My little cousin was using my photos to online date, posting my selfies on his Instagram every single day. I couldn’t take it anymore and texted him privately: “Are you ever going to stop?” “Sis, just bear with me a little longer. I’m just one rank away from the top tier. Once I hit it, I’ll break up with him.” Later, my cousin did break up with his online boyfriend. And the professor from the physics department next door explicitly called me to his office. 1 Lately, my high-school-aged cousin hadn’t been acting right. He was constantly posting my selfies on his Instagram story, paired with the weirdest, cringiest captions. For example: “The weather is so nice today, perfect for some boba.” Then, not long after, he’d post another story: “Thank you! Got the boba.” My eye twitched as I read them. I DM’d him: “?” “…Crap, forgot to block you from seeing that.” I hit him with the real question: “Are you using my photos to catfish guys online?” “Sis, he’s incredibly good at gaming! I just want him to carry my rank.” I didn’t pry too much, just warned him: “Play less games, and absolutely do not scam people out of their money. Otherwise, I’m telling your dad.” He was quiet for over a week, but then his Instagram updated again. It was one of my selfies, bizarrely juxtaposed with a picture of a massive Lego set. The caption: “My birthday is coming up. I really want this Lego set.” …Good lord, he was actually scamming people for money now. I couldn’t hold back and DM’d him again: “Are you ever going to stop?” “Sis, just bear with me a little longer. I’m just one rank away from the top tier. Once I hit it, I’ll break up with him.” I wanted to march over to his house and punch him in the face. “I don’t care if you play games, but stop ruining my reputation! If you want the Lego set, I’ll buy it for you.” Half an hour later, he finally replied: “No need, sis. I already got it.” “?” I immediately Venmo’d him the money. “Send the money back to him, and break up immediately.” My cousin accepted the Venmo and reluctantly replied: “Fine.” Still worried, I called him and gave him a stern lecture. He apologized profusely and promised he would change. I was in my final year of grad school, and with the holidays approaching, I was swamped with errands and research. I simply didn’t have the time to keep an eye on him. He stayed quiet for a while, not posting any new updates. 2 The holidays arrived as scheduled. I was curled up on the sofa devouring mandarin oranges when my best friend, Chloe, sent me a screenshot: “Your cousin is really something else.” I clicked it open. My cousin’s Instagram story was still exclusively featuring my selfies. He had completely exhausted the small handful of photos I actually posted on my own feed. Refusing to give up, he had somehow dug up my high school graduation photo, posted it, and added a fake, sentimental caption: “I’ve changed so much.” He said he would change… did he mean changing his privacy settings so I couldn’t see his posts?! I shot up from the sofa with a whoosh, sprinted into the guest bedroom, grabbed my cousin by the ear, and hauled him up. “Still stealing my photos?! Do you have a death wish?!” “Hiss… ow, ow, ow!” He dramatically covered his ear while begging, “Sis, you’re here just in time! He wants to do a voice call with me. Can you please just answer it for me?! I’ll give you all my holiday money this year, please?!” “In your dreams. You are going to confess and apologize to him right now.” “Sis, it’s the holidays! Telling someone they’ve been catfished by a teenage boy… breaking someone’s heart like that during the holidays is so cruel!” I punched him hard in the arm. “Oh, so now you realize you’re being cruel?!” “Just let me get through these next few days! I’m so close to my rank! Once I get it, I’ll tell him I need to focus on my studies and break up with him.” He held up three fingers. “I swear, this is the last time. I promise.” Under his relentless pleading, I finally, reluctantly, took the phone. “Summer, Happy Holidays.” The voice on the other end was deep, magnetic, and incredibly resonant. It stunned me for a second. This voice, which sounded like it belonged in an audiobook, actually made my long-dormant heart flutter a little. “Hi…” The moment I spoke, I realized I was unconsciously pitching my voice higher to sound cuter. I quickly cleared my throat and tried to sound as emotionless as possible. “Hi. Happy Holidays.” “Summer, what do you want for a holiday gift?” Hearing this, my cousin immediately sat up, wildly swiped across his iPad, and pulled up a picture of a Nintendo Switch. He pointed frantically at the screen, winking and gesturing wildly at me. I nodded calmly, signaling that I understood. Then I turned back to the phone and said: “For the new year, I want a complete, comprehensive set of SAT prep books and practice exams.” My cousin’s eyes bugged out of his head. In his look of sheer disbelief, I saw his heart shatter into a million pieces. Heh. Little brat. That’ll teach you to catfish people. “Hmm? Why do you want that?” the voice on the phone asked. “Because I have to take my college entrance exams soon. I want to focus on my studies, so I won’t be able to play games with you anymore.” “I see. In that case, you really shouldn’t be gaming. If you ever have trouble with any of the practice questions, you can still ask me.” The voice remained gentle and supportive. “Okay. Thank you.” I exchanged a few more polite pleasantries, hung up the phone, and shoved it back into my cousin’s dumbfounded hands. “From now on, I will be checking your progress on those practice exams every single month. Also, calculate how much those books cost and Venmo the money back to him. Consider it a self-funded purchase. If you don’t send the money, I’m telling your dad. Happy Holidays, little bro.” I walked away like a boss, leaving my cousin standing there, looking like he wanted to cry but had no tears left. 3 Back in the living room, I had unread messages from Chloe. “What exactly is going on with your cousin?” I furiously typed away, bragging about my masterful handling of the situation. “How was that? Pretty awesome, right? I put him right in his place.” “I bet my cousin is done with online dating forever.” Unexpectedly, Chloe completely missed the point. She just replied with: “Wow.” “Your cousin can find a boyfriend, but you can’t.” “…” Fine. I’ll shut up. Chloe and I were polar opposites. If we did an annual review, it would definitely look like this: “Beginning of the year: Chloe is dating John. I’m single.” “Mid-year: Chloe is dating Mike. I’m single.” “End of the year: Chloe gets back together with John. I’m still single.” Chloe was a magnet for romance. I, on the other hand, was apparently coated in a heavy layer of male-repellent. At first, watching Chloe post sweet couple photos every day made me feel a little restless. I tried talking to a few guys, but none of them clicked. So, I remained single all the way through grad school. I genuinely felt like the metaphorical deer in my heart had died of old age. It was only today, when I heard that voice on the phone, that it showed slight signs of resuscitation. But honestly, anyone who could be fooled by my cousin’s terrible acting was probably just a naive, inexperienced kid himself. Just a minor with a bit of pocket money and a nice voice. Over the next few days, I forced my cousin to break up with him and made him uninstall the game. Once he uninstalled it, I secretly downloaded Honor of Kings. If my cousin could find a guy using my photos, why couldn’t the actual owner of the photos? However, for the next few days, I only ended up playing with Chloe. She was barely a mediocre player herself, yet she had to drag my dead weight through ranked matches every day. I had absolutely no idea how to play. She told me to pick Arthur and gave me two golden rules. “One: Click whatever button lights up.” “Two: If you see someone, charge.” So, there I was, a young woman in her prime, playing as the burly old knight Arthur, wandering aimlessly around the canyon. Whenever I saw an enemy, I charged at them and mashed all the buttons wildly. By the end of the holiday break, forget about an online boyfriend—I hadn’t even heard a guy’s voice in the game. I had even dragged Chloe all the way down to Gold rank with me. Chloe sent me a screenshot of her rank. “I can’t rank up anymore. Can I use your photos to catfish a guy too?” I silently sent back a sticker: “Warning: Will block immediately.” 4 The holidays ended. It was the first day back at the university. My advisor suddenly called me: “Summer, Professor Sterling from the Physics department next door says he needs to see you urgently. Go to his office right now.” I hung up the phone, completely confused. Julian Sterling. The youngest and most ridiculously handsome professor in the Physics department. A candid photo of him teaching—wearing a crisp white shirt and gold-rimmed glasses—had effortlessly racked up hundreds of thousands of likes on TikTok. Logically speaking, a professor of his caliber wouldn’t need me to run errands for him, even if he was busy. Feeling slightly nervous, I knocked on Professor Sterling’s office door. I barely tapped it before it swung open. The first thing I saw was his perfectly tailored white dress shirt, faintly revealing the outline of an athletic, muscular physique beneath. My gaze moved up. A few buttons at the collar were casually undone, exposing elegant collarbones and a prominent Adam’s apple. I looked up further and crashed straight into his deep, dark eyes. “Professor Sterling, you asked for me.” I nodded politely, keeping my voice steady. No one could possibly know that internally, a million prairie dogs were screaming their heads off. “Mm. Come in.” He stepped aside. I obediently walked into the office. As I passed him, a faint, elusive scent of sandalwood drifted over me, almost stealing my soul away. Before I even stopped walking, Professor Sterling spoke. “Why did you break up with me?” I froze. I turned around and looked everywhere. No one else was there. I looked at his ears. He wasn’t wearing earbuds. “Huh?” I looked at him, completely bewildered. He lowered his eyes, his gaze locked intensely on me. “Didn’t you say that if I bought you the gaming console, you wouldn’t break up with me?” …I turned to stone. “G-gaming console?” “Mm.” He nodded slightly. “If you wanted something else, I could have gotten it for you. As long as we didn’t break up.” “Professor Sterling, do you… have the wrong person?” I asked carefully. Even though the “gaming console” clue was glaringly obvious, I still refused to believe that the brilliant, sophisticated Professor Sterling I admired would actually engage in online dating. Julian stared at me for two seconds, then looked down and woke his phone screen, showing it to me. “I don’t have the wrong person.” The lock screen on his phone was glaringly obvious. It was my photo. I was holding a strawberry macchiato, curled up on the sofa, looking incredibly happy. …That was the boba my cousin brought over when he visited my apartment. I remembered that he hadn’t started posting my photos on Instagram yet, so when he asked to take a picture of me, I didn’t refuse. Thinking back on it now, that boba was highly likely paid for by Professor Sterling. Seeing me standing there dumbfounded, Julian took a step closer. “Are you still going to deny it?” As he stepped closer, that faint scent of sandalwood returned. I struggled to find the words. “Professor, you might not believe this, but I think… you were catfished by my 16-year-old cousin.” “?” He frowned slightly. “I mean… the person you were chatting and gaming with was actually my cousin.” “You forgot, we spoke on the phone. I recognize your voice.” “It really was my cousin.” I quickly pulled out my own phone. “Look, this is my actual WeChat account.” He glanced at my phone screen. “Regardless of which account you use, add me back first.” “Professor…” I tried to explain further, but my phone rang. “Sis, I brought you the documents you asked for. Where are you?” Talk about perfect timing. Excitedly, I told him where I was and ordered him to get here immediately. Julian’s expression remained entirely neutral. He pulled out a book and started reading it. I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. He sat in a leather office chair, his long legs crossed, his clean, elegant fingers turning the pages of the book. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting shadows across his face. He looked incredibly aloof and aristocratic. I couldn’t figure it out. How could someone this ethereal and refined fall for an online romance? More accurately, how could he fall for my 16-year-old cousin, and even get scammed into buying so many toys and snacks? Was his scam-prevention awareness really that terrible? The ringing of my phone broke my deep thoughts. “Sis, which building was it again? I can’t find it.” Exasperated, I ran downstairs to get him. It took forever before I finally saw him waving a folder in the air. “Sis, I’m over here!” “Mm, great.” I grabbed his sleeve and dragged him toward the stairwell. “What are you doing, Sis? Are you taking me out to eat?” he asked cluelessly as we walked. I offered a sweet smile. “No. I’m taking you to meet your online boyfriend.” “?” He stopped dead in his tracks and absolutely refused to take another step. “Sis, stop joking around.” I opened the office door. My cousin was still glued to the wall, refusing to move. I kicked him squarely in the butt, shoving him inside. “Professor Sterling, my cousin is here. You can hit him or scold him however you want. Don’t hold back.” The room fell dead silent. Awkwardness rapidly expanded in the air. My pathetic cousin, wearing his high school uniform and backpack, stared silently at Julian, who was wearing a crisp white shirt, black dress pants, and an incredibly cold expression. My cousin took one look at Julian, guiltily averted his eyes, and meekly stared at the floor, picking at his fingernails. “You loved lying so much, didn’t you?” I whispered harshly. “Hurry up. Introduce yourself.” Unable to withstand my glare, he spoke, his voice trembling on the verge of tears: “Hello, older brother. I am your online girlfriend, ‘Sweet Strawberry’.” Julian sat in his office chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. His eyes were unreadable, radiating the intense, oppressive aura of an angry teacher. My cousin absolutely did not dare to look up. Standing behind him, I could see his shoulders shaking. He was definitely crying. I felt a little bad for him, but he totally deserved it. After a moment of silence, Julian turned his head to look at me. “Summer, your cousin played with my feelings. As an adult, shouldn’t you take responsibility for your cousin’s actions?” “Yes.” I kept my head down too, honestly admitting fault. “I’m so sorry, Professor Sterling. I will reimburse you for all your financial losses.” “I don’t need financial reimbursement.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just that… now I don’t have anyone to play games with me.” “Huh?” I was confused. “My heart was broken by your brother. Shouldn’t you take responsibility for that?” I looked at my cousin, who was still standing there wearing his backpack, acting like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. My eye twitched. “My cousin… broke your heart?” Julian said very seriously, “Yes. I bought him boba, sent him gifts, and played games with him. Even though it was online, I took it very seriously.” Me: “…” Really? I don’t believe it. But I didn’t dare say it out loud. He raised an eyebrow. “Being scammed by your cousin hurt me deeply. I need companionship. Since your cousin has to prepare for his exams, I guess you’ll just have to fill in for him.” I was stunned. A faint smirk appeared on his lips as he added meaningfully, “I’ll be relying on you from now on, Summer.” 5 Walking out of the office, I was still in a daze. Professor Sterling, who had once been an unattainable dream for me, had somehow, inexplicably, become my online boyfriend. A massive stroke of luck had just dropped right onto my head. During my first year of grad school, I had a massive crush on Julian. I don’t know if I should call it a crush or just pure infatuation based on his looks. The first time I saw him, it was raining. I had just woken up from a nap. The dorm room was completely silent, save for the faint, steady sound of rain outside the window. Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I opened the window to let in some fresh air. Julian happened to be walking by. Through the curtain of rain, he held a black umbrella. His pristine white shirt was completely dry, the sleeves rolled up slightly. His ethereal aura made him look like he didn’t belong in this world. Suddenly, he stopped by a willow tree and bent down. When he stood back up, he was holding a filthy, muddy white kitten in his arms. It was skin and bones. As he moved, it let out a timid, raspy cry that sounded bizarrely like a duck quacking. Because stray cats often can’t find food, when they’re desperate enough, they’ll eat anything—even rocks and pebbles. That’s why their voices get ruined like that. A cat that quacks like a duck is undeniably a bit comical. But Julian didn’t laugh. He simply pulled out a tissue, carefully wiped the rainwater off the kitten, and tucked it securely into his coat. His pristine white shirt was instantly stained with water and mud. In that exact moment, my heart started pounding frantically. After that, whenever I walked around campus, my eyes would involuntarily search for him. I started purposely showing up on his usual routes every single day. After doing it enough times, even Chloe noticed that my barren, dead heart was finally blooming. She encouraged me to make a move. But before I could even work up the courage, Julian went viral. A few candid photos of him spread like wildfire across the university, and the number of girls crushing on him skyrocketed. Only then did I realize he was a professor at the university, not a student. The massive gap in status between us made me immediately back down. And just like that, my crush died before it even started. As a memento, I found a way to adopt that little white kitten and named him “Ducky.” Ducky slowly grew chubby and fluffy, and Julian slowly faded from my life. I thought our paths would never cross again. I never imagined he would actually start online dating my cousin. And then, through a bizarre twist of fate, become my online boyfriend. “Sis, where are you going?” I snapped out of it and looked at my cousin, who was tugging on my jacket from behind. “I mean, I technically helped you find a boyfriend by accident, right? You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Oh, right. Almost forgot. I dialed a number on my phone and put it on speaker. “Hey, Uncle. My cousin used my photos to catfish a guy online and scammed him out of a bunch of gifts. Now the guy has tracked me down and is demanding compensation.” The next second, my uncle’s furious screaming echoed through the air. The brutal lecture lasted for a solid half hour before finally wrapping up. “Get your ass home right now! Immediately! This second!” My cousin trudged away, crying softly. I stood there, watching him leave. “You really are ruthless, aren’t you?” A familiar voice sounded right next to my ear. I instinctively turned my head, and my lips accidentally brushed against something soft. Taking a startled step back, I saw Julian’s face mere inches from mine. My brain completely short-circuited, going entirely blank. He must have been standing right behind me, leaning down to whisper in my ear. And then, completely by accident… I had kissed him on the cheek. Julian turned his head. His deep, dark eyes looked at me with an amused glint. He reached out and lightly tapped me on the head. “We agreed you’re just my online girlfriend. No taking advantage of me in real life.” My face burned bright red. “…I didn’t mean to.” Even though his cheek was soft and smelled amazing. Even though I really wanted to do it again just to memorize the feeling. It truly was an accident. Seeing my flustered state, he let out a low chuckle. “Alright, I know it was an accident. Don’t do it again.” “Let’s go. I’ll walk you home.” I followed silently behind him. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the tips of his ears were slightly red, too.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391663”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On our wedding anniversary, my husband, who had never cooked a day in his life, prepared a table full of dishes. With every bite I took, my husband, Liam, asked detailed questions and carefully jotted down notes. During the meal, he stepped into the bedroom to answer a phone call. It was the specific ringtone he set for his assistant, Chloe. I casually picked up the notebook he left behind, only to find it filled with detailed notes that had absolutely nothing to do with me. “The green beans are a bit undercooked, Chloe probably won’t like them.” “The mushrooms are too salty, remember to use less salt when making this for Chloe.” “The lamb is too gamey, swap it for beef when cooking for Chloe.” Liam returned and reached for the notebook, freezing when he saw it in my hands: “Mia, were you raised in a barn? Did I say you could touch my things?” Before I could respond, a splitting headache hit me, and my vision of Liam began to double. “Liam, I don’t feel so well. I think the green beans were undercooked…” “I better write that down quickly, need to cook them longer when I make them for Chloe.” Ignoring me completely, Liam hastily scribbled in his notebook while walking toward the door. “I need to head out. Your immune system is strong; if you feel sick, just take some medicine.” Before passing out, I managed to call my husband one last time, but his impatient voice snapped through the phone: “What’s the big deal? Are you dying? Call me when you’re dead!” Liam, I’ll never call you again. I stared at the disconnected call, my mind echoing with the horrific words Liam had just said. “Are you dying? Call me when you’re dead!” I fought down the bile rising in my throat, forcing my failing body to stay upright just long enough to dial 911 with my last ounce of strength. As it turns out, sometimes emergency dispatch is far more reliable than Liam. The doctor said I was suffering from both raw green bean and mushroom poisoning. Thank God the ambulance arrived quickly. A few minutes later, and I wouldn’t have been lying safely in this hospital bed. While receiving IV fluids in the hospital bed, my phone suddenly rang. Once my grogginess cleared, I picked it up. It was Liam. “Mia, do you think the beef stir-fry tastes better with or without scallions?” His question stunned me. After a moment, I managed a weak smile and spoke softly: “Liam, I’m in the hospital.” He sounded annoyed: “Yeah, alright, just get the doctor to prescribe some extra medicine.” Without skipping a beat, he returned to his previous question: “Hurry up and tell me, with or without scallions?” Before I could speak, a woman’s voice drifted through the receiver: “Liam, as long as you make it, I’ll love it, with or without scallions.” In a flash, the call ended. I stared blankly at the disconnected phone. Two messages popped up. “An urgent project came up at the company, I have to work overtime. I’ll be back tomorrow.” “Get extra medicine at the hospital. Let me know if you need me to transfer you some money.” Looking at the words on the screen, it felt like my heart was violently squeezed. Urgent overtime? Just get extra medicine? How could someone be this dismissive? This time, I just set the phone down and didn’t reply. I lay in the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. A little girl was occupying the bed next to mine. Seeing me sitting in silence, she giggled, hopped over, and rested her chin on her hands, watching me: “Big sister, why are you all alone?” “When my mom was in the hospital, my dad stayed with her the whole time. Where’s your husband?” I looked at the innocent little girl and said softly, “My husband?” “I don’t have a husband.” Hearing this, the little girl stood up abruptly, planted her hands on her hips, her face turning red: “Liar! I saw it! You have a wedding photo with a big brother tucked inside your phone case!” “Adults aren’t supposed to lie! If you lie, your nose will grow huge!” “Sister, your husband is so handsome! Can I see the picture of you two again?!” The little girl’s words brought me to a sudden halt. In all the years Liam and I had been together, the only photo we had was the one in my phone case. Liam said he hated taking pictures, so in all these years, we only took one—on the day we got our marriage certificate. The little girl’s mother must have noticed my discomfort. She quickly pulled the girl away, smiling apologetically: “Kids are just like that, please don’t mind her.” I waved my hand, not saying anything. I picked up my phone again and started scrolling mindlessly. The moment I opened Instagram, I saw a story Chloe had posted just a minute ago. It was just a screenshot of Liam’s Instagram story, with the caption: “Loving you is the best choice I’ve ever made.” Seeing Liam’s story, I froze. With trembling fingers, I tapped on Liam’s profile. Before me, his profile showed “Only visible for three days,” and there was absolutely nothing there. Acting on a bizarre impulse, I logged into my burner account and clicked on Liam’s profile again. In that moment, I saw it. I saw everything. His latest post was from ten minutes ago. It contained two pictures: one of Liam and Chloe pressing their cheeks together intimately, and the other of a table full of food. I stared at the food. It was the exact same spread he had “cooked for me” earlier today. The caption read: “Happy birthday. For you, I am willing to do anything.” And pinned to the top of Liam’s profile was a photo of him and Chloe against a red background—the style used for marriage certificates. The timestamp was three years ago. I looked at the photo of Liam and Chloe with the red background, then pulled our marriage certificate photo out from my phone case. The contrast was jarring. In his photo with Chloe, Liam was smiling with profound tenderness. In our photo, Liam looked impatient. We had even gotten into a minor argument that day. With shaking fingers, I scrolled through Liam’s posts, one by one. He posted almost every single day, sometimes multiple times a day. I tapped randomly on one photo: Liam and Chloe kissing passionately under fireworks. I remembered that day. It was New Year’s Eve. I had waited for him in the plaza with a bouquet of flowers for hours, only to receive a text saying he was working late and telling me to go to bed. So that night, we were in the exact same plaza. While I stood shivering in the freezing wind holding flowers, they were kissing in each other’s arms. I clicked on another photo: Liam and Chloe kissing at the peak of a Ferris wheel. I remembered that day too. I had a severe fever and begged him to bring me some medicine. I called him repeatedly before he finally answered. When he eventually came home, he tossed me a box of digestive pills. Now, seeing this post, I understood. He hadn’t bought those digestive pills for me. He bought them for Chloe and just grabbed an extra box for me as an afterthought. My eyes red, I clicked on another picture: The two of them taking Chloe’s dog to the vet for deworming. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. My grandmother was critically ill, clinging to life. Before she passed, she held my hand, pleading to see her grandson-in-law one last time. I called Liam over and over again. When he finally picked up, his voice was laced with irritation: “I had a sudden work emergency. I’m out of town on a business trip. What do you expect me to do? I can’t make it back.” So, while I was calling him from the hospital, he was literally across the street at the veterinary clinic. Looking at the endless stream of posts, my heart turned completely to ice. So, every time I offered understanding, it was met with another lie. My phone suddenly buzzed with a message from Chloe: “Mia, Liam and I were just so busy eating, we only just remembered you went to the hospital. He asked me to transfer you some money for your medicine.” “Liam said if we don’t send you money, you’ll just start throwing a tantrum for no reason. Mia, just accept the money.” I stared at the $10 transfer on the screen, smirked, and hit decline. “Keep it. Buy yourself a birthday present.” “After all, that’s exactly what you’re worth.” Less than a minute after I sent the message, Liam called. As soon as I answered, before I could even speak, Liam started yelling: “Mia, are you sick in the head?!” “Chloe was nice enough to remember to send you money for medicine! If you don’t appreciate it, fine, but why the hell are you being so passive-aggressive?!” “I’m handing the phone to Chloe right now. You are going to apologize to her properly. Today is her birthday, don’t you dare ruin her good mood!” Listening to the accusations and complaints pouring through the phone, I smirked and said softly, “Liam, why exactly should I apologize?” “Mia, do you seriously think you’re in the right?!” “What is wrong with you lately, Mia?! You know Chloe grew up poor, and you use money to mock her?!” “Mia, you are going to apologize to Chloe. Right. Now!” When I remained silent, Liam’s tone became even more aggressive: “Fine! You refuse to apologize to Chloe?!” “Then you are never spending another dime of my money! You looked down on the money she sent you, didn’t you?!” “When you finally figure things out and apologize to Chloe, I’ll consider forgiving you! Think long and hard about what you’ve done!” And with that, he hung up before I could say another word. Less than ten minutes later, I received a notification that Liam had frozen all the credit cards in my name. I lay in the hospital bed, looking out the window, my eyes filled with bitterness. The little girl next to me blinked, her face full of sympathy: “Big sister, did you have a fight with your brother?” “Big sister, what did you do wrong? Why is he being so mean?” I forced a smile and said softly, “Sometimes, a person can do absolutely nothing wrong, but in the eyes of certain people, they’re still the one to blame.” The little girl looked at me, completely confused. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand.” “But I do know that my mom told me my own freedom and happiness are the most important things in the world!” Her words made me freeze. I stared blankly at the little girl. She was right. My own freedom and happiness were the most important things. I lay there, turning my head to look out the window, my eyes filled with a profound loneliness. Perhaps I was just too exhausted lately; I actually drifted off into a deep sleep. I was woken up by a nurse telling me I needed to renew my hospitalization fees. I instinctively reached for my debit card, but realizing Liam had frozen all my accounts, I smiled wryly and said softly, “There’s no need. I’m checking out today.” “Wait, big sister, you’re leaving today?” The little girl from the next bed skipped into the room, hugging a small robot that looked incredibly familiar. “Little girl, where did you get that robot?” “You mean this? The wife of one of the big brothers here is in the hospital. To keep us kids quiet so we wouldn’t disturb her rest, he gave every single one of us one of these!” “Big sister, do you like it too? If you really like it, I can give it to you!” “Hey, weird… I just realized that big brother looks a lot like the guy in your phone case picture…” With every word the little girl spoke, my heart grew colder. Until she said that last sentence. I suddenly felt weak, stumbling backward and collapsing onto the bed, my face deathly pale. I knew that robot all too well. After Liam and I got together, we dedicated ourselves to developing a highly sensitive specialized diagnostic robot. Creating this specific robot had been our shared dream for years. The truth was, I potentially carried a rare, genetic family disease. Back then, Liam had looked at me with red eyes and promised, “I have the company, and you have the technical skills. We’ll build a robot to accurately detect your genetic markers. I swear, you’re going to live a long, long life.” Over the years, I had tried countless times, and finally, a year ago, I successfully developed this robot. The unique thing about this highly sensitive robot was that once it was activated, it could never be reset to its initial state. I had been waiting for the perfect moment to test these prototypes. There were only a handful of them in existence, and now, Liam had just handed them all out as toys. When I finally snapped out of it, my hands shook as I dialed Liam’s number. It took a long time for him to answer. His voice dripped with impatience: “What? Did you finally figure it out? Are you calling to apologize?” “By the way, Mia, you did that on purpose, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me the green bean poisoning was that severe? Do you have any idea that because of you, Chloe got poisoned too?!” Listening to the endless stream of blame and complaints, my eyes filled with utter desolation: “When I told you I was poisoned and asked you to take me to the hospital, what exactly did you say?” Perhaps because I had spent the last ten years yielding to his every whim, my sudden pushback actually silenced him for a moment. After a pause, his voice returned, completely dismissive: “Are you two the same? How can you even compare yourself to Chloe?” “Chloe was born with a weak constitution. Green bean poisoning could literally kill her! You’re different. You’re as strong as an ox, how could anything happen to you? Besides, aren’t you perfectly fine right now?” “Alright, enough of this nonsense. I’m very busy, Mia. If you aren’t going to apologize, I’m hanging up!” I looked at the robot in the little girl’s hands and asked slowly, “Did you give away all my robots?” “Yeah, so what?” “They’re just a few robots, you can just build some more, right?” Hearing his utterly unbothered tone, all my suppressed emotions finally exploded: “Liam! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Those robots are unique! Once they’re casually activated, they’re completely ruined! You just destroyed almost ten years of my hard work!” “Mia, are you sick in the head?! Why are you yelling at me?! It’s just a damn robot, is it really that serious?!” “Actually, since you brought it up, I’m informing you right now: starting today, your robotics project is suspended. When Chloe is discharged, you will hand the entire project over to her.” “Why?” Perhaps sensing I was losing control, Liam sighed and explained with strained patience: “Chloe is new. She needs an opportunity to prove herself. You’ve been at the company for almost ten years; you don’t need this kind of opportunity anymore.” “Stop being so jealous and petty. You need to support the younger generation more.” “Alright, I’m done talking. I have work to do.” Before I could say another word, Liam hung up the phone. I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping my hands tightly together, trying desperately to suppress the churning in my chest. My eyes were filled with absolute agony. I never imagined—I truly never imagined—that Liam could become this kind of person. The man who once had tears in his eyes, telling me he loved me, promising he’d sacrifice anything to build this robot for me, swearing he wanted me to live a long life… was now asking me, “Is it really that serious?” I shook my head, desperately trying to clear the chaotic thoughts from my mind. I stood up, packed my things, and walked out of the hospital room. As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I immediately spotted Liam from behind. He was carefully supporting Chloe. Even without seeing his face, I could feel his intense anxiety and care for her. Perhaps sensing my gaze, Liam suddenly turned his head, our eyes locking instantly. The moment he saw me, a flash of panic crossed his eyes. I ignored him, turned around, and headed toward the exit. I didn’t expect him to actually chase after me. He grabbed my wrist from behind, his eyes filled with mockery: “What? You tracked me all the way to the hospital, and now you’re just going to leave without saying anything?” “You’re just here to ask about the robotics project, aren’t you?” “Then I’ll tell you again: the project goes to Chloe. As for you, the security guard at the front gate has a family emergency. Go cover his shift.” Seeing me remain completely silent, a look of exasperation crossed his face. “Mia, why are you getting angry so easily lately? Are you hitting early menopause or something?” “You’re not mad about Chloe, are you? There’s absolutely no need for that. She and I are strictly boss and subordinate. I just saw her looking so pitiful here all alone, and wanted to take care of her.” “What, is it a crime for a boss to care about his employee?” Looking at the man standing in front of me, acting so incredibly self-righteous, I couldn’t even remember when he had started changing like this. Probably from the exact day Chloe joined the company. Everything silently shifted. “You’re right. You did the right thing.” I brushed him off casually. Right now, I just wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. Hearing that, Liam let go of my wrist, eyeing me suspiciously: “Do you really mean that?” When I nodded, his expression relaxed, and he looked at me with satisfaction: “Good. Stop letting your imagination run wild.” “Alright, I have to go take care of Chloe.” “Go home and wait for me. I have something to discuss with you.” With that, Liam turned and walked back toward the hospital room without looking back. On the ride home, I watched the scenery blur past the window. An indescribable pain churned in the pit of my stomach, rushing up to my chest, suffocating me. When I got home, I collapsed onto the sofa. My eyes landed on a diary tucked away in the corner. Curious, I picked it up and started flipping through it casually. But as I read, I slowly sat up straight. In all these years, Liam never let me read his diary. He said he was recording our love story so we could reminisce about our youth when we grew old together. But looking at the blocks of text in front of me, I lost the courage to keep reading. “Today, Mia asked me, ‘If you ever meet a woman who is better than me, and she likes you too, what would you do?’” “My instinct was to tell her, ‘I will only ever love you in this life!’” “But in that moment, Chloe’s face actually flashed in my mind.” Those few simple sentences brought tears streaming down my face. So, changing one’s heart is human nature, and loyalty is merely a choice. And Liam had chosen the former. I didn’t read any further. There was no point. Truly no point. I picked up my phone and called my best friend. “Well look who it is! What brings the busiest person I know to call me?” “Sarah, please draft a divorce agreement for me.” Hearing the deadly seriousness in my tone, Sarah’s attitude shifted instantly. “What happened?” After telling her everything that had transpired recently, she was silent for a long time. Finally, she let out a sigh and said softly, “Ten years of history, and this is how it ends. What even is love in the end?” I gave a bitter smile. “It’s divorce.” “Babe, you’re making the right choice. Don’t doubt yourself. You did nothing wrong. Leave the paperwork to me.” After hanging up, I got up from the sofa, walked over to the fridge, and pulled out a few cans of beer. I sat on the floor, watching fireworks suddenly erupt outside the window. My heart cooled, feeling as fleeting and empty as the explosions in the sky. I drank can after can, trying to let the alcohol numb my brain. My head started to spin. That was exactly when Liam walked in. As the lights flicked on, our eyes met. Seeing my red eyes, he froze for a second. Then he walked over, snatched the beer from my hand, and said angrily, “Didn’t I tell you I hate it when you drink?!” “Mia, are you just completely ignoring everything I say now?!” “This is the last time! Do not let it happen again!” “Go wash your face and sober up. I have something to tell you.” With that, he grabbed my arm and practically shoved me toward the bathroom. I struggled to stay upright, slapping my cheeks, trying desperately to sober myself up. I really did need to wash my face and clear my head. After all, I had something to tell him, too. When I walked out of the bathroom, Liam was sitting on the sofa, looking at me with intense anticipation, holding a document in his hand. “Honey, look at this!” Hearing him call me that, I stopped dead in my tracks, completely stunned. We had been together for almost ten years, and this was the very first time he had ever initiated calling me “Honey.” “Come here quickly! Come look at what this is!” Snapping out of it, I walked toward him, totally confused. As I got close, a cloying wave of women’s perfume hit me. I forced down the nausea rising in my stomach, looking at him with absolute calm. Just as I was about to ask for a divorce, he shoved the document into my hands. Looking at the paper, I froze. How could this happen? “Honey, we’re having a baby! Your physical exam results from last time came back! You’re going to be a mom!” “We finally have a baby! We’re going to be parents!” “Honey, why aren’t you saying anything? Are you just too happy?!” Liam waved his hand in front of my face, his eyes shining. This sudden pregnancy completely destroyed my plans. I stared blankly at the prenatal report, my emotions a tangled, chaotic mess. “I’m pregnant?” Liam smiled and nodded enthusiastically. He threw his arms around my neck and said softly, “Yes, you’re pregnant.” I casually tossed the report onto the table, walked back to the fridge, and grabbed another beer. Seeing this, Liam looked deeply displeased. He marched over, snatched the beer away again, and started scolding me: “What is wrong with you?! I just told you I hate it when you drink! And you’re pregnant now! You absolutely cannot drink alcohol!” “Even if you’re happy about the baby, you still can’t drink!” “Alright, I haven’t eaten yet. I’m hungry. I want fish soup. Go make me some fish soup right now.” When I didn’t react, a flash of impatience crossed his eyes. He shoved me toward the kitchen. I shook my head, trying to force myself to stay clear-headed, but this sudden twist had left me completely lost. I had no choice but to try and push those thoughts aside for now and started cooking. Seeing me busy in the kitchen, Liam sat back down on the sofa, looking incredibly satisfied. He pulled out his phone and started texting someone, a massive smile on his face. After finishing the food, just as I placed the last dish on the table, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a message from Chloe. She didn’t say anything; she just sent a picture. Confused, I tapped on it. It was a prenatal report. The name on the report was crystal clear: Chloe Evans. Suddenly, everything made sense. How incredibly pathetic of him. He didn’t even notice that the prenatal report wasn’t mine. I watched Liam drinking the fish soup while smiling and replying to texts. I asked softly, “Is that prenatal report really mine?” Since all his attention was on his phone, Liam looked up, confused. “What did you say?” “Were you asking how the fish soup tastes? It’s pretty good, but use less salt next time. Too much salt is bad for the baby.” I set my phone down, pulled out a chair, and sat directly across from him. “Liam, let’s get a divorce.” Hearing this, his hand holding the spoon froze. Then he started coughing violently, his face turning beet red. “Honey, what did you just say?” “Honey, I’m starting to think pregnancy really does make people stupid. Since when do you make jokes like this?” “You heard me correctly. I said I want a divorce.” I looked calmly at the man in front of me, my eyes carrying an ocean of profound sorrow. Liam snapped his head up, his voice trembling: “Honey, you want a divorce?” “Are you joking? We’re having a baby now, why are you suddenly bringing up divorce?” “It’s not April Fool’s Day, and this joke isn’t funny. Enough, stop messing around and eat. I’ve had a long day and I’m exhausted.” I picked up my phone, opened the chat with Chloe, and slid the picture across the table to him. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The moment he saw the picture, the color drained entirely from his face. He grabbed my hand, speaking rapidly: “Honey, it’s not what it looks like. I swear it’s not.” “Chloe photoshopped this! She’s just trying to ruin our marriage! You’re the one who’s pregnant!” I violently yanked my hand out of his grip, saying coldly: “Fine. Since you say that, let’s go to the hospital right now and get tested again.” Liam’s expression became incredibly unnatural. He looked away and mumbled, “There’s no need. You really are pregnant.” “How much longer are you going to lie to me?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391662”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night Carter Sterling spent a hundred million dollars at an auction to buy a pink diamond for his female apprentice, I was lying in a hospital bed. Because of my seventh accidental miscarriage, the doctor declared that I had permanently lost the ability to ever have children. I was two thousand dollars short for the surgical fees, so I had no choice but to go find Carter in the middle of the night. Instead, I overheard him talking to his apprentice. “Don’t worry, that blind woman will never have my child. If she gets pregnant, I’ll just kill it.” Ten years of delusions shattered in an instant. I resolutely sold my wedding ring—the only thing of value I possessed—paid for a hysterectomy, and walked away from him forever. When we met again, Carter saw a peacefully sleeping baby in my arms. He wept tears of joy, but his face remained stone-cold. “Only you would have the audacity to run away pregnant! But don’t think you can tie me down with a kid!” I smirked, offering him a sarcastic smile. “The kid isn’t even yours. What are you panicking for?” My savings had run dry a month ago. But I was still two thousand dollars short for the hysterectomy. After agonizing over it, I sent Carter a text. I didn’t receive a reply. It wasn’t until 10:30 PM that my phone screen finally lit up. My heart raced, and I quickly snatched up the phone. But it was just a news push notification on my screen. [Newly Crowned Master Painter Carter Sterling Spends $100 Million on Pink Diamond to Coax His Wife; A Display of Deep Affection That Envies All!] The woman standing next to Carter in the photo wasn’t me, his actual wife. It was his female apprentice, Chloe Hastings. The hundred-million-dollar pink diamond on Chloe’s finger sparkled brilliantly—so brilliantly that it made my eyes sting. Tears fell before I could stop them. Buddy, the guide dog who had been by my side for ten years, nudged me sympathetically. I patted his head, then slowly raised my hand to look at the fractional-carat diamond chip on my own ring finger. After staring at it for a long time, I opened a secondhand marketplace app like a woman possessed. Just as I was about to tap “List Item,” a text from Carter finally came through. He didn’t wire me money to dismiss me like he usually did. Instead, he told me to bring him some hangover soup. Tonight was his celebration party, but I wasn’t the one sharing his joy. Because he always felt I was unworthy. On the way there, I scrolled through his exclusive interview on my phone. “Mr. Sterling, as the first Master Painter in a decade to break auction records, what is your secret?” A rare trace of tenderness appeared in Carter’s light brown eyes. “I owe it all to these highly gifted eyes.” The world thought Carter was just a natural prodigy. They didn’t know that these light brown eyes, which suffered from total color blindness, were the ones I had given him. To someone with total color blindness, the world is only black, white, and gray—making reality look like a naturally formed ink wash painting. This abnormal vision actually aided his specific style of art. Because when I was a child, I saw the world the exact same way. Ten years ago, Carter was in a horrific car crash that left him comatose, his eyes pierced and blinded by shattered glass. To repay a debt, I hid it from everyone and donated my own eyes to him. But Carter’s grandfather saw right through it and knew those eyes were mine. To thank me, he forced Carter to marry me. I knew Carter hated me, and I never expected anything from it. But to my surprise, he actually agreed to the marriage. It took ten years for me to realize that he only married me to torture me. Half a year ago, the hospital informed me that someone had volunteered to donate their eyes to me. Just like I had done back then, the donor’s family demanded strict anonymity. While Carter was secluded in his studio working on his new collection, I secretly underwent the surgery. While he was taking his new masterpieces to the auction house, my vision was slowly recovering. I wanted to give him a surprise. I never expected him to give me a nightmare first. And now, I had to go beg him for a mere two thousand dollars to pay for my surgery. The reality of forever losing the right to be a mother, coupled with my crushing financial destitution, left me unable to breathe. I cursed myself viciously in my heart. Mia, are you really this pathetic?! Why won’t you wake up?! Before I knew it, I was standing outside the door to his VIP room. Just as I reached out to push the door open, I heard Carter’s tipsy, mocking laughter from inside. “Do you see now? Even without Mia, I can paint masterpieces that sell for a fortune!” My mother had been the nation’s top Master Painter. After she died, I was the only one who inherited her true techniques. But when Carter recovered his sight and demanded I teach him how to paint, I refused. Of course, that was just one of the many reasons he hated me. One of Carter’s friends laughed and asked, “Carter, when are you going to divorce that blind girl? You’ve been torturing her for ten years, aren’t you bored yet?” Carter lazily swirled the wine in his glass and chuckled softly. “I’ll drag it out until she’s old and her looks fade, then I’ll throw her away. Making her beg for death is much more entertaining, don’t you think?” The room erupted in roaring laughter. I pressed myself against the freezing wall outside the door, trembling violently. I let the bone-chilling cold seep into every fiber of my being. Someone else asked, “So when are you going to make things official with Chloe?” Chloe, who had been sitting obediently by his side, immediately blushed. She playfully buried her face in Carter’s chest, coyly fiddling with the pink diamond. “Oh, stop it. There are too many people fighting over the title of Mrs. Sterling. I just want to be Carter’s good little apprentice…” Carter gently stroked her hair and spoke in a tone I had never heard him use before. “Mia didn’t fight for the title. She stole it.” So that was how Carter saw it. Even though he had explicitly agreed to this marriage himself. I stood outside the room, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. Inside, Chloe sounded aggrieved. “But Mia keeps getting pregnant with your child… She’s been trying so hard all these years…” Carter’s freezing voice pierced straight into my bones. “Don’t worry, that blind woman will never have my child.” “If she gets pregnant, I’ll kill it.” My breathing stopped. If she gets pregnant, I’ll kill it. So that was why… that was why I had “accidentally” miscarried seven times?! “Miss, aren’t you going in?” A waiter, seeing my deathly pale face, pushed the door open and gestured for me to enter. In an instant, every pair of eyes in the room locked onto me. Carter glanced at me and said coldly, “Are your legs broken, or are you dead? Is standing at the door eavesdropping fun for you?” I took a deep breath, brought the hangover soup over to him, and carefully poured it into a bowl. A ten-year habit is hard to break. My hands, acting entirely on their own, placed the soup I desperately wanted to throw in his face gently in front of him. Like a perfectly domesticated dog. The room was silent for a moment. Then, piercing laughter erupted, completely drowning me out. I didn’t get angry. I just crouched in front of Carter, my tone pleading. “I saw a bag I really like. It costs two thousand dollars…” Carter had Chloe take a sip of the hangover soup. She immediately stuck out her tongue and grimaced. “Ew, what did you put in this? Are you trying to poison me, sister…?” Under Carter’s permissive gaze, Chloe giggled and dumped the entire bowl of steaming hot soup directly over my head. “Sister, something this gross… you should just drink it yourself…” The hot liquid cascaded down my head and seeped into my eyes, burning with a fiery pain. But this hangover soup was made exactly to Carter’s specific tastes. I had made it for ten years. How could I have gotten it wrong? Hearing my scream of pain, Buddy barked frantically at the door, anxious and terrified. Carter frowned, kicked me away, and turned to tenderly blow on Chloe’s lips. They were so close their lips were practically touching. I knew he was being intimate with Chloe specifically to humiliate me. In the past, my heart would have ached, but after years of accumulated torment, it had grown completely numb. Taking advantage of the moment, Chloe playfully hit Carter’s chest. “Carter, Mia is watching…” Someone muttered from the side, “Watching? Does that blind girl even have the equipment for that?” The laughter erupted again. Chloe smiled triumphantly, wrapped her arms around Carter’s neck, and kissed him. Amidst the cheering crowd, Carter didn’t push her away. After the passionate kiss ended, Carter pulled out his phone, opened Zelle, and shot me a mocking look. “A two-thousand-dollar bag? You?” A harsh notification sound pinged from my phone. Zelle transfer received: $5. The second the notification ended, Chloe suddenly grabbed the entire ice bucket off the table and dumped it over my head! Ice cubes crashed against my skull and clattered onto the floor. The metal bucket slammed down over my head like a glacier. My vision went dark, and I collapsed uncontrollably to the floor. “That’s enough! Who told you to do that?!” Carter’s furious voice echoed through the room. But Chloe just held up her slightly scraped hand, looking pitiful. “It hurt, so my hand slipped…” Before I lost consciousness, the cynical voices of Carter’s friends drifted into my ears. “Mia, can you stop playing the fragile victim?” “Chloe was just playing a joke with you, and you’re trying to extort her?” “Carter, look at this blind girl. The acting is getting a bit pathetic…” With the crowd egging him on, Carter backed himself into a corner and said coldly: “Mia, are you really going to just lie there?” “Fine! Then lie there! Keep lying there! If you die here today, no one will give a damn!” With that, he and his entourage swaggered out of the room. Before leaving, he locked the door securely and ordered that no one was allowed to open it. In the absolute darkness, my consciousness grew heavier and heavier. Everything felt like it was reverting to the days when I was blind. After giving my eyes to Carter, my health had severely deteriorated. I was especially susceptible to the cold. Carter actually knew this, because years ago, he was the one who had rescued me from an ice cellar. The endless darkness wrapped around me, piercing me like a thousand blades. That heart, which had once beaten so vibrantly and passionately, completely shattered under the weight of countless wounds. Bang! Something smashed open, jolting me awake. As my vision focused, I realized the room door had finally been battered open by Buddy. He rushed over, frantic and terrified, circling me and relentlessly licking my hand, only to find me completely unresponsive. Buddy could only whimper low in his throat, desperately trying to wake me. I struggled to prop myself up. I saw Buddy’s forehead, a bloody, mangled mess, and the blood on his paws. A trail of blood led all the way back to the heavy wooden door. The tears I had been holding back finally broke free. I hugged a terrified Buddy, sitting on the floor and crying until my throat was raw. At that moment, a Zelle notification popped up. It was from Carter, totaling exactly two thousand dollars. He had left a sarcastic note: [For your medical bills.] I didn’t tap to accept it. I didn’t need it anymore. I would never need it again. It was snowing heavily outside. My clothes were completely soaked with hangover soup and ice water, hanging off me stiffly. They felt like tiny needles stabbing into my skin. But I didn’t feel cold, because the agonizing pain radiating from my lower abdomen made it nearly impossible to walk. I don’t know how much time passed before I slowly pushed open the door of a pawnshop. The moment I walked in, the security guard at the door eyed me warily and raised his stun baton. “What do you think you’re doing here?!” Buddy bared his teeth at him. But when the owner saw the diamond ring I held up on my ring finger, he immediately smiled and invited me inside. After getting the cash, I rushed straight to the hospital for the hysterectomy, and then I booked a flight. During my entire week in the hospital, Carter never sent me a single message. I knew he was waiting for me to apologize. Because for the past ten years, no matter what happened, I was always the one to initiate peace. Carter seemed absolutely convinced that I couldn’t live without him. I wasn’t discharged until half a month later. When I returned to the house, everything was exactly as it had been the day I left. Which meant Carter hadn’t been home in two weeks either. I opened Chloe’s Instagram. They had spent the last two weeks escaping the winter chill in the Bahamas, and had just returned today. The photos showed them having romantic dinners, swimming together, whispering sweet nothings… Every single photo depicted the life I had once dreamed of having. Right then, Chloe sent me a text. [Mia, why won’t you just give up? The one who isn’t loved is the actual third wheel.] [Carter treats you like garbage, why do you refuse to divorce him?] [I guess it’s true. Your mother was a homewrecker, and the bastard child of a homewrecker is still just a homewrecker. You’re pathetic!] The screen illuminated my deathly pale face as I heavily typed back three words: [She wasn’t.] Before I could send anything else, Chloe sent me a live location pin. I didn’t hesitate. I headed straight to the nightclub where she was. Once I spotted my target, I marched up to her, grabbed her by the hair, and slapped her hard across the face. “Apologize! Apologize to my mother right now!” Chloe was completely stunned by my swift, fluid attack. “There are so many people here… how… how did you find me?!” It took her three seconds to process what was happening, and then she shrieked and cursed. “You blind bitch, you can see?!” “You want me to apologize? What a joke! Your mother was a homewrecker! A filthy homewrecker everyone despised! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!” I didn’t give her a chance to say another word. Just as I raised my hand again, several men rushed at me like maniacs. But I had backup. Buddy lunged, sinking his teeth into one of the men’s arms, tearing violently! Buddy was fierce and brave. He took down one man, then turned to attack the next. Using his small body, he physically blocked the attackers from reaching me. I grabbed Chloe by the collar, enunciating every word. “I will say it one last time. Apologize to my mother!” Chloe was pale with terror, but she stubbornly refused to back down. “A slut is a slut! What are you arguing about?!” “Your mother seduced Carter’s father! She killed his mother! Do you really have no idea?!” “What? Are we not allowed to talk about how your homewrecker mother destroyed Carter’s family?!” My breathing grew ragged. I slowly picked up a glass bottle, smashed it against a table, and pointed the jagged edge at Chloe, my face devoid of emotion. “I’ll say it one last time. Apologize to my mother, or I swear I’ll—” Before I could finish, a familiar, roaring voice exploded in my ear. “Mia, touch her and see what happens!” Buddy let out a sharp howl of pain. Carter struck him brutally with a stun baton. But Buddy didn’t even try to bite Carter back. Buddy knew I loved him, so he didn’t dare hurt him. He could only lie helplessly on the floor, whimpering for me to save him. I forgot all about Chloe, instantly scrambling up and throwing myself toward Buddy. But before I could reach him, a massive force grabbed me and yanked me back. Smack! A brutal slap landed on my left cheek. The sting was fiery. My ears rang violently. I could see Carter’s lips moving in front of me, but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Smack! Before I could recover, Carter struck me again, even harder. The massive momentum threw me toward the wall. My forehead slammed against the brick with a sickening thud. Blood immediately began streaming down the side of my face. After a moment of dizzying vertigo, his ethereal voice finally broke through the ringing. “Mia, apologize to Chloe.” He pulled a tearful, weeping Chloe over to me, his voice terrifyingly cold. “Get on your knees! Apologize to Chloe!” This was the first time Carter had ever hit me. For the past ten years, no matter how much he mentally tortured me, he never laid a hand on me. Because the Sterling family had strict rules: men were forbidden from hitting their wives. But today, he broke that rule for Chloe.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391661”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To pay for my mute wife’s medical treatments, I had to do the unthinkable: leave my newborn son behind to work as a high-end live-in night nurse for a wealthy family. I had just received a six-month lump sum from my employer, Silas Vance—a man who lived in a world of marble and shadows—and I was rushing home to reunite with my family. But when I stepped into the foyer of the Vance estate to return a forgotten key, I saw Silas on the velvet sofa, his arms wrapped around a woman in a lingering, intimate embrace. Realizing I was intruding, I turned to slip away, but then I heard him whisper her name. “Isabelle, how much longer are we going to keep this up? I almost feel bad for him. I gave him a two-hundred-dollar bonus just now, and he looked like he’d won the damn lottery.” The woman’s laugh was like silk, cold and expensive. “Two hundred? Silas, the toilet paper in our guest bathroom costs more than that.” I froze, my blood turning to ice. I thought I had misheard. My wife’s name was Isabelle. But my Isabelle was mute. She lived in a world of silence and signed prayers. Then, the woman turned her head, a sharp, mocking smile playing on her lips. “Let the game continue. I need to keep my figure, so breastfeeding is out, and you’re useless with a bottle. Little Toby loves the way he preps the formula. He used to be an OB-GYN, remember? I feel better knowing he’s the one raising our son.” “And his own kid?” Silas asked, trailing a finger down her neck. “What if he finds out you’re worth billions? What if he realizes you faked being poor just to see if he’d ‘sacrifice’ himself for you? He left his own flesh and blood to be a nanny for ours. Won’t he snap?” Isabella leaned in, pulling Silas down by his silk tie. Her voice was a low, sultry murmur. “He’s obsessed with me. Even if he knew, he’d stay. He’d probably beg to be your footman just to stay in my orbit. Without the ‘poor girl’ act, how else was I supposed to know if his heart was real?” She paused, her tone turning dismissive. “As for his brat? Please. It was just a byproduct of the IVF process. The kid can survive on rice water for all I care.” I stood in the shadows, my vision blurring into a terrifying shade of crimson. I stared at the distinct, crescent-shaped birthmark on her neck—the same one I had kissed a thousand times in our cramped, dim apartment. Isabella. If you aren’t mute, then I don’t owe you a damn thing. I stepped out of the house, my hands shaking as I pulled my phone from my pocket. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years—the number of the billionaire father I had disowned for her. “Dad,” I said, my voice cracking but hardening with every word. “I’m done playing the ‘struggling commoner’ game. Come get me. I want to go home.” 1 I don’t remember the drive back to our apartment. By the time I regained my senses, I was drenched in a cold sweat. A faint, pathetic whimper—like a dying kitten—echoed from the bedroom, jolting me into reality. “Jamie!” I screamed, lunging into the room. My son was in his crib. He was nearly six months old, but he looked as frail and skeletal as the day he was born. On the nightstand sat a bowl of crusty, dried-out rice starch. Isabella’s words sliced through my mind again. The kid can survive on rice water. She didn’t just neglect him. She was starving him. I realized then that she had only agreed to the IVF because she wanted Silas’s child. My son, Jamie, was an accident—a “byproduct.” She had carried twins, but in my desperation to protect her “fragile” health, I never questioned why she seemed so exhausted. I had spent her entire pregnancy scavenging for extra shifts, even picking through recycling bins at night just to buy her prenatal vitamins, while she secretly retreated to her mansion. Silas’s child couldn’t go an hour without a bottle before I was summoned. I was never allowed to go home. Every cent I earned went straight into Isabella’s account, while I ate Silas’s leftovers to save money for her “surgeries.” She had promised me she would take care of our boy. Jamie’s cries were getting weaker. I scooped his tiny, feverish body into my arms and sprinted for the hospital. It was well past midnight by the time the doctors stabilized him. I looked at my phone. Three hours ago, in a panic, I had texted Isabella. No response. I turned the corner of the hallway and froze. A familiar silhouette stood by the nurse’s station. Isabella was cradling Silas’s baby, her face tight with anxiety as Silas rubbed her back. “He coughed twice, Doctor,” she was saying, her voice clear and frantic. “Are you absolutely sure he’s okay?” The doctor sighed. “Ma’am, we’ve run every test twice tonight. Your son is perfectly healthy. You can go home.” I stood paralyzed, still struggling to reconcile the woman who signed “I love you” with this polished, articulate stranger. My phone chirped. A text. I watched as they disappeared into the elevator before I looked down. It was from her. Sorry, honey. My boss had an emergency and needed a driver. I might be late getting back. I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. How had I been so blind? She “drove” for a wealthy employer, yet she arrived in a custom-tailored coat. She told me her designer clothes were “hand-me-downs” from her boss. I had believed every single lie. By the way, is Jamie okay? another text popped up. She finally remembered she had a son. Silas’s baby coughed twice, and she demanded a full medical workup. Our son had a 104-degree fever, and she had ignored my texts for three hours. I scrolled up through our chat history. It was a graveyard of my one-sided devotion. Long paragraphs of me describing Jamie’s milestones, met with her cold, one-word replies. I remembered Silas bragging about his “clingy” wife, how she tracked his GPS and texted him every hour. I thought Isabella was just “reserved.” She wasn’t reserved; she just didn’t give a damn about me. She had spent three years pretending to be mute just so she wouldn’t have to bother talking to me. I wiped the chat history clean, my thumb hovering over Silas’s Instagram. He had just posted a story. 2 The photo showed a woman’s profile as she rocked a baby. In her hand was a gold-rimmed crystal bottle—a limited edition piece worth thirty thousand dollars. Silas had once told me his wife bought a whole warehouse of them. One bottle was enough to buy Jamie’s formula for a year. But to Isabella, Jamie wasn’t even worth the cheap stuff from the grocery store. She had played me for a fool, turning me into a wet nurse for her lover’s child while my own son withered away. I started to laugh, hot tears stinging my eyes. My phone buzzed again. Sir, the private jet will be ready in three days to collect you and the young master. Attached was a dossier on the woman I thought I knew. Isabella Sterling. CEO of Sterling Global. The “Iron Lady” of the Chicago tech scene. Net worth: Twelve billion dollars. I scrolled down to the “Spouse” section. Silas Vance. My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I went home and dug through the safe where I kept our “marriage certificate.” I ran my finger over the seal. There was no raised stamp. It was a fake. All of it. I sat in the dark until dawn, when I heard the key turn in the lock. Isabella walked in. She saw me sitting there and froze for a split second before rushing over, her face a mask of practiced concern. She started signing frantically. [Honey, what’s wrong?] I looked up at her, my eyes bloodshot. A thick, cloying scent hit me—the same woodsy cologne Silas wore. I used to think it was a coincidence. I didn’t realize that every night, while I was in the nursery next door, my wife was in my employer’s bed. She kept signing, her expression “pleading.” [Is it the baby? I’m so sorry! I’m such a burden to you. I crashed the boss’s car today and they docked my pay again.] She hung her head in “shame.” It was her favorite move. Every time she “lost” money, I would work an extra shift to make up for it. I would hold her and tell her everything would be okay. Now, I just watched her. Silent. When I didn’t give her the usual comfort, a flicker of genuine confusion crossed her eyes. She lunged forward to hug me, then pulled back, signing again. [What is it, Nathaniel?] My eyes settled on a faint red mark on her collarbone. A hickey. I reached out, my fingers brushing it. She grabbed my hand, “explaining” quickly with her fingers. [It’s… a mosquito bite. The boss’s garage is full of them.] I pulled my hand away. “The baby had a fever. He’s in the hospital under observation.” Her face didn’t twitch. Not a single spark of maternal fear. Just a shallow mask of guilt. “I’m such a failure,” she signed. [I can’t even speak, I can only drive… I can’t even take care of our son.] Usually, this would make me feel like the failure for not providing more. Because she “lost her voice” for me. 3 Three years ago, I was staying in a luxury hotel in Denver when a fire broke out. Isabella, a stranger in the room next door, had supposedly dragged me out of the flames. I walked away with minor burns; she allegedly suffered severe smoke inhalation that destroyed her vocal cords. I was so consumed by guilt that I walked away from my family’s fortune, canceled my plans to join my father’s firm, and spent six months nursing her back to health. When she “realized” she would never speak again, she wrote a note: [If you feel like you owe me, why not marry me?] I was a fool. I thought it was a romance. She brought me to this dilapidated apartment and signed: [I have nothing. If you don’t want to suffer with me, you can leave.] I stayed. I worked five jobs. I slept four hours a night to save for her “surgery.” My surgeon’s hands became calloused from scrubbing dishes. My skin turned dark from construction work. I even have a twelve-inch scar on my leg from a delivery accident that left me with a permanent limp because I couldn’t afford to take time off for physical therapy. I did it all for her. “I have enough for the surgery now,” I said, my voice flat. “I quit the job at the Vance’s. I’ll be home to feed the baby myself.” Isabella blinked, stunned. She pushed me toward the bed and hurried into the bathroom, claiming she needed a shower. Five minutes later, my phone rang. “Mr. Thorne? This is the clinic. We have an update on your wife’s vocal cord procedure. The estimate has increased from thirty thousand to eighty thousand. We have a limited surgical window. If we don’t proceed this week, the damage may be permanent.” Perfect timing. Isabella stepped out of the bathroom, “overhearing” the call. She looked at me with tearful eyes, signing: [Forget it, honey. Let’s not do the surgery. It’s too much.] I looked deep into her eyes—eyes that were currently calculating exactly how much more she could squeeze out of me. “I’ll find the money,” I said. The tension in her shoulders vanished instantly. She turned away and began typing a text. I recognized the contact photo: Silas. She was smiling—a real, genuine smile I had never seen directed at me. Later that night, as I drifted into a fitful sleep, I felt her hands on me. But as she moved to pull back my sweatpants, she stopped. She stared at the jagged, ugly scar on my leg—the price I paid for her “rent.” In the dim light, I saw the look on her face. It wasn’t pity. It was disgust. She pulled away, signing: [I need to use the bathroom.] I waited a moment, then stood up. I followed her quietly. She wasn’t in the bathroom. She was in the storage room, staring at a photo of Silas on her phone, her breathing heavy, her body moving in a way she never moved for me. She whispered his name. I felt a surge of bile in my throat. I bolted for the bathroom and gagged. Isabella heard me. She rushed to the door, “concerned” again. [Honey? Are you okay?] I shoved her away. The rage was boiling over, the truth sitting on the tip of my tongue, ready to shatter her world— Then her phone rang.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391660”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The silence that follows a lost pregnancy isn’t just quiet; it’s heavy. It’s a physical weight that presses against your lungs until you’re convinced you’ll never draw a full breath again. After the miscarriage, I didn’t just fall into depression; I drowned in it. The darkest night was when I found myself in the bathroom, the cold edge of a kitchen knife pressed against the pulse in my neck. Grant didn’t scream. He didn’t call 911. Instead, he simply picked up another blade, held it to his own throat, and offered a twisted, tragic smile. “If you go, June, I’m going with you. I’ll be right behind you in the dark.” Because of those words, I fought. I dragged myself back from the ledge a thousand times, clinging to the idea that our love was a tether strong enough to keep us both grounded. Until today. We were walking out of the clinic, and a wave of nausea hit me so hard I began to retch. I reached for Grant’s hand, seeking the anchor I’d relied on for a decade. But he didn’t hold me. He let go, his fingers slipping away as if I were something contagious. He let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Physical symptoms again? Honestly, June, give it a rest.” I froze, wiping my mouth, my eyes stinging. “Grant?” “It’s been five years since we lost that baby,” he said, his voice cold, devoid of the warmth that used to be my sanctuary. “You’ve turned our life into a funeral march. Meanwhile, Valerie went to the most dangerous corners of the world just to clear her conscience for what happened, and she never uttered a single complaint.” The name hit me like a physical blow. Valerie. Our former house manager—the woman who had been a shadow in our home before the tragedy. “What are you talking about?” I whispered, a sickening dread pooling in my stomach. He climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door with a finality that made me flinch. He looked relieved, like a man who had finally shed a heavy coat. “It means I’m done. I’m going back for her.” My hand tightened around the small, crumpled paper in my pocket. The surprise I had been trembling to tell him—the tiny flicker of hope the doctor had just confirmed—would stay hidden. It seemed there was no longer a home for it to come back to. 1 Tears tracked down my face, turning icy in the wind whipping through the half-open window. Grant reached over, his thumb brushing a stray drop away with a tenderness that felt like a mockery. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I’m being honest with you. You should be happy I’m not lying anymore.” He let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. “Since we’re laying it all out, you should know the truth. Five days ago, when I told you I was on a business trip in San Francisco? I wasn’t. I was with her. We spent the night under the stars in Big Sur.” The world tilted on its axis. I remembered that night. I had fainted from exhaustion and stress, waking up in an ER bed. When Grant finally showed up, his eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard. I thought he had been driving all night, frantic with worry for me. I had held his hand and promised him—swore to him—that I would stay strong, that I wouldn’t do anything reckless. I thought he was suffering with me. But he had been tangled in the sheets with another woman. “After you got sick, my entire life started revolving around your grief,” he continued, eyes fixed on the road. “But Valerie has been out there, alone, suffering in silence for so long. I can’t turn my back on her anymore.” The pain in my chest was so sharp I could barely speak. “So why tell me this now? Why kill me like this?” His hand paused on my cheek. “She’s too good for her own sake. She doesn’t want to take your place, but I won’t let her live in the shadows like some dirty secret. You’re still my wife, June. But she’s going to be part of my life, too. I want her in the light.” I looked at him, my heart literally bleeding. “And if I don’t accept that?” He laughed, a short, dismissive sound that told me my consent was an afterthought. “The house, the cars, the accounts—take your pick. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. I’ll even keep her out of your sight if that’s what it takes. But a divorce? Don’t even dream of it.” I stared at his profile, his jaw set with the arrogance of a man who owned everything, including me. I felt like I was suffocating. We had been together since we were kids. He was my entire world. When people mocked me for being the “illegitimate daughter” of a disgraced family, Grant was the one who threw the first punch to defend me. When we had nothing, I worked three jobs, coming home with a fever so high I nearly developed myocarditis, just so he could have the seed money for his first startup. When he finally made it, he told me to quit. “You have me now,” he’d said, his eyes full of a devotion I thought was unbreakable. “I never want you to suffer again. Trust me.” I did. I believed in the version of him that loved only me. He just forgot to mention that his heart was now an open floor plan. I gripped the hem of my coat, wanting to believe this was a nightmare. I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing the ultrasound photo. Maybe if he saw this… maybe if he knew… But before I could pull it out, his phone buzzed. “Grant… I shouldn’t be calling,” Valerie’s voice came through the Bluetooth, thick with tears and a practiced vulnerability. “My car broke down on the shoulder of the highway… I don’t know what to do…” I reached for his arm, a silent plea. Grant didn’t even look at me. “Don’t be scared,” he told her, his voice dropping into that protective register that used to belong to me. “I’m coming. Stay inside and lock the doors.” He didn’t offer another explanation. He just pulled over to the curb and said two words. “Get out.” The weight of those words hit me harder than any blow. “Grant,” I choked out, “have you forgotten how we lost our first child? Have you forgotten what she did?” 2 The air in the car turned frigid. Grant didn’t flinch. “June, that was an accident. Move on.” I sat there, stunned. I could almost taste the herbal tea she had “accidentally” brewed for me back then—the one filled with ingredients that triggered my contractions. I could still feel the phantom fire in my abdomen. “It wasn’t an accident,” I hissed, grabbing his sleeve. “She did it on pur—” He shoved my hand away. “Enough with the theatrics. Valerie is waiting.” He practically dragged me out of the car. I stood on the sidewalk, shivering as he sped away, the taillights disappearing into the gray Seattle mist. The cramps started then. A dull, rhythmic throbbing that sent me stumbling back toward the clinic. The doctor’s face was grim an hour later. Between the years of chronic depression and the sudden physical and emotional trauma, the pregnancy was non-viable. This baby—the one I had prayed for, the one I thought was a miracle—was gone before I could even name it. The old grief returned, a familiar monster. I tried calling Grant, my hands shaking so hard I dropped the phone twice. All I got was his voicemail. Over and over. When I finally caught a cab home, I saw his car in the underground garage. He wasn’t alone. “Grant, I lied to you… I just wanted to see if you’d really come,” Valerie was whispering inside the car. She leaned in, her lips finding his. I watched his throat move as he swallowed, his resolve crumbling as he kissed her back with a hunger that broke what was left of me. They were frantic, tearing at each other. My eyes landed on the blue-and-white silk tie wrapped around Valerie’s wrist. It was the one I’d bought him for our tenth anniversary. The world felt like it was liquefying beneath my feet. I screamed—a raw, primal sound—and began pounding on the car window. The door opened, and I lunged for Valerie, my hand raised to strike. But Grant caught my wrist, his grip like a vice. “June! If you want to hit someone, hit me. But you will not touch her.” Valerie cowered behind him, her eyes flashing with a hidden, triumphant gleam. “How can you do this?” I sobbed, my voice cracking. “How can you look at her and not see our dead child?” Grant looked at me, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of regret. Then, he let out a cold, mocking laugh. “June, was that even my kid?” The world went silent. My brain felt like it had short-circuited. “You were working at that lounge back then,” he said, his voice dripping with a newfound cruelty. “Who knows whose it was? I was too poor to care at the time, so I didn’t blame you.” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at my own reflection in the side mirror—pale, disheveled, a ghost of the woman I used to be. “I gave you my name. I gave you a life. I didn’t care that you carried someone else’s mistake. But this constant drama? I’m bored of it.” “You don’t believe me?” I whispered. He didn’t answer. He just looked at the fresh hickey on his neck and pushed me aside. I lost my balance, my shoulder slamming into the side mirror. The glass shattered, the shards slicing through my coat and into my skin. He didn’t even check on me. “Another stunt?” he sighed. “June, if you keep this up, I won’t have any affection left for you at all.” He drove away with her. I stood in the dark, watching the exhaust fumes fade. I started to laugh, a jagged sound that turned into a sob. I picked up a piece of the broken mirror, the edge sharp and inviting, and pressed it deep into my wrist. 3 In the haze of blood loss, I drifted back to the night I met him. He was working bar-back at a dive in the city, and I was the “trashy” illegitimate daughter some prep-school elites had brought along to humiliate. He was the one who broke a bottle over a table when they started saying things no girl should hear. He grabbed my hand and we ran through the snow, laughing. “Don’t be afraid,” he had said, looking back at me with eyes full of fire. He gave me the only warmth I’d ever known. But that fire cost us everything. He lost his job; I lost my place in my family’s shadow. We lived in a condemned apartment, huddled together under thin blankets. He promised me a home. When he collapsed from exhaustion working construction and couldn’t get paid, I bit my tongue and took a job at an exclusive lounge. High-end, “bottle service,” where the tips were fast if you could handle the sharks. I’m allergic to alcohol—severely. But I forced myself to down drinks with clients to hit my quotas, just to pay Grant’s hospital bills. I’d come home shaking, covered in hives, and he would just hold me, his eyes red with unspoken guilt. We moved cities. We fought for every inch of success. I played the “hostess,” smoothing his path with the connections I made in the nightlife. And then came Valerie. He brought her in as a house manager to help me during my first pregnancy. I was naive. I missed the way her fingers brushed his when she served him coffee. I missed the longing in her gaze. Until the night I saw them. A kiss in the hallway. We nearly destroyed the house that night. He cried. He knelt at my feet and begged. “It was a moment of weakness, June. I love you. We have a baby coming. Please.” Valerie knelt too, claiming she was obsessed, begging not to be fired because she had nowhere to go. I was soft. I let her stay in the guest house. He stayed away from her after that. Or so I thought. But his phone would light up in the dead of night. Months of texts from her—unanswered, but not blocked. A silent permission for her to keep loving him. The night I finally broke and smashed his phone, I went into early labor. The tea Valerie brought me—the “soothing” tea—ended everything. I wanted her gone. I wanted her to pay. But Grant sent her away “for her own safety,” protecting her from my wrath. The betrayal became a thorn in our marriage. We stopped being intimate. The second pregnancy was a miracle I fought for. And now, it was over. I woke up in a hospital bed, the familiar emptiness in my womb more painful than the stitches in my wrist. I felt nothing but a cold, dead numbness. I picked up my phone and sent one message. Grant, I want a divorce. 4 I waited for days at our empty house. No reply. Instead, I got a video from an unknown number. A field of roses. Grant on one knee, sliding a massive diamond onto Valerie’s finger. I looked down at the tarnished silver band hanging from a chain around my neck. We were so poor when we got “married” that we bought it at a flea market. He had looked into my eyes and promised me the world. “I’m going to replace this with the biggest diamond in the world one day, June. I’m going to tie you to me forever.” The diamonds came, but the promises evaporated. The front door opened. Valerie walked in, catching me staring at the old ring. She laughed. “June, honestly. Why are you still holding onto that trash? It’s pathetic.” She stepped closer, her eyes scanning my flat stomach. “No wonder he’s leaving. You can’t even keep a baby alive. You’re a cursed woman.” “Shut up!” I screamed. The grief boiled over. I lunged at her, grabbing her hair and slamming my hand across her face. She didn’t fight back. She just smirked. A second later, I was shoved aside so hard I hit the floor. “June! Are you insane? You’re acting like a goddamn lunatic!” Grant stood over me, his face twisted in disgust. I was shaking, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. He looked at my pale face and softened for a fraction of a second, reaching out. But Valerie beat him to it. She dropped to her knees in front of me, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, June! Hit me again if it makes you feel better! I’ll leave, I won’t take the ring, just please don’t hate him—” Grant’s face hardened. “You hit her over a ring? A piece of jewelry I bought for her?” “He’s my husband, Valerie,” I choked out. “June is just lonely, Grant,” Valerie sobbed. “She has no job, no kids… she’s bored.” Grant took a deep breath. “You’ve spent too much time in this house rotting. You need to get out. My firm has a dinner tonight with some high-stakes investors. You’re going. You’re going to be the charming ‘Mrs. Grant’ one last time and help me close this deal.” “She’s not well, Grant…” Valerie purred. “She can drink,” Grant said coldly. “Everyone knows June is the best at working a room. You’ve been ‘sick’ long enough. Get ready.” I looked at him, my voice a whisper. “Grant… the baby is gone. Truly gone this time.” He didn’t even blink. “How long are you going to use that excuse? One baby dies and you want the whole world to stop? People lose kids every day. Move on.” The words were a blade to the heart. “I’m taking Valerie on a trip,” he said, turning his back on me. “Decide what you want to do while I’m gone. But tonight, you go to that dinner.” I was forced into a dress and driven to a private lounge. The men there were vultures. They pushed drinks on me, their hands wandering. “I thought Mrs. Grant was a pro,” one of them sneered, pinning me against the booth. “Come on, one more shot.” “I’m allergic,” I gasped, struggling. “Grant said to give you the full experience,” the man whispered, his hand sliding up my thigh. “He said you liked it rough.” The humiliation was a tidal wave. As I fought him off, I felt a warm, terrifying gush of red. The surgical site from my miscarriage had torn. “Blood… she’s bleeding!” someone yelled. … Grant was at the airport, checking his phone. He was waiting for a call—a report from the bodyguards that I had behaved, that I was “broken in” again. But the call never came. He opened his messages and saw the one from three days ago. Grant, I want a divorce. And then, a new one from a blocked number: a photo of the lounge floor, covered in red.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391659”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The sex had been slow and heavy, leaving a lingering heat in the air. Afterward, I watched Nate standing at the stove, his back to me as he hummed a tune and stirred a pot of midnight pasta. He was wearing nothing but his boxers and my floral apron, looking every bit the devoted partner. I caught the scene on video—the steam rising, the casual grace of his movements—and posted it to my feed before drifting off to sleep. When I checked my phone the next morning, the view count had spiked over ten thousand. But as I scrolled through the analytics, something felt wrong. Every single view came from the same account. I laughed, showing the screen to Nate while he sipped his coffee. “I think I have a superfan,” I joked. “Or maybe it’s an obsessed ex-girlfriend? Ten thousand views on one video… she really can’t let you go, can she?” Nate glanced at the screen. The relaxed expression he’d worn seconds ago vanished, replaced by a sudden, icy tension. His jaw tightened. “Delete it,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. I blinked, taken aback by his tone. “What? Nate, it’s just a video. It’s cute.” Before I could process his shift in mood, Nate’s composure fractured. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes burning with an intensity that bordered on panic. “I said delete it, Tess! Sophie can’t see things like this!” The name hit me like a physical blow. My stomach did a slow, sickening flip. Sophie. The girl he’d spent seven years with. The girl he’d told me was a closed chapter, a ghost from his twenties. My hand began to shake as I gripped my phone. I opened my mouth to demand an explanation, to ask why he was still tracking her social media habits, but the words died in my throat. Nate’s eyes weren’t just angry; they were watery, filled with a raw, agonizing protective instinct. Nate, a man who usually moved through the world with unshakable confidence, suddenly looked small. He reached out, taking my hand in a plea. “She’s fragile, Tess. She’s not like you. Don’t do this to her. Don’t trigger her. Please, I’m begging you.” 1 I stared at him, my brow furrowing in disbelief. Nate softened his voice, sensing my resistance. “Sophie was diagnosed with severe clinical depression a few months ago,” he whispered. “The doctors said she’s on a knife’s edge. One wrong move, one shock to her system, and… look, once she’s stable, you can post whatever you want. Okay? Just give it time.” My throat felt tight, constricted by a thousand questions I was too afraid to ask. How do you know about her diagnosis? Why are you the one monitoring her triggers? Before I could find my voice, his phone buzzed on the counter. Nate reacted with a literal reflex, snatching it up as if his life depended on it. I caught a glimpse of the contact name—a string of digits I recognized. It was the private number his friends had once joked about, the one reserved only for Sophie. He answered instantly. “Yeah? Slow down. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Tell them not to do anything until I arrive.” He hung up and grabbed his leather jacket from the sofa, moving toward the door with frantic energy. He paused at the threshold, his eyes landing on me with a sharp, warning glare. “Remember. Delete the video.” I watched his car peel out of the driveway, my fingers curling into my palms. Why? Nate was my boyfriend. This was my life, my relationship. Why did I have to scrub my existence just because his ex couldn’t handle the reality of him moving on? I wasn’t going to delete it. In fact, a petty, searing fire rose in my chest. I wanted to show her more. I began scrolling through my camera roll, looking for a photo of us—something romantic, something that proved he belonged to me. But as I scrolled, a cold realization settled in my bones. I couldn’t find a single photo of us together. Nate had always been “camera shy.” He’d told me he hated the performative nature of social media, that he wanted to “live in the moment” with me. I’d respected that. I’d been the understanding girlfriend. My entire gallery consisted of stolen shots of his back, his hands, his shadow. The bitterness in my mouth tasted like copper. I refused to let her win. I took those candid shots of him and edited them into a montage, setting it to a song that felt like a heartbeat. I posted it, setting the privacy so that only one person could see it: Sophie. Within two minutes, the notifications pinged. Two views. I leaned back against the headboard, a dark sense of satisfaction blooming in my chest. I imagined her on the other side of the screen, crumbling, feeling the same phantom limb pain I felt every time Nate mentioned her name. But then, the “New Post” notification popped up. Sophie had updated her story. There were no flashy effects, no trendy music. Just a slideshow of high-resolution photos. Nate and Sophie in a dimly lit bookstore, his arm draped over her shoulder. Nate and Sophie at a theme park, both of them grinning at the camera, their faces pressed together. Nate looking into the lens with a warmth I had never been able to capture. Photo after photo of the life I had been told he was “too private” to document. The caption was a single line: “You always said we were the only ones who belonged in the same frame.” The phone slipped from my hands, thudding onto the duvet. My breath hitched. He didn’t hate cameras. He didn’t hate the “performance” of being a couple. He just didn’t want to be seen with me. I felt like a clown, a temporary placeholder in a theater where the lead actress had never truly left the stage. With trembling fingers, I opened my profile and deleted every single video I’d ever posted of him. I wiped the slate clean until there was nothing left but a hollow digital silence. 2 Nate didn’t come home until the early hours of the morning. I stayed under the covers, my back to the door, my mind a repetitive loop of a single thought: This is it. If he doesn’t choose today, I’m gone. The bedroom door creaked open. The scent of the cold night air and a faint, floral perfume—not mine—drifted toward the bed. He stood there for a long time before speaking. “Tess. I know you’re awake.” I didn’t move. “Sophie’s in a bad way,” he continued, his voice strained. “She saw the video you posted yesterday. She… she tried to end it. Her mom found her just in time. She’s out of the hospital, but she can’t be alone.” I threw back the covers and sat up, the anger finally boiling over. “And what does that have to do with us, Nate?” “I’m bringing her here,” he said, his tone flat, as if he were discussing the weather. “Just for a few weeks. Until she’s stable enough for a facility. It’s the only way she’ll agree to keep fighting.” “Are you insane?” I stood up, my voice rising. “This isn’t a halfway house, Nate! You expect me to live under the same roof as the woman you’re clearly still in love with?” A muffled conversation drifted in from the living room. I pushed past him, my heart hammering against my ribs. The living room lights were blindingly bright. Sophie was sitting dead center on our sofa, wrapped in an oversized cardigan that I recognized as Nate’s. She looked pale, her eyes vacant and rimmed with red. Next to her sat an older woman—her mother. When the mother saw me, she stood up, her face a mask of practiced desperation. “You must be Tess. I’m so sorry to intrude like this, especially so late.” I didn’t answer. I just looked at the scene—my home, invaded by the ghost of a dead relationship. Then, the mother did something I never expected. She moved toward me, clutching my hands, her voice breaking into a sob. “Please, Tess. My daughter is drowning. Nate is the only anchor she has left. Just let her stay for a little while. Treat her like a stray, like a guest you never see. Once she’s better, I’ll take her away, I swear. Don’t let my daughter die.” It was a trap. A perfectly laid emotional ambush. I looked past the mother, past the weeping girl on my sofa, and locked eyes with Nate. “It’s her or me, Nate. Choose. Right now.” Nate’s face contorted. He looked between us, the weight of seven years pulling him one way and our year-long romance pulling him the other. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally looked at Sophie. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at them. “Tess is right. This is her home too. It’s not appropriate.” Sophie’s eyes finally found mine, and for a split second, the vacancy vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp spark of resentment. Then, the tears began to fall again. “I’ll take them back to their place,” Nate said, his voice hollow. I didn’t say a word. I stood in the middle of the room, watching the three of them disappear into the hallway. The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was deafening. I waited. I sat on that sofa from dawn until the sun began to peek through the blinds. Nate didn’t come back. I checked my phone. No texts. No calls. Just a new notification from Sophie’s account. I opened the video. The camera panned around a familiar room—the hardwood floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the specific shade of navy blue on the walls. It was the condo. The one Nate and I had just put a deposit on. Our “forever” home. He had taken her there. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs. I reached for my phone and dialed my best friend, Jade. “I need you to come with me,” I said, my voice like flint. “Now.” 3 Thirty minutes later, Jade and I were standing in front of the condo. I didn’t use my key. I pounded on the door. Sophie’s mother opened it. When she saw me, her eyes darted nervously, but she braced herself in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” “This is my house,” I spat, pushing past her. “And I’m here to evict you.” Sophie was reclining on the designer sofa we’d picked out together. She was wearing a silk robe that definitely didn’t belong to her. She looked up, a slow, taunting smile spreading across her lips. “Tess,” she purred, standing up slowly. “Do you want to know why Nate brought me here? To our house?” She let the silence hang, relishing the moment. “Because I’m pregnant, Tess. With Nate’s baby.” The world tilted. My heart stopped. “I think it happened… let me see… right around your one-year anniversary?” she continued, her voice dripping with malice. “He didn’t really have to work late that night, did he? He was here. With me.” Our anniversary. The night I’d spent three hours cooking a five-course meal, wearing the red dress he’d bought me, only to receive a text saying he was stuck in a board meeting. He’d been here. Consummating a betrayal that was now a living, breathing thing inside her. “You lying bitch!” Jade exploded, stepping in front of me. “You’re really going to pull the ‘pregnancy’ card to keep a man who doesn’t want you? Have some dignity.” Sophie laughed, a high, chilling sound. “Oh, honey. The person who isn’t wanted here is Tess. If he loved her, would he have been in my bed while she was waiting for him with candles?” The noise of our shouting had drawn the neighbors out into the hallway. People were peering through their cracked doors, whispering. Then, Nate appeared. He ran up the stairs, breathless, his face pale with panic. The moment he saw him, Sophie’s demeanor shifted. The predator vanished, and the victim returned. She stumbled back, grabbing a steak knife from the kitchen counter that was sitting near some fruit. “Nate!” she screamed, her voice trembling. “I can’t take it! Tess broke in, she started calling me a whore, an interloper… everyone knows now! I can’t live with this shame!” Nate lunged forward, gently prying the knife from her hand. “Stop it, Sophie. Don’t say that.” The neighbors were murmuring now, their eyes landing on me with judgment. One of them, an older man, called out, “Hey kid, who’s the girl? Who’s the one causing the trouble?” Nate looked at me. For five long seconds, his gaze was unreadable. Then, he turned to the crowd and spoke with a terrifying, cool detachment. “She’s just someone who’s been pursuing me,” he said, gesturing toward me. “An obsessed ex-fan, basically. I’ve told her it’s over, but she won’t stop harassing my girlfriend, Sophie.” I stood frozen. The air in the room felt like lead. Jade was shaking with rage, her finger inches from Nate’s nose. “You pathetic coward! You cheated on her, lied to her, and now you’re calling her the stalker? You’re a monster, Nate!” She wanted to say more, but I reached out and caught her wrist. My voice was dry, cracking like old parchment. “Don’t, Jade. Let’s go.” I needed to leave before I disintegrated. But as we turned to the door, Sophie’s mother blocked our path. “You don’t get to ruin my daughter’s reputation and just walk away, Tess. You owe her an apology. Right now, in front of everyone.” The neighbors chimed in, fueled by Nate’s lie. “Yeah, apologize! Leave the poor pregnant girl alone!” I closed my eyes, a wave of nausea rolling over me. “Tess,” Nate’s voice came from behind me, soft and commanding. “Just apologize so we can all move on. Please.” I looked at him—the man I had loved, the man I had planned a future with. He looked back at me with nothing but cold calculation. I took a breath and looked Sophie dead in the eye. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice echoing in the hallway. “I’m sorry I ever looked at your boyfriend. I’m sorry I wasted a year of my life on a man who belongs exactly where he is right now. It won’t happen again.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391657”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I woke up in a room that smelled too much like bleach and lost time. The doctor leaned over me, his expression unreadable behind a surgical mask. “The amnesia is likely a temporary side effect of the concussion,” he said, his voice a smooth, professional baritone. Then he gestured to the room at large. “Tell me, Tess. Which one is your current boyfriend?” I looked at the men flanking my bed. I pointed tentatively to the man on the left—the one in the sharp, charcoal-grey suit. The doctor’s eyes darkened. “Your current boyfriend.” I shifted my finger, pointing toward the man on the right—the one in the leather racing jacket who looked like he’d just stepped off a track in Monte Carlo. The doctor gritted his teeth, his words coming out in a slow, dangerous clip. “Cur-rent. Boy-friend.” I hesitated, my heart hammering against my ribs. Finally, trembling, I pointed to the man standing directly in the center: the doctor himself. He slowly reached up and pulled down his mask. A cold, predatory smile spread across his face. “Perfect. So, baby… it seems that besides me, you’ve been seeing three others.” I didn’t wait for an explanation. I scrambled toward the window, ready to hurl myself out. Suddenly, a flicker of translucent text—like a digital ghost—scrolled across my vision: [Finally, the villainess is checking out. Quick, jump! Let the fourth psycho catch her and drag her into his basement. Let the torture begin!] Wait. What? But it was too late. I had already jumped. 1 It started because of a damn TikTok. I was walking, glued to my phone, laughing at a video of a cat wearing a tiny hat, when I completely missed a step. I went tumbling down a flight of stairs like a discarded ragdoll. The good news: I was physically fine. The bad news: My memory was a total blank slate. I had no idea who I was, let alone who I was dating. When the nurse told me to call “family” to come pick me up, I opened my contacts. There were only four entries. One was saved as a “Wrench” icon. I figured that was my mechanic. Pass. The other three were… a problem. They were saved as: Husband 1, Husband 2, and Husband 3. I checked the area codes. They were from three different states. Strange. Did my “husband” have three different burner phones? Whatever. I picked Husband 1 and hit dial. He picked up on the first ring. “What is it?” his voice was icy, detached. What kind of attitude was that? Was he an ex I’d forgotten to rename? That would explain why I had a Husband 2. I hung up immediately. Next. I called Husband 2. He didn’t answer right away. I was just about to hang up and try Number 3 when the line clicked open. His voice was a low, melodic bass, but it dripped with sarcasm. “Finally decided to call back? Tell me, who was the guy who answered your phone earlier? I thought you said you were done with them. That I was the only one.” My brain stalled. What guy? I didn’t know. I hung up. Too much drama. Husband 3 didn’t pick up either, but a text popped up a second later: [You’re awake? I’m on my way. Are you hungry?] I let out a long, shaky breath. Finally! Husband 3 was clearly the winner. The others were probably just messy flings I hadn’t cleared out of my digital life yet. From now on, I was going to be a one-man woman. A paragon of loyalty. I texted back: [Hey honey, can you bring me a venti iced matcha latte? Extra cold foam, no sugar, extra ice?] He replied instantly: [Of course.] 2 The thought of my latte improved my mood significantly. I leaned back against the hospital pillows, scrolling through my phone. The room was a high-end private suite. It was mid-afternoon, and the winter sun flooded the space, making me feel warm and pleasantly drowsy. Then a thought hit me: I didn’t even know what my boyfriend looked like. What if he was hideous? We all know how love-blind people can be. I needed to check my photos while I was still “unbiased.” If he was a troll, I was making a run for it. … I spent thirty minutes scrolling. Nothing. Out of ten thousand photos, five thousand were selfies. Two thousand were random stray cats. The remaining three thousand were meticulously filtered shots of brunch, pasta, and expensive cocktails. God, Tess. You were really into yourself, weren’t you? Well, judging by my own face in these selfies, I had high standards. I probably wouldn’t date someone ugly. “Tess?” I looked up. A tall, lean man in a white lab coat entered the room. He wore a mask, but his eyes were striking—sharp, intelligent, and framed by thick lashes. He asked the standard questions. Does your head hurt? Any dizziness? Then he leaned in. “How is the memory coming along? If the fog doesn’t lift, we might need to consider… more aggressive therapies.” Images of electric shock therapy and forced lobotomies from old movies flashed through my mind. I waved my hands frantically. “It’s back! It’s all back, Doctor! Seriously! I remember everything now. I feel great!” “Is that so?” He tilted his head. “Then what’s my name?” I squinted at his ID badge. “Dr. Bennett. Why wouldn’t I know that?” His gaze lingered on mine. He looked so serious that my stomach twisted. Was I dying? Was he trying to find the words to tell me I had three days to live? I clutched my chest. “Just give it to me straight, Doc. I can take it. I’m a tough girl.” After a long silence, he pressed his lips together. “We’ll do one more check-up. If everything is clear, you can leave.” Jerk. Why make it so dramatic? 3 The doctor left, only to return an hour later with two other men in tow. The man on the left was in a tailored navy suit. Powerful build, cold expression. He wore rimless glasses that made him look like a high-stakes attorney or a CEO who fired people for breakfast. He looked like he was vibrating with a controlled, low-frequency rage. The other guy looked like he’d just come from a racetrack. He was wearing a red-and-black racing suit, unzipped halfway to reveal a black compression shirt. His hair was a mess, and his eyes—dark and slightly upturned—were pinned on me like I was a target. I froze. What was this? A lineup? The doctor’s voice was flat. “Which one is your current boyfriend?” I hate multiple-choice questions. I pointed to the suit. He had “husband energy.” The doctor’s face fell. “Current. Boyfriend.” Wait, wrong? I looked at the racer. He looked like the kind of mistake a girl like me would make. I pointed to him. “Current,” the doctor repeated, his voice dropping an octave. “Boyfriend.” Was this a trick? Was it none of them? I pointed at the empty air between them. The doctor let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Your. Current. Boyfriend.” I realized then, with a sinking feeling, that the right answer was in the room. I scanned them again. Then, trembling, I pointed to the man in the white coat. Dr. Bennett pulled off his mask. His smile was chilling. “Excellent. It turns out, baby, that besides me, there are actually three more.” 4 My blood turned to ice. There were only three men here. Where was the fourth? Waiting in the parking lot? I didn’t care. I needed to leave. If these three teamed up, they would ruin me. I didn’t even grab my shoes. I bolted for the window. We were on the second floor. I could make the jump. I was fast. Before they could react, I was halfway out the ledge. Below, a sleek convertible was parked with the top down. The keys were in the ignition, and the owner was nowhere to be seen. It was a sign from God. An escape vehicle. I’m jumping! That’s when the text flickered in my eyes again: [The villainess is finally doomed. Jump right into the hands of the fourth psycho. He’s going to lock you in a dark room and never let you out.] [Ugh, I wish all four of them would just team up and break her already. She’s such a brat. If it weren’t for her, our sweet Heroine would be living her best life by now.] Shut up! Why tell me now? I’m already in the air! 5 The wind roared in my ears. I saw the leather seats of the convertible rushing up to meet me. The good news: I landed perfectly in the passenger seat. The bad news: I was caught. A hand, cold and incredibly strong, clamped around my wrist. I turned to see a man I hadn’t noticed before. He was pale—ghostly pale—and he was looking at me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I tried to scramble out, but his arms wrapped around me like iron bands. “Got you.” I looked up at the hospital window. Three faces appeared in a row. Dr. Bennett was already sprinting toward the stairs. The CEO in the suit had his jaw set so tight I thought his teeth might crack. The racer cursed loudly and looked like he was about to jump down after me. But the man holding me—Kael—didn’t even look at them. He leaned over, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my collarbone, a sharp, playful nip that made me shiver with terror. “Let’s go home.” He hit the ignition. The convertible top began to slide shut, cutting off the three pairs of murderous eyes watching us from above.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391656”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d spent years writing this particular brand of heartbreak. I knew the tropes, the beats, the inevitable gut-punch of the third act. But I never expected to wake up inside the script, trapped in the silk sheets of the woman meant to lose it all. I was the “Gold Standard”—the girl he could never let go of. The one whose memory was so bright it cast a shadow over everyone else. In the industry, they call it the White Moonlight trope. In reality, it just meant I was the villainess waiting for my downfall. But as I looked across the room at the man who was now, legally and terrifyingly, my husband, my resolve wavered. Kael was… a masterpiece. He had the kind of ethereal, sharp-boned beauty that belonged on a vintage movie poster. And right now, we were alone. On our wedding night. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Even knowing the plot, my pulse was a frantic mess. I offered a strained, awkward smile and tried to inch toward the edge of the mattress, away from him. Kael looked at me with a gaze that was devastatingly soft. It was seventy percent tenderness, thirty percent indulgence, and a sliver of that “What am I going to do with you?” charm that made women melt. I had to remind myself: He doesn’t love you. 1. He loved Daisy, the girl he’d grown up with. He’d only married me to play a part, to trap me in a gilded cage so I’d stop trying to sabotage the “real” couple. It was a selfless, twisted logic—and since I was the one who wrote this godforsaken story, I knew exactly how crazy it was. Enjoy it while it lasts, I told myself. This is the kind of man you only get to touch in a fever dream. Kael leaned in, his voice a low, magnetic hum. “Why are you looking at me with those doe eyes, Jade? You look like you’re waiting for a blow to fall.” I lunged forward, pressing my palm against his mouth. “Don’t,” I hissed. “The dialogue is cringe. Just… don’t.” I’d written those lines years ago in a coffee-fueled haze. Hearing them out loud was a special kind of penance. But the “doe eyes” were the core of the whole “Substitute Lover” plot. Daisy, the lead, had those same eyes. That’s why she was my body double on set, and why the male lead used her to fill the void I left behind. Kael gently pulled my hand away from his lips. His expression was so profoundly sincere it made my chest ache. If I didn’t give in now, I was officially the world’s biggest idiot. Maybe I could just let it happen… 2. No. Absolutely not. Before I could get lost in the scent of his cologne, I scrambled back, my heart hammering. “Kael, listen. You don’t have to do this. We’re alone. There’s no audience. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself on the altar of a fake marriage.” He let out a soft, frustrated laugh. “Jade, calm down. I’m not trying to jump you. I just wanted to help you with the compress for your leg. You were standing all day at the reception. The scar must be killing you.” I shook my head violently, waving him off. “I’m fine. Really. Totally fine.” “We’re married, Jade. Why are you suddenly so shy?” My brain kicked into overdrive. “The scar is ugly. It’s… it’s gross. I’ll just wait for the nurse to come by in the morning.” “It’s late. She’s already gone home.” Kael wrung out a hot towel, his movements slow and deliberate as he moved closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, counting down the seconds in my head. Three. Two. One… A phone chimed. He froze. He checked the screen, and the mask of the doting husband vanished instantly, replaced by a raw, jagged anxiety. You can always count on the female lead to call at the perfect moment. “I have an emergency,” he said, his voice clipped. He was already halfway to the door. “I have to go.” I knew the “emergency.” Daisy had fainted on set. Kael was burning with worry, ready to leave his bride in the dust. “Wait,” I said, clearing my throat for the performance I was supposed to give. “Who is it? Who’s calling you at this hour?” But my timing was off. I was a writer, not an actress. Before I could even finish the sentence, he was gone. He moved faster than a bullet. What happened to the dramatic wedding night fight I’d scripted? How could I scream at him if he wasn’t even there to hear it? I sat alone in the massive, quiet suite, wanting to tell him he was wasting his time. By the time he got to the hospital, Wyatt—the billionaire male lead—would have already carried her inside. Wyatt would be the one staying by her bedside for thirty-six hours straight. Kael, my poor, beautiful husband… your turn comes later. In my story, the second lead eventually wins. And I was going to make sure he got his Happy Ending, even if it meant I ended up with nothing. 3. I had transmigrated into my debut screenplay, You Are My Starlight. It was a classic “melodramatic romance”—full of plot holes, illogical character turns, and more angst than a teenage diary. The twist was that the “Prince Charming” (Wyatt) lost the girl, and the “Best Friend” (Kael) ended up with her. Wyatt was the titan of the industry, the CEO of the biggest studio in the country. He and I—or rather, the original Jade—were childhood sweethearts. And because I was a hack writer back then, I used the “White Moonlight” trope twice. Daisy and Kael had also known each other since they were kids. Daisy was the classic heroine: poor, fatherless, but stubbornly optimistic. Kael was the mysterious orphan, a mixed-race boy who had been bullied for his “exotic” looks before his beauty turned him into a superstar. Daisy had been the only one to stand by him. Years later, Kael became a top-tier actor but lost touch with Daisy. Daisy entered the industry to pay for her mother’s medical bills and became my stunt double. The story really kicked off when Kael and I were cast in a film together. He reunited with Daisy on set, and Wyatt noticed Daisy because she looked exactly like me. Then came the drama. After the wrap party, the tabloids caught a drunk Wyatt going into a hotel with “Jade.” It was actually Daisy. The rumor died quickly because that same night, the real Jade—the bratty, jealous actress—wrapped her sports car around a tree. That’s when I took over. 4. The crash left the original Jade in a coma. Naturally, our “heaven-sent” heroine, Daisy, had the same rare blood type needed for the transfusion. Don’t ask why the hospital’s blood bank was empty. It was a plot device. In most stories, this is where they’d discover they were long-lost sisters. But I’d put my foot down with the producers on that one. They were strangers. Total coincidences. While I was unconscious, Daisy was busy. She was the one who helped Wyatt to his room. She was the one the studio signed to a massive contract to cover up the scandal. By the time I woke up, the “Original Jade” was a fading star with a crippled leg, and Daisy was the new “It Girl.” The original Jade would have been livid. She would have spent every waking moment trying to destroy Daisy. Kael knew this. He knew Jade was a spiteful, narcissistic mess. So, he decided to “fall in love” with me. He pursued me relentlessly, played the devoted dog, and asked me to marry him—all to keep me distracted so Daisy could be happy with Wyatt. The old Jade loved winning. She loved taking Kael away from Daisy. She said yes just to be cruel. But now, I was the one in the hospital bed. I was the one being pursued. Why was I following the script? Because the script was my map. If I stayed on the path, I knew exactly when the danger was coming. And more importantly, I hadn’t been a complete monster to the villainess. In the end, Jade loses the husband and the fame. She’s disgraced and forced to leave the country. But… she’s still rich. If I can just make it to the final credits, I’ll be a free woman with a massive bank account and a fresh start. That beats being a burnt-out screenwriter any day. 5. Kael didn’t come home until the next morning. I was in the middle of a grueling physical therapy session when he walked in. Honestly, the timing of this transmigration sucked. I didn’t get to enjoy the “villainess” phase where I was pampered and mean; I just got the “recovery” phase where every step felt like I was walking on broken glass. A writer’s karma is a bitch. I lost my balance, my bad leg giving out. I was about to do the classic “heroine fall,” but Kael was there in a heartbeat, his hands steady on my waist. The heat of his palms seeped through my thin gym shirt. I felt a flush creep up my neck. I pulled away as quickly as I could, my heart thumping against my ribs. I’m a sucker for a pretty face, and I’d spent an entire page of the script describing Kael’s perfect features and his lean, athletic build. Keeping my hands off him was becoming a full-time job. Kael used my recovery as an excuse for us to sleep in separate rooms. It was a gentlemanly move, but it also meant he didn’t have to touch a woman he didn’t love. “You okay? You’re staring into space again,” he said, his voice like dark chocolate. “I was just wondering…” I started, triggering the next plot point. “Who were you with last night?” In the script, Jade was supposed to scream, grab his phone, and find Daisy’s name in the call logs. Her jealousy was the fuel that pushed Kael further away. “I went to the hospital to see Daisy,” he said directly. “She collapsed. I was worried and I forgot to explain. I’m sorry, Jade. It won’t happen again.” Wait. What? That wasn’t the script. He was supposed to be cold. He was supposed to look at me with disgust for being so needy. If we don’t fight, how is the audience supposed to feel the tension? “If you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as your forgiveness,” he added, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. I was speechless. The dialogue was gone. Kael reached out and ruffled my hair. “I have something to discuss. My manager says a streaming platform wants us for a reality show. A ‘Newleywed Life’ special. What do you think?” I perked up instantly. “Yes! Absolutely. Let’s do it.” If the script was drifting, a reality show was the perfect way to anchor the “Married Couple” narrative. It would give me the exposure I needed to stay relevant until my exit strategy was ready. 6. The old Jade would have turned up her nose at a reality show. I, however, loved them. Especially the parts where everyone hates each other behind the scenes. For our first “episode,” the producers arranged for me to visit Kael on set. He was shooting a magazine cover with Daisy. The theme: Valentine’s Romance. I watched from the sidelines as Daisy sat in Kael’s lap, playfully feeding him a grape. It looked more like a scene from a historical drama about a decadent emperor and his favorite concubine than a romantic photoshoot. And I wasn’t the only one watching. Wyatt was standing in the corner, his jaw so tight I thought his teeth might crack. Hey, buddy, I thought, glancing at him. Your ‘Obsession’ is right here in front of you, but you’re staring at her double with enough jealousy to burn the building down. When are you going to realize you’ve moved on? “Wyatt! Long time no see,” I said, putting on my best “Ice Queen” swagger as I walked over. Jade was possessive. She didn’t want Wyatt, but she didn’t want anyone else to have him either. Wyatt didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes on the set. “How’s your leg?” he asked, his voice hollow. “Better. I’m here to support my husband.” I pointed to the cameras following me. Wyatt frowned. “I didn’t know you were doing reality TV. You used to hate that stuff.” “Things change,” I said. Suddenly, the air in the room shifted. On set, Kael and Daisy were leaning in closer. Their foreheads touched. It was that “almost-kiss” moment that’s always sexier than the actual kiss. The photographer shouted for them to get closer. Daisy, despite being a rookie, was a natural. “Is he… taking care of you?” Wyatt asked through gritted teeth. He wasn’t jealous of Kael marrying me; he was jealous of Kael holding Daisy. Kael caught my eye. He broke character, a soft, relieved smile lighting up his face. He walked off the set and straight toward me. The reality TV cameraman was practically drooling, waiting for the “sugar” moment. I gave a stiff, awkward wave. Kael didn’t hesitate. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin. It was a four-way mess. Daisy loved Wyatt; Wyatt was torn between me and Daisy; Kael loved Daisy but married me; and Kael thought I was still in love with Wyatt. The only person enjoying this was the cameraman. 7. “Sweetheart, did you bring me a gift?” Kael asked, his eyes dancing with mischief. Sweetheart? Who the hell was he talking to? “I thought you might make me lunch. I haven’t eaten all day,” he pouted. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. When a man that beautiful plays the “puppy” card, you don’t stand a chance. I folded. I ran out to the nearest convenience store to find him something. The place was picked over, but I managed to snag the last box of teriyaki chicken. Kael was picky—he hated Western fast food and didn’t even drink coffee. He was the opposite of me, a writer who lived on caffeine and spite. As I walked back to the studio, humming to myself and eating an ice cream bar, I stumbled upon a scene straight out of a romance novel. Wyatt had Daisy pinned against the wall in the stairwell. I shouldn’t have listened. I should have walked away. But I’m a writer. This was research. “It doesn’t matter how much you miss him,” Wyatt growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Your precious Kael isn’t yours anymore. He’s hers.” He was jealous! The CEO was actually throwing a tantrum! Daisy tried to push him away, but he caught her wrists and pinned them over her head. It was much more intense than I’d written it. I almost wanted to pull out my phone and play some dramatic background music. “I’m the one who signed you,” Wyatt whispered in her ear. “I’m the one paying for your mother’s doctors. Look at me, Daisy. I’m the one you owe.” Classic “Cruel Billionaire” dialogue. Daisy had tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was so beautiful in her defiance. “You’re just a shadow of Jade,” Wyatt spat, though his eyes said something else entirely. “Remember your place.” Oh, you’re going to regret that, buddy, I thought. Wyatt’s “madness” always involved mentioning my name. He wanted Daisy to know he was only with her because of me. It was his way of protecting his own heart. I was so lost in the drama that I didn’t notice someone behind me until a hand clamped over my mouth and dragged me away. 8. It was Kael. He led me back into the studio, his expression unreadable. “Are you upset?” he asked, smoothing the frown from my forehead. “The cameras aren’t on us right now.” I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him I was just disappointed in my own writing. “Are you that worried about Wyatt?” “Of course I am. I’m his mother…” I blurted out. Kael froze. “I mean… his mother’s choice for a daughter-in-law!” I scrambled to fix it. Smooth, Jade. Real smooth. Kael’s face darkened. “I know you grew up together. I know he’s looked after you for years. It’s natural for you to care about him.” He was doing that “noble martyr” thing. I couldn’t stand the sadness in his eyes. I grabbed his arm, trying to fix the mood. “Haven’t you heard? The childhood friend never beats the guy who drops out of the sky. You’re my husband now.” Kael didn’t look comforted. Then it hit me. He was the childhood friend. Daisy’s childhood friend. How was I supposed to tell him, “Don’t worry, you win in the end”? I couldn’t. I just handed him the lukewarm chicken. “It’s cold. Like my soul. Do you still want it?” 9. The reality show was easy. My character didn’t have much of a “daily life” in the script, so I just winged it. As long as I hit the major plot points, I could cruise to the finish line. So far, so good. Wyatt and Daisy were in the “will-they-won’t-they” phase of their toxic romance. I showed up whenever a villainess was needed, making Daisy’s life difficult and reminding her that the industry was a shark tank. Every time I saw Daisy look sad, I had to remind myself: This is for her own good. A heroine needs to suffer to grow. While I was living my best life, Kael was exhausted. He was filming a drama, doing the reality show, and helping me with my physical therapy. He was constantly commuting between the city and the remote filming locations just to have dinner with me. I felt bad. So, I decided to be a better “co-star” in his performance of a happy marriage. Fall arrived. The historical drama Kael and I filmed together premiered to massive ratings. The studio—Wyatt’s studio—threw a huge celebration. They wanted to announce a sequel, but this time, Daisy was going to be the lead. The old Jade would have been furious. So, I put on my most expensive dress, painted on a lethal smile, and headed to the party to “humiliate” her. Literally. I was supposed to slap her. I found her by the pool. “What makes you think you can replace me?” I sneered, the lines feeling like lead in my mouth. “You’re a substitute. A placeholder. That’s all you’ll ever be.” Daisy stood her ground. “Being a double is a job I’m proud of. But I’m not a substitute in real life. Please, Jade. Respect yourself enough to stop this.” She was so brave. I couldn’t bring myself to hit her. But if I didn’t “go crazy,” I couldn’t trigger the next scene: the one where I accidentally fall into the pool and make a fool of myself. “You know what?” I muttered. “Forget it.” I took a deep breath, looked at the water, and did a clumsy, dramatic “slip.” I threw my arms out and plunged into the cold water. 10. By the time Wyatt pulled me out, a crowd had gathered. I was “unconscious.” But not really. I was waiting for Wyatt to give me mouth-to-mouth so I could “wake up.” I felt him pinch my nose. I felt his breath on my cheek. He was inches away. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him kiss me. I erupted into a coughing fit, spraying pool water directly into his face. “I’m awake! I’m fine!” I scrambled up, shivering. Wyatt held me, his voice booming as he glared at Daisy. “Why did you push her?” I wasn’t faking the shivering—it was freezing. Daisy looked panicked. “She jumped! I didn’t touch her!” They started the classic “I don’t believe you” argument. Kael arrived late, saw the drama, and did exactly what he was supposed to do: he took Daisy’s side and led her away to “comfort” her. Daisy would be heartbroken by Wyatt’s distrust. Wyatt would realize he actually cared about Daisy’s feelings. And Jade? Jade was supposed to be fuming. As Kael led Daisy away, I watched them with a sense of motherly pride. But then, Kael turned back. Our eyes met. There was no anger in his gaze. Just a deep, profound disappointment that made my heart ache more than the cold water ever could. The wind picked up, and I suddenly felt very, very small.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391655”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The money stopped coming. My life as a pampered international student was over, and of all people, the one guy I couldn’t stand to look weak in front of was asking for a place to crash. I figured I’d lean into the tragedy. If I was going to lose everything, I might as well become his “kept woman”—live off his dime and take whatever I could get. I tried to seduce him. “Want to take advantage of the situation?” I whispered. He pushed me away. Fine. I straightened my posture and my pride, ready to scrub floors if I had to. Then he hesitated. “Can you really handle a life that gritty?” When I checked my messages later, he was fuming. “I’ve basically moved in with you, and you’re already looking for someone else?” 1 Six months into my master’s program in London, my father cut me off. The phone call was clinical. The company was bankrupt. What little cash he had left was being “secured” for his secret second family—the illegitimate son I only found out about ten minutes prior. As for me? He didn’t care if I found a rich benefactor or started waitressing. His parting advice was to “find a trust-fund kid among your classmates.” I was speechless. I sank into the velvet sofa of my high-rise apartment near Liverpool Street. Outside, the London sky was a bruised purple. Inside, I felt like a gala apple—glossy on the outside, rotting at the core. I could almost feel the maggots of my new reality squirming under my skin. It was sickening. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was Grant Mercer. [Skye, are you in London? I’m in a bit of a crisis.] It was followed by a sticker of a soaking wet, pathetic-looking puppy. Back in high school, Grant and I moved in the same elite circles, both of us always surrounded by a crowd. But we rarely spoke. I’d heard that after graduation, he’d taken over his family’s hedge fund and was killing it. Cold, calculated, and incredibly successful. Why was he asking me for help? A second message popped up: [Just landed. My hotel overbooked, and everything decent in the city is packed for the weekend. Any chance I can crash on your couch for a night?] If it had been anyone else, I would have said no. But this was Grant Mercer. Driven by some inexplicable impulse, I sent him my pin. [Come over.] I figured we were both far from home. Maybe I just didn’t want to be alone with my own ruin. 2 My father tells me I’m broke, and forty minutes later, a billionaire arrives at my door. My intuition told me something was off. When I opened the door, I locked eyes with Grant. His pupils dilated instantly—a sharp, involuntary reaction. In the psychology books I’d read to pass the time, they say that happens when you see something you desire. Does he have a thing for me? “Long time no see, Skye.” He offered a small, easy smile. “Thanks for taking me in. I seriously thought I was going to be sleeping in a tube station tonight.” He sounded composed, but the tips of his ears were a bright, tell-tale crimson. Was he… nervous? A few damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, softening the sharp, intimidating lines of his face. He looked uncharacteristically approachable. I stepped aside, forcing a polite smile. “Don’t mention it.” Grant wheeled his suitcase inside. “Sorry,” I said, realizing a logistical issue. “I don’t usually have guests. I don’t have extra slippers.” “I figured,” he replied. “Wait, what?” Had he planned this? He knelt down to unzip his bag, avoiding my gaze. Guilty conscience? “I mean, I figured most London apartments don’t just have guest slippers waiting,” he corrected quickly. He pulled out a pair of deep blue silk slippers and looked up at me with a grin. “So I brought my own.” I blinked. My heart did a strange little skip. “Right. Prepared as always.” In the living room, Grant hung his trench coat. “Have you eaten?” he asked. I shook my head, feeling the weight of the day returning. “No appetite. Not really in the mood.” My stomach was a knot of anxiety. Grant frowned, looking like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it. I realized how rude I was being. He’d just flown across the Atlantic. He had to be starving. “Actually,” I amended, trying to sound more hospitable, “I think I’m getting hungry now. I was going to make some noodles. Want some?” His eyes brightened. The change in his expression was almost childlike. “I’d love some. I’m actually starving.” I headed into the kitchen and pulled a pack of noodles from the pantry. As I reached for a pot, a long, elegant hand moved past me, taking it from my grip. “I’ll help,” Grant said, stepping into my space. “You’re the guest—” “I’m the guest who’s crashing on your couch,” he interrupted with a laugh. “I should at least be useful.” I pulled some prawns, bok choy, and eggs from the fridge. Every time I tried to turn on the tap or prep a vegetable, he was there, gently taking over. What was supposed to be me cooking turned into me watching him work. The hum of the vent hood drowned out the dark thoughts in my head for a moment. I leaned against the kitchen island, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Don’t you have jet lag? You must be exhausted.” Grant’s hand paused as he sliced some green onions. He looked at me, his eyes shimmering with something I couldn’t quite read. “I’m okay,” he murmured, returning to the cutting board. “Being with a… friend makes it easier.” Friend? Was that what we were? Soon, two bowls of steaming shrimp noodles were on the table. A perfect soft-boiled egg sat atop the noodles, framed by the vibrant green of the vegetables. “Try it?” He handed me chopsticks, looking almost anxious for my approval. The steam rose between us, softening his features. He looked incredibly gentle in the yellow light of the kitchen. I took a bite. “It’s amazing,” I said, and I meant it. “Better than mine.” Grant’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk. “Next time, I want to try yours,” he said. We sat in silence, eating. I thought I had no appetite, but I ended up finishing nearly the whole bowl. “Is it peak tourist season in London?” I asked, trying to sound casual. He paused. “Fashion Week. And a big concert series at the O2.” “Oh.” I looked down and pulled up a booking app under the table. A quick search showed plenty of five-star rooms available. “I’m picky,” he added, as if reading my mind. “The places I actually like were all booked up.” I felt a flush of embarrassment. Did he catch me checking? “So, is this a business trip?” I asked, changing the subject. “Yeah. A few meetings at the London branch,” he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “And a bit of a vacation.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intensifying. “I came alone, though. I didn’t really plan an itinerary.” He sounded almost pathetic. “Could you show me around for a few days? Be my guide?” I wanted to tell him I wasn’t in the headspace to play tourist. But under the weight of that look, the ‘no’ died in my throat. “You’re lucky,” I said softly. “I don’t have classes this week. I can show you around.” 3 As I finished the last bite, I reached for Grant’s empty bowl. I should at least do the dishes. Our fingers brushed against the ceramic. His skin was warm, and a tiny jolt of electricity shot up my arm. I froze. “I’ve got it,” he said. He caught the rim of the bowl, taking mine too, and stood up. “Let me do it,” I insisted, reaching out. He lifted his arm, holding the bowls just out of my reach. I had to look up at him. From this angle, I could see the sharp line of his jaw and the slight movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “Skye,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “What are you fighting for?” He teased me with the bowls like I was a cat reaching for a toy. “I actually like doing dishes.” He disappeared into the kitchen before I could argue. I sighed and followed him to help tidy up. By the time we were done, it was nearly ten. “I only have the one bedroom,” I said, pulling a duvet from the hall closet and laying it on the sofa. “I’m sorry you have to sleep here.” “It’s fine, really.” He took the duvet from me, patting the sofa. “Better than a park bench.” “The bathroom is through there,” I pointed. “You should go first. You’ve had a long day.” “You go,” he smiled. “You look more tired than I feel.” Did I really look that drained? I thought I was hiding the breakdown better. “I need to dig something out of my suitcase anyway,” he added. “Okay.” I was exhausted. In the bathroom, the hot water washed over me, and the air filled with the scent of my freesia-scented body wash—sweet, crisp, and cold. Twenty minutes later, I stepped out, towel-drying my hair. Grant was on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, then immediately averted his eyes. “I’ll head in,” he said, grabbing his toiletries and rushing into the bathroom. A second later, he poked his head back out. “Um…” His eyes flickered over me for a split second before darting away. His ears were red again. “I forgot my body wash. Can I borrow yours?” “Of course. It’s on the shelf. The clear bottle.” “Thanks.” The door clicked shut. I plugged in my hairdryer. The roar of the dryer filled the room, but I could still hear the splash of the shower. I finished my hair, but the water was still running. I started worrying about my utility bills. Every penny mattered now that the fountain had run dry. 4 Finally, the water stopped. Grant emerged, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. Droplets rolled down his nose, over his collarbone, and disappeared into his shirt. As he walked toward me, he brought the scent of freesia with him. He smelled exactly like me. Like I’d marked him. Get a grip, Skye, I told myself, looking down to hide my face. “Hair dry?” he asked, his voice a bit gravelly from the steam. “Yeah. The dryer is right there.” I looked up and stopped breathing. He was wearing navy silk pajamas. The pattern, the material, the cut—they were identical to the dusty-rose set I was wearing. Same brand, same collection. Grant stopped drying his hair. He looked at my pajamas, then his own. “Small world,” he said, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I guess we have the same taste.” He looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, though his ears remained flushed. My heart was thumping against my ribs. “I guess so,” I managed to whisper. “Anyway,” he cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “I have to stop by the office tomorrow morning. I should be done by eleven. Lunch?” He sounded almost tentative, like he was afraid I’d say no. “Sure,” I said. “It’s a date, then.” His voice was light, relieved. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.” I turned toward the bedroom. “Skye?” I looked back. He was standing by the sofa, silhouetted against the city lights. “Goodnight.” My heart skipped a beat. “…Goodnight.” 5 I lay in bed, my mind spiraling. I’ve always had an impossibly high bar for men. They had to be brilliant, handsome, kind, wealthy, and—most importantly—utterly devoted to me. I had a high opinion of myself. If a guy didn’t check every box, I preferred to be alone. Grant Mercer checked every single one. Except the last one. He didn’t love me. I was used to things being handed to me. I thought “pursuing” something was beneath me. But now, he had landed right in my lap just as my world was ending. If Grant was here to save me, how easy would that be? I could just let him. I could be his. I rolled over, clutching my pillow. Stop it. You’re being delusional. Yes, the apps showed hotels were available, but he said he was picky. Yes, he was blushing, but maybe he was just awkward with women. Yes, he was nice, but maybe he was just well-bred. 6 I woke up to an empty living room. Grant was already gone. On the dining table sat a sandwich and a note in his bold, sharp handwriting: [Off to the meeting. Eat breakfast. I’ll pick you up at 11. :D] I couldn’t help but smile. But then reality came crashing back in. I sat at the table, chewing the sandwich, and opened a real estate app. I drafted a post to sublet my apartment. This place was a luxury I could no longer afford. My lease was for a full year; if I broke it, I’d lose the deposit. Subletting was the only way to survive. The weight of my future felt like a physical blow. A Master’s in Art History? Good luck finding a high-paying internship. Find someone rich, my father’s voice echoed in my head. You’re beautiful and you have a degree from a top school. That’s your capital. Drop the “pure and noble” act. I remember arguing with him. I’m not an object! There are plenty of pretty girls with degrees. But now, staring at my bank balance, a cold shiver ran down my spine. I was starting to see myself as an object. A commodity for sale. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. Twenty-two stories up. Below, the cars and people looked like ants. I felt a terrifying urge to just… let go. To fall into the mud. If I was going to lose it all, why not crash spectacularly? A sense of self-destructive ruin washed over me. I sank to the floor, my knees hitting the hardwood. Suddenly, I heard the front door open. Heavy footsteps. “Skye?” Grant was back. His voice was frantic. He rushed to me, reaching out to help me up, then hesitating as if afraid he’d break me. “What happened? Are you hurt? Is it your family? I’m here…” I looked up at him. His eyes were full of pain and panic, but notably, no confusion. I realized then. “Grant,” I whispered, my voice cracked. “You already knew, didn’t you?” His fingers twitched. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I heard about what happened with your father’s company.” He was framed by the light, looking like a golden god. He was Grant Mercer. He had everything I was about to lose. I wanted to cling to him. I didn’t want to fall. The tears finally broke. Big, hot drops rolled down my cheeks. He reached out, his thumb catching a tear at the corner of my eye. “Grant…” I reached out and grabbed his collar, pulling him down toward me. “Do you know… do you know that I’m looking for a rich man to take care of me?” We were so close I could feel his breath hitch. His whole body went rigid. I let go of his collar and let my fingers graze his Adam’s apple. It was a clumsy, desperate gesture. Grant grabbed my wrist. “Skye, what are you doing?” “I’m being a ghost,” I whispered. “I’m giving up.” I leaned into his ear, my voice a trembling breath. “Grant, did you come here for me? Do you want to take advantage of me?” I looked up at him with wet, shimmering eyes. “Do you want… me?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391654”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The golden boy of our campus dumped me the day we graduated. He didn’t just break my heart; he packed it in a suitcase and flew across the world with his childhood sweetheart, leaving me in the dust of our shared college town. I’ve spent three years convinced he did it just to destroy me. So, imagine my surprise when, after a thousand days of silence, he has the absolute audacity to show up in front of me again. All I can say is—wow. You really have a death wish, don’t you? 1 I was downtown at the weekend night market, trying to move the last of my inventory—high-end, leak-proof period intimates. It wasn’t the “glamorous” career my parents expected after my degree, but it was mine. My best friend, Maddie, nudged me hard, her eyes fixed on a spot across the square. “Check out the guy at ten o’clock,” she whispered. “He’s been staring at you for ten minutes.” I looked up, and the world slowed down. Even under the harsh neon hum of the streetlights, amidst the swarm of people, Chase stood out like a sharp blade. He still had that effortless “bad boy with a trust fund” energy—arrogant, magnetic, and so handsome it felt like he belonged in a different zip code than the guy he was standing next to. Maddie elbowed me again. “He’s definitely looking at you. Do you know him?” I let out a cold, sharp breath. “I thought I did. But usually, when people die, they have the decency to stay buried.” Maddie blinked, confused. “Die? Who died?” I should have checked my horoscope today. Seeing my ex was definitely not in the stars. “He’s coming over!” Maddie hissed. I straightened my shoulders, cracking my knuckles. If he wanted a fight, I was more than ready to give him one. But he didn’t even look at me. He stopped right in front of Maddie and asked, “How much for the stock?” He was treating me like I was invisible. Fine. Two can play at that game. I reached out, clamped my hand over Maddie’s mouth before she could speak, and flashed him a smile that was 100% fake. “Three times the price on the sign,” I said. Chase finally turned to me. His brows arched—those perfectly groomed, infuriating brows. “The sign says twenty.” “The sign is for customers I actually like,” I replied flatly. “Buy it or get lost.” But Maddie, a literal traitor for a handsome face, shook me off and blurted out the actual price. She wasn’t about to let me scare off a guy who looked like he’d walked off a Ralph Lauren billboard. Chase gave me a look—something between a smirk and a challenge—and then looked back at Maddie with a devastatingly soft expression. “I’ll take the whole box.” I froze. Why would a man like him buy a bulk box of period underwear? Was it for her? His little “girl next door”? A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth. He was really doing this right in front of me. I forced myself to pack the box while listening to them exchange contact info. My blood was boiling. You’re really going to hit on my best friend right here? I slammed the box into his chest, cutting off their conversation. “Cash or Venmo, Romeo?” Chase took the box with practiced ease, passing it to his friend. “Three years, and you’re still as prickly as ever.” “Funny,” I snapped back. “I’m sure your childhood sweetheart is much more ‘docile.’” The light in his eyes vanished. His lips thinned into a hard line, and his voice dropped an octave, heavy with warning. “Take it out on me if you want. Leave her out of it.” Whatever fire I had in me died instantly, replaced by a cold, hollow ache. He was still protecting her. He hadn’t changed, and neither had his priorities. If I hadn’t spent three years toughening my skin, I would have burst into tears right there. “If you don’t want to hear me talk about her,” I said, my voice trembling with a forced calm, “then don’t bring your pathetic face back into my life.” His expression darkened as he walked away. I stared at his retreating back for a long time before finally turning to Maddie. “That was my ex,” I said. “What?! The ‘Golden Boy’ who ditched you for the girl next door and fled to Europe? He has the nerve to show his face here?” “Apparently. And apparently, you really like his face.” Maddie winced. “Hey, don’t be mad. I didn’t know! A hot guy is a hot guy, I was just doing my job.” I pulled at the corner of my mouth. I couldn’t blame her. I was the one who fell for that face first. 2 I was the one who chased him. In college, Chase was the star of the finance department, the guy every girl wanted. I met him when he was emceeing a campus gala. I was a last-minute fill-in, playing drums for an indie rock band. I saw him through the hazy stage lights—tall, lean, and radiating a restless sort of power. He looked like a wild horse that refused to be broken. I knew right then he was exactly my type. I didn’t play games. I went straight for the throat. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I’d intercepted him backstage, still in my punk gear, looking like trouble. He looked surprised, then his lips curled into a playful grin. “What if I said no?” “Then you have one now.” People nearby gasped. I didn’t care. To me, if you liked something, you took it. Life was too short for anything else. But Chase shook his head, his tone teasing. “Piper, right? I’m not interested.” Honestly, being rejected in front of a crowd stung. But I only let it sink in for a second. “The announcer didn’t say my name on stage. How do you know who I am?” He froze. I leaned in, grinning. “Playing hard to get? I can work with that. Just don’t make me wait too long. I’m not known for my patience.” I waved goodbye and walked away, already knowing I had him. We were together soon after. It was effortless. We matched each other’s energy, our tempers, our interests. Every day felt like a new adventure, and I was already mapping out a lifetime with him. Then, graduation approached. And he told me he was going abroad for a Master’s. With her. To this day, I can’t find the right words for that feeling. Betrayal, abandonment, a profound sense of “why wasn’t I enough?” All of it tangled together until I nearly broke. I lost twenty pounds in three months. I couldn’t sleep without medication. So, seeing him three years later, looking polished and successful and fine, all I could think was: Chase, you really have some nerve. 3 My mood was in the gutter by the time I got home. I tried to bolt for my room, but my dad’s voice stopped me mid-stride. The atmosphere in the living room was… off. No TV. No phones. My parents were sitting on the sofa like a pair of judges at a tribunal. I had a bad feeling about this. “Where have you been?” my dad asked, his voice low. “You already know, don’t you?” I sighed, leaning against the wall. He slammed his hand on his knee, his face turning a deep shade of red. “What is wrong with your attitude? If the neighbors hadn’t told us, we wouldn’t have known! Selling… those things at a street stall? You’re a grown woman with a degree, out there shouting in the streets for change? Have you no shame?” “Shame?” I crossed my arms. “Dad, what century is this? Why should I be ashamed? The women who buy them aren’t ashamed, so why should the person selling them be?” “Don’t you talk back to me!” He stood up, pointing a finger. “You quit a respectable corporate job for this? Piper, have you lost your mind?” “If I have, I probably got it from you,” I snapped. “You—!” My mom stepped in, trying to play peacemaker. “Alright, that’s enough. Both of you. My head is killing me. Piper, go to your room. Your father is just frustrated.” I looked at my dad, his chest heaving with anger, and for a second, I felt a pang of guilt. I wanted to apologize, to tell him I was just trying to find myself, but the words felt like they were glued to the back of my throat. I turned and walked away. As I shut my door, I heard his voice, heavy with disappointment. “She wasn’t like this. What happened to her?” My phone buzzed. It was a text from Maddie. Hey… The ex-from-hell just messaged me. He wants to know if we’re going back to the square tomorrow night. What do I say? I stared at the screen for a long time. Tell him we’ll be there, I typed back. And if he shows up, tell him the price just went up ten times. 4 As a member of the “unemployed and lost” club, sleeping until noon was my only hobby. Usually, my parents left me alone, but today, the banging on my door started at dawn. “I get it! I’m sorry! I won’t sell the underwear anymore, okay?” I yelled into my pillow. I was lying, of course, but I needed the noise to stop. The banging continued. I lost it. I hauled myself out of bed and ripped the door open, eyes squeezed shut. “I said I’m sorry! If I go back to the square, I hope I gain fifty pounds and break out in hives! Are you happy now?” Silence. I opened one eye. My dad was standing there, looking livid. Typical. But then I realized there was someone else behind him. A stranger. A tall, handsome man who was currently trying—and failing—to hide a smirk. “Is this how you act in the morning? Ridiculous,” my dad grumbled. He shoved me aside and turned to the stranger with a smile I hadn’t seen in months. “Harrison, this is your room. Stay as long as you need.” Harrison was tall—well over six feet—and his presence seemed to make my room feel suddenly tiny. He was gorgeous in a very different way than Chase. He had sharp, elegant features, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and looked like the kind of man who never had a hair out of place. “Thank you, sir,” Harrison said, his voice a smooth, rich baritone. “Moving back to the States was a bit sudden, and I haven’t had time to find a place. I’ll move out as soon as my apartment is ready.” “Don’t be silly. Consider this home. Your father and I go way back, and since he’s still overseas, I’m happy to look after you.” I was reeling. “Wait. Dad. You’re giving him my room? Where am I supposed to sleep?” My dad gave me a cold look. “You can sleep in the study.” “Are you kidding me?!” “You have a problem? Fine. Move out. You do nothing but stress me out anyway.” The old man knew exactly where to hit. I glared at the intruder—Harrison—who just looked back at me with a mask of polite innocence. It made me want to scream. I grabbed my favorite throw pillow and stormed off to the study. This was going to be a nightmare. 5 I didn’t wake up again until evening. I stumbled out of the study, ready to complain about being hungry, when I heard laughter from the dining room. I froze at the doorway. “Harrison, have some more of this duck. It’s my specialty,” my mom was saying, her voice brimming with affection. “He’s so polite, isn’t he? If only I had a son like you, I’d be the happiest woman alive,” she continued. “We’re not that lucky,” my dad added. “Harrison is a brilliant surgical resident. He’s here to study with the best at the university hospital. Truly a young man with a future.” I felt a lump in my throat. How long had it been since this house felt this warm? Ever since I’d quit my job, the air here had been thick with sighs and unspoken disappointments. Even my mom, who used to spoil me, seemed tired of me lately. “Where’s Piper?” my mom asked. “I should wake her for dinner.” “Leave her,” my dad snapped. “Sleeping her life away while everyone else works. She’ll wake up when she’s hungry. You’ve spoiled her too much.” “Why is this my fault again?” I swallowed the bitterness and stepped into the room. “What’s for dinner?” The room went quiet. I ignored the tension, grabbed a bowl, and started eating. I could feel Harrison’s eyes on me—observing, analyzing. What are you looking at? I thought. Do you think I’m beneath you because your parents are proud of you and mine aren’t? I reached out and snatched a piece of duck right from under his chopsticks. I gave him a defiant look. Don’t think just because my dad likes you, I’m scared of you. He narrowed his eyes slightly but moved on to another dish. I spent the rest of dinner “accidentally” taking every piece of food he aimed for. It was childish, and I knew it, but it was the only power I had. “Piper!” my dad barked. “Eat properly.” The duck lost its flavor instantly. I poked at my rice until my dad spoke again. “After dinner, take Harrison downtown. He just got back to the country and needs to pick up some essentials.” “I have plans,” I said. “What plans? Selling more rags?” I bit my tongue. “Fine. Hey, new guy. You don’t actually want me to go, right? You can find a Target on your own.” I gave Harrison a look that clearly said Say no. He looked at me, then at my dad, and smiled politely. “Actually, I’d appreciate the help. Thank you, Piper.” I stared at him. This guy is doing this on purpose. 6 I dropped Harrison off at the mall entrance. “Go buy whatever you need. I’ll be over there.” I pointed to my usual spot in the square and immediately started setting up my stall. Harrison looked at the boxes of “luxe leak-proof intimates” and his eyebrow twitched. “This is what you do?” “You got a problem with it?” He just looked at me with a deadpan expression and walked into the mall without a word. Half an hour later, Maddie still hadn’t shown up. I was about to call her when I saw her walking toward me—with Chase. They were laughing. I felt like I’d been slapped. “You guys are together?” Maddie didn’t even notice my tone. She was glowing. “Piper! Chase says it’s his birthday today. He wants us to come to his party!” I looked from her to Chase. Since when were they on a first-name basis? “I don’t think we’re the kind of people who go to each other’s birthday parties anymore,” I said to Chase, my voice dripping with ice. I saw a flash of hurt in his eyes, and it gave me a sick sense of satisfaction. Maddie grabbed my arm. “Come on, Piper. It’s his birthday. Don’t be so mean.” Chase this, Chase that. She sounded like his girlfriend. I turned to her, my eyes blazing. “Maddie, are you serious right now?” She knew everything. She knew the nights I spent crying on her floor. She knew the pills I had to take just to stop the shaking. And now she was asking me to go celebrate him? She flinched. “If you really don’t want to go, I won’t go either,” she stammered. The implication was clear: I’m only saying no because you’re making me. I had let so many things slide with Maddie. I let her take credit for my ideas at our old job. I let her be the “pretty one.” I let her borrow money she never paid back. But Chase? Chase was the one thing she couldn’t have. He was my scar. “Maddie, do you think I’m an idiot?” “I didn’t… Piper, don’t misunderstand…” She looked at Chase for help. And of course, he stepped in like a knight in shining armor. “Don’t blame her. It was my idea.” I laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. “Blame her? Who even are you, Chase? You think you matter enough for me to care who you talk to?” His jaw tightened. He looked like he was about to snap, but then his expression softened. “Piper…” “Looks like tonight isn’t a good night for business.” Harrison appeared out of nowhere. I don’t know how long he’d been standing there, but his face was set in a hard mask as he stepped up beside me. Chase stared at Harrison, his eyes widening with a mix of shock and rage. “What the hell are you doing here?” They knew each other? Harrison didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at Chase. He just looked down at me. “Ready to go home?” There was a strange urgency in his voice. I nodded, almost hypnotized. He immediately started packing up my things. Chase grabbed my wrist. “What is your relationship with him?” I yanked my hand back. “None of your business.” “Are you living with him?!” Chase sounded horrified. Living with him? Technically, yes. A petty part of me wanted to twist the knife. “Yes. We are.” Chase looked like he’d been punched in the gut. I turned to Harrison and gave him the first real smile I’d ever offered him. “Let’s go, babe. Let’s go home.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391653”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel