. Snow was falling everywhere, looking like something out of a movie, when he got down on one knee. “Rachel, marry me.” Maybe it was the beauty of the snow, but I couldn’t resist. I threw myself into his arms, hugging his neck tightly. I saw my own reflection in his eyes. “Yes!” Ethan came from a rural part of Appalachia. His family had three boys, his father passed away early, and his mother raised them all on her own. It was clearly a tough upbringing. Me? I was from New York City, born and bred. My parents were business owners, I was an only child, and life had always been comfortable. My parents didn’t approve of the marriage. But I was stubborn, head over heels in love. I cried, threw tantrums, pretended to go on a hunger strike – I pulled out every dramatic trick in the book. My mom eventually caved. My dad still wasn’t happy. But he stopped actively trying to prevent it. … On February 14th, 2019 – Valentine’s Day – we got married. He hadn’t been working long and couldn’t afford a place in the city yet. I didn’t care. I was overjoyed to marry him. On our wedding night, wrapped in his arms, he whispered promises in my ear. “Rachel, believe in me. I swear I’ll give you a good life. I’ll make your parents proud.” I hugged him tighter and nodded. “I believe you.” I felt like I’d found the greatest happiness imaginable. Life after the wedding was good. I was basically waited on hand and foot. We rented a small apartment, about 600 square feet, one bedroom. We both worked hard on our careers, side-by-side. Our companies even collaborated, and I used every connection and resource I had to help him build his network quickly. He didn’t disappoint. He climbed the ladder, getting promoted steadily, doing well at his company. His colleagues seemed to really like him. Ghost came into our lives because one of those colleagues was moving and couldn’t take the dog. So, I took him in. 3 Ethan and I made a deal. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, I’d walk the dog. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, he would. Of course, most of the time, I ended up doing it. Because Ethan’s job got more and more demanding. He got promoted again, which meant more overtime, often not getting home until after 10 PM. By then, Ghost was desperate to go out. Even if I had overtime, I could usually finish it at home. So I often got home on time, walked Ghost, and then logged back onto my computer to finish my work. I thought, we’re both working hard for our future, for a better life together. And so, life went on. Six months later, I found out I was pregnant. My mother came to visit when she heard the news. She took one look at our small rental and frowned. “You’re living in a place this small? You can barely manage yourselves, and you got a dog?” I hugged her arm, trying to charm her. “Mom, it’s just temporary! Bigger places are a pain to clean. A one-bedroom is perfect right now, isn’t it?” “And the dog was just fate, we had to keep him.” Mom sighed and poked my forehead gently. I knew, compared to my parents’ house, this place was tiny. But Ethan and I were both still building our careers, and he was saving up for a down payment. We couldn’t afford to rent anything much bigger. Even my dad started to soften up a bit. Parents always love their children, in the end. They bought me a condo outright. The day we got the keys, Ethan held me close, his voice low with emotion. “I’m sorry, Rach. I haven’t worked hard enough. I couldn’t buy you a place here myself.” “Trust me, just give me three more years. I’ll buy you an even bigger place.” He held me tight and kissed me deeply. What’s that saying? “Women are auditory creatures; they’re more easily moved by sweet words and promises than by silent actions.” Of course, I didn’t blame him. I hugged him back affectionately, comforting him, saying it had only been a year, we had time. “Besides,” I added, “it’s just the two of us now, soon to be three. What do we need a huge house for? It’d feel empty and spooky. I’d be scared.” “Rachel, you’re the best.” He hugged me even tighter, kissing me repeatedly, full of tenderness. “Once the baby’s born, you should stop working so hard. Let me take care of you.” I sniffled, my eyes stinging. Let me take care of you… Such beautiful words. … After our daughter, Sophie, was born, despite really not wanting to, I had to put my career on hold. For the first year, there was just no way to work. The baby needed feeding every two or three hours during the day, and my body wasn’t recovering particularly well. I simply didn’t have the energy for anything beyond the baby. That’s the reality of raising a child yourself, the reality of motherhood. And I didn’t want to burden my parents. During this time, Ethan got promoted again, to a management position. His work and corporate entertaining got even more intense. He often came home smelling of alcohol. But he was still thoughtful towards me. He’d often bring home things I liked – sometimes cake, sometimes a bouquet of flowers. He’d hug me and say, “You’re working so hard, honey.” Just like before. Except, we rarely had time just for the two of us anymore. Occasionally, if the mood struck, it would inevitably be interrupted by the baby crying. After a while, he stopped initiating intimacy altogether. I never used to think being a stay-at-home mom was that difficult. But once I was actually in that position, I realized how incredibly hard it is. Every single day, I was exhausted. Not just physically tired, but mentally drained too. There were endless little things, from morning till night, revolving around the baby. And then there was Ghost, constantly needing attention. Not taking him out was impossible. If I didn’t take him out, he’d chew the furniture and bark nonstop. So I started asking Ethan to help walk Ghost. He’d agree, but then immediately say he needed to research some stocks and disappear into the bedroom with his laptop. This went on for months, leaving me completely worn out. Until one day, all my pent-up frustration finally exploded. 4 That day, I specifically reminded Ethan to walk the dog. He casually agreed before I went to put Sophie down for her nap. Just as I got her settled and came out, I saw that Ghost had knocked over the kitchen trash can. Garbage – nasty bits of everything – was strewn all over the floor. He’d unrolled the toilet paper from the bathroom, trailing a long white ribbon all the way into the living room. The sofa cushions were pulled onto the floor, and Ghost, having stepped in water in the bathroom, had left muddy paw prints all over the white cushions. The cushions I had just washed yesterday! “Ethan!!!” Furious, I grabbed the dirty cushion and stormed into the bedroom. The computer screen he claimed he was using to “check the market” was displaying a video game. That night was chaos. In the heat of the argument, I yanked the plug from the wall. I don’t even remember everything I yelled. Finally, Ethan stormed out, face dark with anger, and walked the dog. He didn’t come back until almost midnight. I was already asleep. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. When Ethan came home that evening, he brought me my favorite little cake, just like usual. Everything seemed back to normal. Except for Ghost. Starting that day, he seemed less insistent on going out constantly. When I was tending to Sophie, he’d curl up beside her, his round eyes watching the soft, white little bundle. “Ghost, this is Sophie. She’s your little owner now. You have to protect her, understand?” “Woof~” I have no idea if he understood, but I chose to believe he did. And so, the days passed. I treated Ghost better and better, doing my best for him. His food got more expensive, and every day I took the baby and the dog out for a walk together. Ghost bypassed Ethan entirely and became my dearest companion.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392270”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years into my marriage with Michael, my periods just… stopped. Then, this woman shows up at my door, makeup caked on, hand possessively on her belly, chin tilted up like she owned the place. She shoves a stack of divorce papers at me like she’s doing me a favor. “Mike told me he’s gonna marry me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get your stuff and get out!” Two months later, in court. I clutched the divorce decree, a tight smile on my face as I looked at Michael and Jessica. “Excuse me, but could you please get your trash off my property as soon as possible?” Rewind a bit. For the first two years I was married to Michael, getting pregnant was my full-time job, on top of my actual job. Chinese herbs, Western medicine, fertility clinics – you name it, I tried it. Nothing worked. God wasn’t listening, or maybe just didn’t care. Then came year three, and boom – menopause, basically. At the doctor’s office, staring at the lab report, the number practically screamed at me: AMH 0.5. The room spun. It felt like my world was ending. Michael’s mom is… well, let’s just say she’s from a small town with very traditional values. Carrying on the family name is everything to her. Michael’s her only son, the golden child who clawed his way out of poverty, got a college degree, and landed a decent government job here in the city. She poured everything into him. He was her everything. Now, Michael had the respectable job, the nice wife, the house in the suburbs… everything except a kid. His mom never let us forget it. Little comments here and there, getting louder over time, about needing a grandchild. Honestly, I hadn’t planned on rushing into kids, but Michael couldn’t handle his mom’s constant nagging, so we started trying. Me? I’m an OB/GYN. I bring dozens of babies into the world every week. I know better than anyone what a huge responsibility a child is. It’s not a whim; it’s a lifetime commitment of love and care. So, we decided. We tried. And tried. Nothing. His mom always acted like it was my fault, giving me the cold shoulder whenever she visited. Michael, to his credit back then, would try to smooth things over. He’d comfort me in private, buy me little gifts, cook dinner sometimes. I appreciated it. It made swallowing handfuls of fertility drugs a little easier. Turns out, his mom was right all along. It was me. 2 That night, I got home and tried to keep it together. I placed the lab report on the kitchen table, my hands shaking slightly. “What’s this?” Michael asked, looking confused. “My test results.” The words “test results” were like a trigger for his mom. She practically lunged across the table and snatched the paper before Michael could even reach for it. “AMH 0.5? What the hell does that mean?” Michael’s face paled. He’d been to enough doctor’s appointments with me to pick up some of the jargon. “It means her egg count is practically zero! She can barely get pregnant!” His mom’s voice screeched, confirming his fear. “That’s right,” I said, forcing myself to sound calm, though the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. “I can’t have children.” “I knew it!” She jabbed a finger towards my face. “My Michael is perfectly healthy! How could he not have kids by now? It’s because of you, you cursed luck!” Her voice dripped with venom. “Honestly, even a rock in a warm bed could probably hatch something after three years! What’s wrong with your womb?” “I told him you were damaged goods! See? Damaged!” Her words were getting nastier, more personal. Michael finally stepped in. “Mom! That’s enough. Sarah feels bad enough already!” I grew up comfortably middle-class, maybe not rich, but definitely sheltered by loving parents. I’d never had anyone talk to me like that, so raw and cruel. Tears welled up despite my best efforts. “What are you doing? Getting too big for your britches now?” she snapped back at Michael. “Forgot who starved and scraped so you could go to college?” She always held that over his head, convinced I’d turned him against her. “I told you not to marry her from the start! And now look! Can’t even give me a grandchild!” “Bottom line, you have to divorce her! Our family name means something back home! Marrying a woman who can’t have kids? How can I show my face? Do you want our family line to just… end with you?” Her furious rant silenced Michael. He knew exactly how much she’d sacrificed for him, collecting cans, working odd jobs, anything to keep him in school. That guilt was a powerful weapon. “Sarah,” Michael turned and took my hand. His felt clammy. “Mom’s just upset. I’m not going to divorce you. Don’t worry.” I squeezed his hand back, clinging to that shred of hope, my eyes probably showing more love than he deserved. 3 The next few weeks were a blur of internet searches and consultations with colleagues at the hospital. I desperately looked for any way to boost my AMH levels, but it was hopeless. There was only one path left: IVF. In Vitro Fertilization. Problem was, we’d just bought the house, sinking every penny we had into the down payment and taking on a massive $400,000 mortgage. IVF wasn’t cheap. There were different levels, different protocols. I wanted the best chance, the most expensive option – tens of thousands of dollars. I didn’t want my issue to compromise the health of our potential child. I just wanted a healthy baby. I talked it over with Michael. Between my salary and his government job, we brought in about $15,000 a month, but after the $5,000 mortgage payment and other bills, there was no way we could afford a huge IVF bill upfront. I suggested we ask his mom for a loan. I knew Michael sent her money every month; I just pretended not to notice. Who wouldn’t help out their own mother? When we brought it up, she hit the roof. “Absolutely not! I forbid it!” “Mom, Sarah just wants us to have a baby, give you that grandchild you want,” Michael tried to reason. “Ha! Don’t kid yourself. She’s just after the money you’ve been giving me!” She glared at me, suspicion etched on her face. She didn’t have a pension, just a small fixed income, so Michael’s monthly contribution was her lifeline. “Mom, that’s not true, I really just—” My defense sounded weak even to my own ears. “Michael, if you have any respect left for me, you’ll divorce her!” So, the loan idea died right there. And slowly, things started to shift with Michael. He was still acting gentle, but his words started carrying a subtle sting, constantly reminding me of my infertility. “Look, it is a fact you can’t conceive. Mom didn’t say anything untrue, she was just… blunt about it. You need to be more understanding.” “I still love you, you know. Whether you can have kids or not.” “Kids aren’t the most important thing. Having you is enough for me.” “We’ll save up slowly. We can wait a few more years for kids. Don’t put pressure on yourself.” “You’re overthinking things. I’m only saying this stuff for your own good.” 4 I started shutting down, growing quiet, anxious, and easily irritated. I kept wondering what terrible thing I must have done in a past life to deserve this. Michael started coming home later and later. “Work,” he’d say. “Trying to get that promotion to supervisor, gotta put in the hours, make a good impression.” My own shifts at the hospital, often overnight, meant we barely saw each other anyway. Our communication dwindled to almost nothing. I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d actually been intimate. One night, a colleague covered my shift, so I got off early. It was around 11 PM when I got home. The living room was dark, but I heard the shower running in the master bathroom, and muffled sounds of Michael talking. A small smile touched my lips. I decided to surprise him. I quietly changed into the silky black lingerie I’d bought a while back, hoping to reignite something. Tiptoeing to the bathroom door, I reached for the handle. That’s when I heard it, a sentence that froze the blood in my veins. “My wife? Please, that barren woman can’t hold a candle to you!” Michael’s voice was slick, sleazy, unrecognizable. My hand hovered over the doorknob, unable to push it down. “Stop hiding! It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before!” “Come on, move the phone down a little lower!” “Oh, Mikey, you’re making me blush~” A simpering female voice came through the phone speaker, loud enough for me to hear over the running water. I couldn’t believe it. My quiet, dependable husband was video-calling another woman while she showered? “Yeah, yeah! Right there!” The conversation that followed… I can’t even repeat it. It was disgusting. Listening to his low groans from inside the bathroom, I knew exactly what was happening. All strength drained from my body. I slumped against the wall, sliding down to the cold tile floor outside the door. The water kept running. I don’t know how long I sat there. “Mikey,” the woman’s voice purred, sounding weak but satisfied. “When are you finally gonna divorce your wife?” “It’s gonna take a little more time,” Michael replied, still slightly breathless. “What do you mean!” Her voice sharpened with annoyance. “You keep saying that! Wait, wait, wait! I’m tired of waiting!” “I already told you, Jess,” Michael explained patiently, “if I divorce her now, she gets half the house. Give me a little longer. I promise I’ll get her to sign a property agreement, make her give up her claim willingly.” “Really?” “Jess, would I lie to you? You know how crazy I am about you. I want to marry you as soon as possible.” Then, his voice dropped, filled with contempt. “Besides… a woman who can’t even have kids thinks she deserves half my property? Dream on! If I wasn’t trying to trick her into signing that agreement, I’d have kicked her out months ago!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392269”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel