My mother set my sister up with a blind date who was rich, handsome, and highly educated. But my sister found fault with everything. She complained that he didn't peel her shrimp at the dinner table. She complained that he didn't understand internet slang and couldn't keep up with her jokes. She even complained that he was showing off when he drove her home in his Lincoln. So, after she came back from yet another date with him, whining about his supposed flaws, I asked her calmly, "Do you really not like Liam Smith?" My sister tossed her long hair back with an air of superiority. "Of course not. What's there to like? He's just a guy with some money." "If you don't like him, then can you let me have him?" A flicker of something crossed her face, but she stuck her chin out defiantly. "He's just a man. Take him if you want him." The next day, when Liam Smith came to pick up my sister, I was the one who ran downstairs to meet him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," I said, my heart pounding. "My sister doesn't like you. But I do." 1 A shadow passed over Liam Smith's face. He glanced up at the small balcony of our apartment. Just then, the curtains in the room behind the balcony were drawn shut. A look of profound disappointment washed over him. Desperate to hold his attention, I quickly pulled a folded piece of paper from my cheap handbag. "Mr. Smith, this is my resume." "I graduated from a top-tier university, I'm 5'6", and you can see what I look like. I look about half like my sister. The only difference is she's better at dressing up, so she looks prettier. But don't worry, once I have money, I'll learn how to dress up, too. I'll be just as beautiful as she is." "As for work, I've been sending out my resume like crazy. Two major tech companies have already called me for an interview. I'm preparing for them now. I'm confident I can get a respectable job." My voice trembled as I spoke, my hands shaking so much the paper rattled. Liam looked up at the balcony again, a long, searching look, before finally taking the paper from my hand. "Does your sister know you're here?" I nodded emphatically. "She does. She said your personalities aren't a good match." "When she found out I had a crush on you, she was very encouraging. She told me to go for it." 2 Liam’s fingers tightened on my resume. He glanced up at the balcony one last time. Then, with a sigh of resignation, he told me to get in the car. I was thrilled with how my plan was working. But not wanting to overstep, I chose the passenger seat. The car ride was silent. I was too nervous to speak. And Liam… I snuck a couple of glances at him in the rearview mirror. He was clearly still reeling from the news that my sister didn't like him. His brow was furrowed, a veil of sadness clouding his features. I didn't mind. I just watched the city lights streak past the window. Halfway to our destination, my mother called. The cheap, tinny ringtone of my old phone blared through the quiet car. I frantically hung up after the first ring. The noise must have startled him, because Liam finally spoke. "It's alright. You can take it if it's important." I turned to look at him. "It's not important. Right now, being on a date with you is the most important thing to me." He didn't say anything. But in the rearview mirror, I saw the tips of his ears turn a faint shade of pink. Liam took me to a trendy, Instagram-famous restaurant. The moment the car stopped, a valet rushed to open my door before circling around to get Liam’s. As Liam got out, I smiled. "Mr. Smith, I've always wanted to eat here." "A friend from college recommended it once." "But I never had the money to come." With that, I pulled a small notebook from my bag. I flipped to a page in the middle, and among the densely packed handwriting, I found the line "Eat at the trendy restaurant" and checked it off with a flourish. Liam was a head taller than me and could easily see what I was doing. "'One Hundred Things to Do with Liam Smith'?" he read aloud. "What's this?" I grinned. "I made it last night, after I asked my sister if she liked you and she said no." I ducked my head, feigning shyness. "I'm sorry, is this too forward? I just thought… even if we don't end up together, at least I'll have these memories. That way, I won't have any regrets." He didn't speak, but his ears turned red again. He was listening. He was paying attention. The small victory made me giddy. As we walked upstairs, I practically bounced with excitement. When I'm happy, I can't stop talking. I chattered about the ads in the elevator, the floor numbers, anything and everything. When we were finally seated, Liam was the perfect gentleman. He asked about my preferences before ordering for us. I just smiled at him, my admiration obvious. After the waiter left, I sighed contentedly. "Liam Smith, you're exactly as wonderful as I imagined." His ears turned red yet again. It was like discovering a new continent. After that, I peppered every sentence with praise. I complimented him boldly, expressed my affection without reservation. And though he was a man of few words, he always responded. I felt like I could leap out of my seat with joy. Just as our food arrived, he asked me his first real question of the night. "Why do you like me? Have we met before?" 3 His question sent a shiver through me. I didn't want to dredge up the disgusting memories of my past. But I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity for sympathy. If it would make Liam Smith fall in love with me, I would gladly rip open my own chest and show him my bleeding heart. I smiled calmly, about to answer. Just then, his phone rang. He frowned slightly and looked at me. "Excuse me, I need to take this." I nodded, still smiling. He stepped away from the table. The moment he was gone, I deflated like a punctured balloon, slumping onto the table. He had been quick, but not quick enough. I had seen the caller ID. "Rina." My sister's name. The wait felt endless. He was on the phone for a full ten minutes. When he returned, the apology in his eyes made my heart sink. As I expected, he said, "I'm so sorry, Miss Yates, but something's come up at the office. I have to go." A sharp, stabbing pain pricked at my heart. But I just smiled and nodded. "Of course. Drive safe." He grabbed his suit jacket and walked out without a second glance. I watched him go. A wave of panic washed over me. After a moment of hesitation, I chased after him. "Liam Smith," I called out. "Can I see you again tomorrow?" He stiffened, but after a moment, he nodded. I quickly held out my phone for him to add me on social media. He hesitated for a second. But he added me. Then he walked away, his pace quickening. I went back to our table and sat there until two in the morning, when the restaurant finally closed. 4 My first encounter with Liam Smith was a cliché story of salvation. When I was eighteen, I got into a top-tier university. While my classmates and teachers were celebrating with me, my father called me out of my room as I was preparing to register. He lit a cigarette and spoke calmly. "Sierra, there's something I need to discuss with you. I've talked it over with Aunt Jane, and we're getting married in a few days." Aunt Jane was his girlfriend after he and my mom divorced. I neither liked nor disliked her. "If you're happy, that's all that matters," I said. But his next words plunged me into an abyss. "Aunt Jane is pregnant. And you know, I don't make much money. So, she said… she'll have the baby, but I have to stop supporting you financially. Your mother has money. You can ask her for your university fees." My fists clenched. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced them back, my voice a desperate plea. "My tuition isn't that high… maybe five thousand a semester. The first year is only three thousand. Can you just help me with that? I… I can get a student loan…" But he just stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Sierra, the law only requires me to support you until you're eighteen." Then he went back to his room and slammed the door. The sound echoed in the empty house for a long, long time. I stood there, tears streaming down my face, for I don't know how long. The next day, I did as he said. I messaged my mother. I drafted the message like a report to a CEO, agonizing over every word before finally summoning the courage to hit send. Her reply was swift and brutal. "Sierra, I hope you understand that laws are meant to be followed, not broken. When your father and I divorced, we agreed that he would support you, and I would support your sister. Your father is incompetent, and you are eighteen now. You're an adult. Don't be a useless parasite like him, coming to me for money. My money is for your sister. It has nothing to do with you." I hid in my room and cried for hours. It was just like when they divorced. They had fought over who got my sister, Rina. They had even come to blows at the courthouse. Neither of them wanted me. In the end, my mother had to give up her rights to the house we lived in just to get custody of Rina. I never understood why I was so unwanted. Why, when we both came from the same womb, did my sister get all their love, while I was an inconvenience no one was willing to take? My tears soaked my pillow. The next day, just as they wanted, I packed my bags and went to the city where my university was, looking for work. To save money, I took the slowest train. The journey took two days and two nights. I cried the entire time, mourning the cruelty of my parents, my uncertain future. As I sobbed, a man struck up a conversation with me. He was kind. He gave me a piece of his bread, some of his cured meat. He told me he had a daughter my age, who had also gotten into a good university. He was on his way to a factory job to earn her tuition. His face was so full of paternal love that I, so starved for it myself, believed him. When he told me he could get me a job at the factory, earning five thousand a month, I trusted him completely. But that night, he led me down a dark, deserted alley. He slapped me dozens of time, ran his hands all over my body, molesting me in the most degrading ways. Then he took my luggage, all my money, and left. The moon was bright that night, so bright it seared my eyes. I went to the police. I had lost not only my money but also all my documents, including my university acceptance letter. That night, I wanted to die. A policewoman looked at my desolate eyes. "You should be thankful, kid. It's a safe city now, isn't it?" My cheek throbbed where he had slapped me. I borrowed the station's phone and called my father. He listened to my story and said calmly, "Isn't your mother in that city? Go find her." Then he hung up. My hand trembled as I held the receiver. But the tears threatening to spill over stayed put. I turned to the policewoman. "Can I borrow a hundred dollars? I need to go find my mother." She looked at my unfocused eyes. Her colleague tried to signal her to say no, but she pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and handed it to me. I took a bus to my mother's villa. I didn't cry. My head was buzzing. I walked the rest of the way from the bus stop. As I approached the house, I heard the sound of music. A banner hung over the gate: "Congratulations to our little princess, Rina, on getting into university." Through the iron bars, I saw my sister standing in front of a giant cake. She wore a beautiful crown and a princess dress. The living room was filled with beautifully dressed young men and women. They were probably her classmates, or my mother's business partners. The tears I had been holding back all night finally broke free. The bitter taste mixed with the pain in my mouth. It was a raw, agonizing ache that made me tremble. I clung to the iron gate, the peeling paint digging into my flesh. I was a pathetic, peeping Tom, a miserable clown watching a life that could have been mine. As my tears threatened to run dry, a luxury car pulled up beside me. A handsome, impeccably dressed gentleman got out. Fueled by a desperate, vengeful impulse, I walked up to him, tears streaming down my face. "Hello, I'm so sorry to bother you, but… can I borrow five thousand dollars? No, ten thousand. I'll use my face as collateral." "You can take a picture of me and show it to the owner of this house. Tell her to pay you back. She will." The man studied my face. He was silent. I knew it was a lost cause. My shoulders shook with choked sobs. "I'm sorry, I… I shouldn't have bothered you," I stammered, turning to leave. But just as I turned, he called out to me. "Give me your phone. I'll transfer it to you." I froze, then collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, the raw, guttural cries of a broken heart. Through my tears, I looked up at him. "I… I don't have a phone. It was stolen." He thought for a moment, then pulled out his own phone and made a call. "Wait here. I'll have someone bring you the cash." I stared at him. Then he walked into the villa, disappearing into the crowd that was my mother's and my sister's world. Ten minutes later, a man brought me ten thousand dollars. Clutching the money, I felt a new emotion bloom in the desolate landscape of my heart. It wasn't just sadness anymore. It was jealousy. Jealousy of my sister. And for the first time, it was hatred. Hatred for my mother. But it was also the first time I felt a flicker of desire for my own barren, disgusting life. I wanted that man.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393846", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel