After I barely survived a horrific car crash, my husband brought his pregnant mistress to my hospital room to demand a divorce. That was what broke me. Stripped of every ounce of hope, I dragged my battered body up to the hospital roof. The wind whipped my hospital gown around my bruised legs. I just wanted it all to end. But right as I stepped up to the concrete ledge, ready to let gravity take me, a voice screamed from deep within my own abdomen. It was frantic. Familiar. It was Gemma. She yelled at me, her voice echoing right into my brain, furious that I would even consider throwing my life away. She told me she hadn't died in that crushed metal of our car just so I could jump off a building. At first, I thought my grief had finally fractured my mind. The auditory hallucinations of a shattered woman. The thought that I would never see my best friend again twisted the knife in my chest, and the sorrow threatened to pull me over the edge. I shifted my weight forward. Then, that familiar, sharp voice rang out again. It wasn't a hallucination. Gemma had been reborn, carrying all her memories, straight into the tiny, unborn life growing inside me. She told me things she couldn't possibly know unless she had lived a life I hadn't. She told me that in her previous timeline, Marvin, my cheating bastard of a husband, abandoned us for his mistress, leaving us with nothing. And then, he struck it rich. Seventy million dollars, won on a lottery ticket. Gemma remembered the exact numbers. She told me to get down from the ledge, buy that ticket, and focus on bringing her safely into the world. But she didn't stop there. She told me Marvin had been embezzling from his own company. He’d hidden solid gold bars and stacks of hundred-dollar bills in the soil of the massive, imported planters on our balcony. She told me to clean him out before I signed any papers. Hearing that, the cold wind on the roof suddenly didn't feel so chilling. The urge to die evaporated, replaced by a white-hot, diamond-hard resolve to live. I was going to survive. And I was going to ruin him. ... I practically ran out of the hospital against medical advice, arriving back at our sprawling suburban house pale and out of breath. The housekeeper took one look at my bruised face and made herself scarce. I went straight to the master bedroom and locked the glass balcony doors behind me. I slipped on a pair of gardening gloves, grabbed a heavy metal trowel, and looked down at the slight bump of my stomach. "Gem, which one?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "That bastard is going to be home any minute. If I dig up the wrong one, we're screwed." From inside me, her voice bubbled up—crisp, sassy, and wonderfully alive. Maddie, swear to God, you have to trust me! The gold is buried under the two giant Fiddle-leaf figs in the far corner! Stop overthinking. Start digging. I drew in a sharp breath. I gripped the trowel. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated adrenaline. Marvin had frozen my credit cards weeks ago to force my hand in the divorce. After the crash, he hadn't spent a single night by my bedside, and he’d fought the hospital billing department over my emergency surgery. Now, he was openly parading his new girl through our life, trying to throw me out on the street with absolutely nothing. Did he really think Madeline Hayes was a doormat he could just wipe his expensive Italian shoes on? He was dead wrong. I knelt beside the massive, thriving Fiddle-leaf fig. I drove the trowel violently into the expensive potting soil. The stitches in my side pulled and burned. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, but I didn't care. Because an inch down, the metal of my trowel scraped against something dense and unyielding. Gemma wasn't lying. I dug frantically, tearing up the roots. One. Two. Three... Ten bars in total. Small, heavy ingots, probably a hundred grams each. That was easily eighty thousand dollars right there. Jackpot. I moved to the largest planter, stabbing the soil until I hit metal. A lockbox. I pried it open to find tightly banded stacks of crisp US dollars. "How much is this?" I breathed. Roughly half a million, Gemma’s voice echoed. He skimmed it from his company’s offshore accounts. He was planning to take his little influencer girlfriend to Europe. Maddie, in the other timeline, you never even knew it existed. After he threw us out, you bounced between cheap motels with a newborn. You worked yourself to death. I had to grow up starving. Meanwhile, those two sociopaths lived like royalty on this cash and the seventy million from the lottery. My chest tightened, a suffocating heat rising in my throat. Marvin. You absolute monster. I gave him my best years, from college dorms to our wedding day. I worked three jobs to support him when his startup was bleeding money. When he broke his leg skiing, I bathed him. When I nearly died in a car crash, he brought his mistress to my hospital bed and hid half a million dollars in dirt so I would starve. Carefully, I transferred the heavy gold bars and the stacks of cash into a large leather backpack I’d pulled from the closet. "The box is empty," I whispered, looking at the mess of spilled soil and exposed roots. "What about the holes? He's going to know the second he steps out here." If he caught me now, divorce would be the least of my worries. I probably wouldn't make it out of this house alive. Mads, are you kidding me? Gemma scoffed in my mind. Take the soil from the Monstera plant next to it. Fill the holes, pack it down, arrange the decorative moss over it, and water it so the dirt settles. He’s so obsessed with his new girl right now, he’s not inspecting his houseplants! By the time he figures it out, we’ll be ghosts. Right. Panic was making me stupid. I moved fast, burying the empty lockbox at the very bottom of my backpack, moving the soil, smoothing it out, and wiping the rim of the ceramic pots with a damp towel. When I was done, I leaned against the brick wall of the balcony, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Standing on the edge of the hospital roof hadn't terrified me this much. But stealing my own life back? It was the most intoxicating, terrifying thrill I had ever felt. Just then, I heard the heavy thud of the front door downstairs. Then came Marvin’s irritated voice, followed immediately by a sickly-sweet, high-pitched whine. "Marvin, babe, where did she go? She’s all banged up. You don't think she actually jumped, do you?" It was Marvin and his shiny new toy, Brittany. My spine stiffened. My hand instinctively dropped to cradle my stomach. Breathe, Mads, Gemma commanded. Play the victim. Look like a woman who has completely given up. Make him think he's won. Lower his guard. I quickly shoved the heavy backpack deep into the balcony storage bench and zipped it shut. I ran a hand through my hair, purposely tangling it. I rubbed at my pale face, letting my shoulders slump under the weight of an invisible defeat. Dragging my bruised leg, I limped slowly into the living room. Marvin looked up. There wasn't a flicker of relief in his eyes when he saw I was alive. Only disgust. "Oh, you're back," he sneered, loosening his silk tie. "I honestly thought you might have actually had the guts to jump." He picked up a manila folder from the glass coffee table and tossed it onto the floor at my feet. "Maddie, don't make this harder than it has to be. Sign the papers. You leave with what you came with: nothing. Keep the kid, get rid of it, I don't care. I'll cover the hospital bills, but after this, we're done." Get rid of it? I stared at my stomach. Inside was not just my child, but the soul of the woman who died trying to save me. Even an animal protects its young, but Marvin... he was something entirely soulless. The hatred in my chest felt like swallowing glass, but I knew I had to swallow it down. Now was not the time. I slowly lifted my head, making sure my eyes looked entirely hollow. I channeled every ounce of grief I had felt on that roof. "Marvin," I whispered, my voice breaking perfectly. "Seven years of marriage. Are you really going to leave me with nothing?" Marvin scoffed. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it right there in the living room, not even glancing at my pregnant belly. "We're adults, Maddie. Don't make a scene. Seven years? So what? We haven't loved each other in years. Brittany is young, she's vibrant, and she's giving me a son. I need to do right by them." He blew out a plume of smoke. "Who knows what you're having. If it's a girl, I'd just be losing money." Oh, hell no. I am your worst nightmare, buddy! the little tenant in my womb raged. Mads, ignore him! Brittany isn't even carrying his kid! It's her personal trainer's! In the other timeline, Marvin didn't find out until the baby was born and looked nothing like him. They destroyed half the house fighting over it! A hysterical, bubbling laugh almost escaped my throat. I had to quickly drop my head, burying my face in my hands, letting my shoulders shake. To Marvin, it looked like I was sobbing uncontrollably. "Fine..." I choked out. I looked up, letting a single tear track down my cheek. "I'll sign." Marvin perked up, his eyes narrowing. "You want a payout? Because I'm telling you right now, the company is entirely illiquid. You're not getting a dime." "I don't want your money." I cut him off, my voice dead and flat. "I just want to pack my clothes. My skincare. I don't want anything else from this house. I just want... to be completely done with you." Marvin exhaled a long breath, a smug, contemptuous smile spreading across his face. "Smart girl. Go pack. I want you out by tonight. We'll finalize everything at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Don't keep us waiting." I didn't waste another breath on them. I turned and limped into the bedroom. I took the heavy backpack from the balcony, shoved it into the bottom of an old Samsonite suitcase, and piled my sweaters and expensive face creams on top of it. When I rolled the suitcase out into the living room, Marvin and Brittany were making out on the expensive leather sofa. Marvin pulled away, stood up, and reached for my suitcase. "Hold on. Let me make sure you aren't walking out with the silverware." My heart vaulted into my throat. Every muscle in my body tensed, preparing to bash his head in with a lamp and run. But Marvin unzipped the top, saw a pile of folded wool sweaters and half-empty moisturizer bottles, and curled his lip in disdain. "This is it? You're taking this garbage? Don't come crying to me later saying I didn't let you pack." I gave him a pitiful, broken smile. "No. Everything else here feels dirty now." Marvin's face darkened. "Get the hell out." I dragged that impossibly heavy suitcase out the heavy oak door I had once thought would protect me forever. The second I hit the sidewalk, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for the Four Seasons downtown. Mads! You are a literal Oscar winner! Gemma cheered in my head. They are sitting on that couch thinking they won the lottery. Wait until he checks the dirt and realizes his golden egg is gone! His face is going to melt off! But listen, we have to move fast. Tomorrow, after the judge signs off, we go straight to the gas station. Seventy million dollars. We cannot miss that draw! I leaned back against the leather seat of the cab, watching the suburban streets blur past the window. My ribs ached, my head pounded, but the suffocating weight that had been crushing my chest for months was gone. Marvin thought he was taking out the trash. He had no idea he had just handed me the keys to the kingdom. That night, in a plush suite overlooking the city skyline, I ordered a ridiculous amount of room service—everything I used to deny myself to save money for Marvin's business. As I ate, I listened to Gemma recount the nightmare of the previous timeline. After I jumped off the hospital roof in that life, Marvin hadn't shed a single tear. Instead, he hired a PR firm to spin my death, claiming the grief of losing my best friend in the crash had driven me to severe depression. He played the tragic, devoted widower. His company's stock skyrocketed. Brittany had taken my life insurance payout and bought herself limited-edition Birkin bags. They hadn't even given me a proper funeral; they’d had me cremated and dumped the ashes somewhere off the highway. And Maddie... Gemma's voice dropped, losing its usual snark. Before I died in the other timeline, I found out the car crash wasn't an accident. Marvin tampered with the brakes. The silver fork in my hand snapped in half under my grip. "Gemma," I whispered, resting my hand over my stomach. "I promise you. In this life, I will never let you down. I will never let you suffer. Everything Marvin and Brittany owe us, I will extract it from them, a thousand times over." Damn right you will, Gemma replied fiercely. Tomorrow at the courthouse, they're going to try to humiliate you. Just swallow it. The second we have that seventy million, we own them. Oh, and by the way... Brittany’s wearing a fake Chanel jacket tomorrow. If you bump into her, it literally leaves a dye stain. Just a heads up. I let out a wet, startling laugh. Death had apparently made my best friend even more savage. The next morning, the courthouse steps were bathed in sunlight. Marvin looked like a man who had just conquered the world, his hair slicked back, wearing a bespoke suit. Clinging to his arm was Brittany, her pregnant belly pushed out as far as it could go against a tight, beige designer-knockoff dress. When she saw me arriving alone, she immediately put a hand over her mouth in mock sympathy. "Oh, Maddie. You came all by yourself? No one to hold your hand? That is just so sad." Marvin patted her waist, giving me a patronizing look. "Leave her alone, Brit. We don't want her having another breakdown and finding a bridge to jump off." He checked his Rolex. "Do you have your ID? Let's get this over with, I have a board meeting." I didn't say a word. I just walked past them through the metal detectors. Signatures. Stamps. The cold finality of the judge's gavel. The moment the divorce decree was handed over, Marvin let out a massive breath, as if shedding a physical weight. He looked down at Brittany. "You're officially the new Mrs. Hayes." Brittany giggled, going up on her tiptoes to kiss him, making sure I was watching. "Take care of yourself, Maddie," she cooed. "If things get really desperate, give us a call. Marvin might be able to find you a job answering phones or something." Marvin pulled his wallet out, extracted three crisp hundred-dollar bills, and casually dropped them onto the marble floor at my feet. "Here. For an Uber. Consider it severance pay. I don't want anyone saying Marvin Hayes doesn't take care of his exes." The bills fluttered to the ground. People in the lobby turned to stare. Marvin and Brittany smirked, waiting for me to kneel and pick up his scraps. I looked down. Slowly, I bent over. Their smiles widened. I ignored the money, calmly retied my shoelace, and stood back up. Then, I planted the heel of my boot directly onto the bills and ground them into the dirty marble floor. "Keep it for your medical bills, Marvin," I said softly, meeting his eyes. "You look a little pale. I'd watch my back if I were you." Marvin's face flushed red. "You ungrateful bitch!" Brittany shrieked, "Are you threatening him? You psycho!" I just smiled, turned on my heel, and walked out into the sunlight. Sitting in the back of my rideshare, my palms were sweating. "Gemma, what if he checks the planters today and realizes I took it?" Let him find out, she hummed. You signed the division of assets. It clearly states 'personal effects belong to their respective parties.' You packed your 'personal effects.' Can he prove the gold was his? It was embezzled, Maddie. It’s dirty money. Is he going to call the cops and report that someone stole the half-million dollars he hid from the IRS? I slapped my thigh. She was right. He couldn't say a damn thing. He had to choke on it. Now, the most important task. I had the driver pull over at a rundown gas station on the edge of town. I walked up to the bulletproof glass. "Five Quick Picks for the Powerball, please." NO! Maddie! Stop! Not a Quick Pick! Gemma screamed in my head. I know the numbers! Write them down! 03, 09, 17, 22, 30. Powerball 11. I blinked, quickly correcting myself. "Sorry, no. I have my own numbers." When the clerk slid that thin strip of paper under the glass, it felt heavier than all the gold in my backpack. Seventy million dollars. "Gemma, are you absolutely sure?" I murmured as I walked back to the car. I would bet my soul on it, she said. In the other life, a construction worker bought those exact numbers and lost the ticket on the street. Marvin found it. That's how he built his empire. We are not letting him have it this time. I was just opening the car door, a smile finally breaking across my face, when a hand violently snatched the ticket from my fingers. I spun around. It was Marvin.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "422542", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel