When I was twenty, I surrendered myself to my worst enemy, trading my body to beg him for mercy, just so he would spare my mother. But my mother still died. She died in a horrific multi-car pileup. When they pulled her from the wreckage, half her head was gone. Dragging my exhausted, aching body, I stormed into his corporate boardroom and screamed hysterically: "Arthur! I gave you everything you wanted! Why did you still have her killed?!" The only response I got was a vicious, stinging slap across the face. Arthur Vance didn't even look up at me. His voice was ice cold. "When my mother jumped off that balcony right in front of me, I wanted to ask why, too." "I wanted to ask why your mother, Evelyn, was such a cheap whore that she had to seduce my father. Why she had to drive my mother to her death." "Chloe, the karma is just beginning. You're crying way too early." Using the 99 intimate photos he took of me that night, he blackmailed me into marrying him. Then, he publicly, extravagantly dropped millions courting his childhood sweetheart, a wealthy heiress, shocking the entire city. He forced me to hand-fold 999 origami roses for her, until my fingers were sliced open and dripping blood. He forced me to deliver condoms to them in the middle of a torrential downpour, leaving me with pneumonia that landed me in the hospital. Arthur's goal was simple: he wanted me to watch him fall in love with and pamper someone else, until I wished I was dead. What he didn't know was that after six years of mutual torture, I really was dying. And by now, there were only three photos left to delete. ... After my final round of chemotherapy failed and I spent seven days in a coma, I never expected to find Arthur waiting outside my cheap apartment. He shoved me violently against the door, absolutely furious. "Chloe, when Audrey asked you for those things, why didn't you give them to her?!" "Don't think for a second I won't actually leak those photos!" The photos. Those sickening, degrading photos that never should have been taken. If he leaked them, I would truly be ruined. A familiar wave of panic finally pierced through my chemo-addled brain, giving me a moment of clarity. I struggled to lift my head. "I'll give them to her. What exactly does she want?" I vaguely remembered that before I went in for chemo, Arthur had sent me a barrage of voice memos. But back then, my entire soul was consumed by praying to survive, so I hadn't bothered to listen to a word he said. Opening the chat log now, there were hundreds of unread voice messages. In the short audio clips, Audrey was throwing a tantrum, and Arthur was coaxing her. "Arthur, why did you write her love letters, make her a snow globe, and give her all this stuff?" "I don't care, they're mine! Make her give them to me!" So Audrey wanted our matching couple items. ...The gloves, the mugs, the engraved pens. Back when Arthur loved me the most, he insisted on buying everything in matching pink and blue sets. Those items, and the memories attached to them, felt so distant it was like they belonged to a past century. My eyes involuntarily began to sting, but Arthur pinched my chin, forcing me to look at him. His expression was full of mockery: "What, Chloe? Can't bear to part with them?" The last time I refused to give my mother's jade bracelet to Audrey, Arthur had my mother's grave dug up. If I hadn't gotten there in time, I wouldn't have even been able to save her urn. I shook my head frantically. "No, no! I'll get them for you right now." With that, I leaned heavily against the doorframe, struggling to unlock the door, and forced my exhausted body inside. The voice memos were still playing. "The things Audrey asked for—bring them to my office by 6:00 AM tomorrow." "Where the hell are you?" "Chloe, you've got some nerve ignoring my messages for days. Get out here right now!" ... "Audrey and I are getting engaged tomorrow. If you don't show up, you know the consequences." Engaged? My heart skipped a beat. The snow globe in my hand slipped and crashed onto the floor. It rolled right to Arthur's feet. He bent down, picked it up, and studied my pale face. "What? I've been with Audrey for six years, am I not allowed to get engaged?" "Or did you actually think I married you because I still had feelings for you? Pathetic." Arthur turned the snow globe over. Seeing the childishly carved "Arthur & Chloe" on the bottom, he let out a cold sneer. "You don't deserve this." He grabbed a box cutter from the desk and viciously gouged the names out. As the plastic shavings hit me, I bit my lip, tasting bitterness. Of course I didn't deserve it. It was common knowledge that Arthur hated me and didn't love me. No one knew about our six-year marriage. To everyone else, I was just a delusional gold-digger trying to latch onto someone out of my league. They didn't know I had wanted to end things peacefully and leave a long time ago. During the most painful times, I had even threatened to kill myself. But Arthur had printed out all 99 intimate photos and threw them in my face: "Go ahead and die, Chloe. If you do, I'll release every single one of these." "I'll let the whole world know that the older whore gave birth to a younger whore. She seduced the father, and you seduced the son." "I'll let everyone see what a cheap slut you are. I'll make your mother the most despised sinner on the planet!" I had no choice. No matter how wrong my mother was, I wanted her to rest in peace. And I didn't want to become the subject of vulgar gossip. So, for six long years, I lived by his rules: one act of torture, one apology, one deleted photo. Now, there were only three photos left. Arthur was about to marry the woman he loved. It was finally going to be over. Thinking of this, I wearily packed the things I had gathered into a bag and offered a forced, eager smile. "What else do you need me to do to delete the last three photos?" Arthur stared at me. Then he turned his head and saw my mother's portrait hanging on the wall. His face instantly darkened. A bad feeling washed over me. I twisted my body to run. But he grabbed my ankle and threw me onto the couch. I struggled in panic. "Arthur, are you crazy?! My mother is right there!" Arthur was brutal, devoid of any emotion except pure contempt: "The daughter of a whore who climbed into her best friend's husband's bed thinks she deserves dignity?" I stopped struggling. In an instant, my mind flashed back to the day Arthur confessed his love to me when we were eighteen. I was so happy. But when I pushed open my front door, I saw my mother and his father rolling around in bed. And out on the balcony, Arthur's mother, her face deathly pale, turned around and jumped off. Arthur screamed like a madman—a sound of absolute despair and hatred. Just like now. He gripped my waist tightly, looking like he wanted to break me into pieces. I pulled a throw pillow over my face, blocking out my vision. "Arthur. We can do this. Two photos." Arthur went at it the entire night. When I refused to look, he forced me to face the wall. I desperately tilted my head back, watching the ceiling light sway back and forth. The smoke from the incense hastily placed in front of the dirt-covered urn obscured my mother's portrait. But for some reason, I felt like she was smiling a very bitter smile. A long time ago, I asked her: why Arthur's mother? If Arthur's mother hadn't kindly taken us in when we were homeless, we would have frozen to death on the streets that winter night. My mother cried and told me that Arthur's mother was dying of an illness. She was terrified we would be kicked out and homeless again. She said she had no other choice. But after Arthur's mother jumped, his father died of a sudden heart attack. Rival families swooped in, seized the Vance Corporation, broke Arthur's leg, forced him to crawl between their legs, and called him trash. My mother finally realized she was wrong. So, this selfish, self-serving woman worked three jobs, sold her blood, and even sold a kidney to put Arthur through college. I dropped out of school and took his place at business dinners, drinking myself sick and forcing smiles to win clients. But Arthur would just punch his leg—the one that ached whenever it rained—his eyes bloodshot: "I had a perfect family, and you two destroyed it." "You think acting like good people for a few years wipes the slate clean? Keep dreaming!" After he reclaimed the Vance Corporation, he systematically hunted down and destroyed everyone who had ever humiliated him. I had no choice. To let him vent his rage, I let him degrade me in bed. But my mother still died. I spent every penny I had investigating her death, only to find out it really was just an accident. It took away my only justification to hate Arthur. But loving him was just too exhausting. When it was finally over, the sky was already growing light. My entire body ached and I was freezing. I curled up tightly on the couch and drifted off, dreaming again of the snowy night he and his mother came to pick us up. He gently cupped my face and told me not to cry. His hands were so warm, too warm to be a dream. I opened my eyes. The warmth on my face instantly vanished, leaving only the cold tracks of undried tears. Arthur stood in front of me, his body hidden in the shadows. I froze for a second, then grabbed his sleeve, my voice hoarse: "Two photos. Delete them." He ignored me, turning his back with a cold expression to leave. I panicked, but my body gave out. I pitched forward and smashed my head hard against the floor. Blood gushed out. I wiped at it frantically, my voice growing desperate: "Arthur! Delete them! Did you hear me?!" As my consciousness began to blur, his icy voice drifted in and out: "Chloe, you're really going to defend that whore of a mother to the end?" "Fine. Come work as a server at my engagement party. I'll give you what you want and delete them all." The first word that floated into my mind was cruel. Today was technically our ten-year anniversary. But my body couldn't wait any longer. "Okay." As soon as I arrived at the banquet hall, Arthur's secretary tossed me a server's uniform. When I hurried out after changing, Arthur was still there. He stared at my face, his gaze strange. The fall earlier had left a massive, dark bruise across the center of my face. I had to pack on powder to cover it up, but the gray over the sickly pale skin just made me look terrifying. I tried to add blush, but it just made my face look like a grotesque mix of white and red—more suited for a funeral than a party. I didn't know what to do, so I just forced a smile. He threw a slice of cake at me and sneered, "You look like a ghost with that makeup. Eat this quickly, don't pretend to faint and gross people out later." The cloying, sweet smell hit my nose. My instinct was to throw up, but Arthur just stood there watching me. I forced it down with a deep frown. Only then did he leave with a dark expression. I struggled to carry trays around the banquet hall. My stomach was churning violently. My steps felt light and floaty. I had to set the tray down and rush toward the restroom. But someone suddenly blocked my path. "Chloe, I thought you were so capable." It was Audrey. She swirled her champagne and leaned close to my ear: "Arthur still loves me more. I hired someone to break his leg, and he still wants to marry me." "You treat him so well, yet he wishes you were dead." My entire body went rigid. I used to think Arthur would hate Audrey too. After all, when the Vance family fell, the Audrey's family were the ones who humiliated him the most. But instead, Arthur held her in the palm of his hand and spoiled her endlessly. I was bitter about it, but he told me it was because Audrey was smart. At the final, critical moment of his corporate takeover, Audrey betrayed her own father and begged Arthur for peace. And I wasn't smart. Stomach acid surged up my throat repeatedly. I didn't have the energy to deal with Audrey. I struggled to speak. "Excuse me. Move." Audrey provocatively swished her dress. "Don't leave yet. Take a good look at my dress." I couldn't control it anymore. I vomited violently. Most of what came up splattered directly onto her pristine white dress. Oh god. I frantically tried to wipe it off. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." But my vision was blurred. I missed my mark and accidentally yanked the tablecloth, sending everything crashing to the floor in a chaotic mess. A large hand suddenly grabbed my collar and yanked me backward. "Chloe, did you forget what I warned you about?" I wanted to explain, but I couldn't stop dry heaving. Arthur stared at me with pure, unadulterated darkness in his eyes. I looked back. Audrey stood frozen behind me, looking furious. I couldn't help but glance at her dress again. I recognized it. It was the design Arthur had drawn for me when he was 18. Back then, I told him I wanted to embroider a snowflake on the lapel of his suit. Arthur had one on his suit right now. Only now, the snowflake on her dress was covered in my vomit, looking filthy. I reached out with a trembling hand to wipe it, but he shoved me away violently. "Playing the victim won't work on me. This is your own stubborn fault." "Pick it all up with your bare hands!" I crashed to the floor. My hands were sliced open by the sharp, broken glass. Arthur put his arm around the crying Audrey and strode away. The other guests all walked away in disgust. I vaguely heard someone say they were moving to a different hall, leaving only a few guards to watch me clean. If I moved too slowly, they would kick me. The Wedding March played from somewhere far away. Or maybe it was close. I was in a daze. I don't know how much time passed, but suddenly someone was standing in front of me, using the tip of their shoe to tilt my forehead up. "Chloe, do you regret it now?" I opened my eyes blankly. Regret what? Regret not cutting ties with my mother? But Arthur, that woman you hate so much... she gave birth to me, she raised me. She saved me from a man who beat and molested me. Even when we were at a dead end, she gave me the last half of her steamed bun. What do you want me to do? What could I have done? I didn't answer. I just felt incredibly tired. The surrounding area got noisy again, but Audrey's voice pierced through: "Really? Arthur, the land you bought me in the slum district has already started demolition?" When I stumbled out of the apartment in a daze this morning, I thought I saw a red "Demolish" spray-painted on the wall downstairs. I jolted completely awake. "What land?" "Arthur! Which block in the slums?!" By the time I rushed back, half the neighborhood had already been reduced to rubble by the excavators. My mother's ashes were still inside the apartment. The machines roared. I charged forward like a lunatic, grabbing someone's walkie-talkie. I was violently thrown to the ground. Blood and tears mixed on my face as I gritted my teeth and forced myself back up. "Stop the demolition! Stop! I live here! I haven't moved out yet!" A pair of dress shoes suddenly appeared in front of me. I looked up blankly. It was Arthur, who was supposed to be at his engagement party. He looked down at me with cold indifference. I frantically grabbed his pant leg, begging: "Arthur, you know my mother's ashes are still in there." "I'm begging you, just stop it for ten minutes. Let me go in and grab it, please?" But the heavy, unreadable darkness in his eyes sobered me up completely. I froze, tears pooling in my eyes. "...Arthur, you did this on purpose?" A demolition project this massive... the only reason the landlord wouldn't notify me was if Arthur ordered him not to. I was in a coma in the hospital for seven days. The exact day I woke up, he ordered me away so I wouldn't be home. He did all of this just to completely obliterate the very last trace of my mother's existence in this world. My voice was hoarse. "...Why? Why are you doing this?"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "391300", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel