I was on my way to confess my feelings to my dream guy when I got mugged. The mugger tore up the ninety-plus love letters I’d written for him. So, I broke three of the mugger’s ribs. The next day, we both ended up on the local news. My dream guy, Henry, sent me a text: “Innocent little wallflower, huh? Savage.” 1 I’d been chasing Henry for four months, and for three and a half of them, I’d been playing the part of a delicate, innocent wallflower. The first fifteen days were my trial-and-error phase. I engineered a series of “coincidental” encounters with him, trying out a different persona each time. I went from the cool, aloof ice queen to the adorable, bubbly girl-next-door; from a sun-kissed, athletic type to a calculating, dark-academia genius. I was on the verge of developing a personality disorder. But he treated me like I was thin air. Then, by a stroke of luck, my roommate stayed up all night binging an old-school billionaire romance series. She swore to me that cold, ruthless men like Henry all had a secret weakness for clumsy, fragile girls who were as kind and pure as angels. So, on day sixteen, I dressed myself in the plainest, most unassuming clothes I owned and “accidentally” stumbled right into him. He finally deigned to lift his head, his gaze sweeping over me with disinterest. Then he spoke the first words he’d ever said to me in two weeks— “Get off.” The billionaire romance novels didn't lie. I was so moved I could have cried. And so, I kept up the innocent wallflower act for the next three and a half months. Yesterday, my life as his number one admirer took a dramatic turn. After steeling my nerves, I asked Henry out to a movie for the fiftieth time—and he actually said yes. He agreed to see a movie with me! That was basically a marriage proposal, right? In my head, I’d already picked out names for our second kid. My roommates rallied around me, treating the date like a top-secret military operation. The first spent three hours crafting a flawless, barely-there, “no-makeup” makeup look. The second styled me in an immaculate, all-white outfit, the epitome of wallflower chic. The third channeled her inner drill sergeant, rigorously coaching my every word and gesture. As for me, I pulled an all-nighter, pouring my heart into ninety handwritten love letters for him. Our mission: to conquer Henry’s heart and officially end my two decades of singledom. The next afternoon, with my roommates cheering me on, I floated out the door, my heart soaring. A beautiful, epic romance was just around the corner. On the way, I even stopped by an arcade to get a fistful of tokens. A date isn't complete without winning a prize from a claw machine to really elevate the romance. And then— Not long after I left the arcade, I ran into a mugger. 2 The burly man held a knife to me, snatched my phone, and backed me into a dark alley, demanding I hand over all my money. A smart girl knows when to fold. I glanced at his grizzled face, then at the gleaming blade in his hand. Without a second’s hesitation, I tremblingly scooped a handful of arcade tokens from my bag and offered them to him. The man flicked me hard on the forehead. "You trying to be funny with me?" Then— He expertly snatched the tokens from my hand and stuffed them into his pocket. "All of it. Don't make me get it myself," he growled, his face a mask of menace. I shakily offered him another handful of tokens. The mugger stared at me. He took the tokens, then flicked my forehead again, harder this time. The force of it nearly brought tears to my eyes. "Damn, you're broke! I only targeted you 'cause I saw you leaving the arcade with your bag stuffed full." He started rummaging through my bag himself, a hint of regret in his voice. You didn't look very closely, I thought, rolling my eyes. My bag was already bulging when I went in, thanks to the ninety love letters. The mugger pulled out three more handfuls of tokens. Furious, he flicked my forehead again, this time with the full force of his frustration behind it. Tears finally streamed down my face. "That's all the money I have," I sobbed. He refused to give up. He felt a side pocket and pulled out a small, folded card. On it was written— "Your eyes, like stars, shining so bright, one look and I fell into their light. Don't you worry, it feels so right, maybe this was destiny's might, I can't look away from you tonight." "What the hell is this?" I could see genuine, bizarre confusion in his beady little eyes. "It's... a love letter I wrote," I mumbled, my face burning. He pulled out another one— "Like a chemical reaction, a fantasy forgiven by isolation. It must be your gentle gaze, setting my world ablaze, warming my heart's maze, healing my broken days." "I read this and I feel like I'm about to start singing," the mugger scoffed. "Broke-ass kid, wasting your time on useless crap." He raised his hand and, with a flick of his wrist, sent all ninety of my love letters fluttering into the grimy air. That was too much! That was my entire night's work. A surge of rage washed over me. While he was busy pocketing the last of the tokens, I bent down, snatched a loose brick from the ground, and brought it down hard on his head. Caught completely off guard, the man crumpled to the ground. "You damn—you're asking for it," he grunted, stubbornly trying to push himself back up. I took a running start and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling back down. His knife clattered away into the darkness. "Give me back my phone," I demanded, plopping myself down on his chest to keep him from escaping. I heard a sickening crack from his ribs. Suddenly, he went completely still. He wasn't even struggling anymore. Oh god, did I kill him? A wave of panic hit me. I scrambled off him and shook his arm. "Hey, mister? Are you okay?" "Just... call the cops," he wheezed, his voice barely a whisper. "And an ambulance." I fished my phone out of his token-filled pocket and shakily dialed 911. "Hello? I'm in the alley about two blocks down from the Main Street Arcade. I've just been mugged," I said, my voice thick with fake tears. I was genuinely worried he wouldn't make it until the police arrived. "So, is this your first time mugging someone?" I asked, squatting beside him after hanging up. I figured a little conversation might distract him from the pain. He let out a pained groan and turned his head away from me. "Why didn't you just take my whole bag?" I scooted around to face him, unable to hold back my burning question. His breathing was loud and ragged, each breath sounding like it could be his last. 3 When the police arrived, I was sitting next to the mugger, checking to see if he was still breathing. "You're the one who called it in?" An officer stepped out of the car, gun drawn, and stared at me. The rest of his squad fanned out behind him, their expressions a mixture of confusion and caution. I glanced at the half-dead man on the ground, then at the officer's weapon. "I might have accidentally subdued him," I said meekly. And so— The mugger was loaded into an ambulance, and I was taken to the police station. After I gave my statement, the officer handed me back my two pockets full of tokens and the scattered pile of love letters. The sky was completely dark by the time I walked out. "You're late." The message popped up on my phone the second I turned it on. A bolt of lightning shot through me. I had completely forgotten about my movie date with Henry. I frantically dialed his number. He picked up after a few rings. "What happened?" His voice, even through the phone, was as smooth and magnetic as ever. "I got mugged on my way over. I'm still at the police station. I was so scared," I whimpered, the wallflower persona kicking in automatically. The officer who took my statement was packing up his notebook. He shot me a strange, unreadable look. "Your address. I'll come get you." Henry, my kind-hearted hero, didn't hesitate. I gave him the address of the station. He just said, "Okay," and told me to wait. "I'll just wait here for a bit. Someone's coming to pick me up," I told the officer, flashing what I hoped was an innocent, grateful smile. He nodded in understanding, but the weird expression never left his face. 4 I didn't notice Henry when he arrived because I was deep in the trenches of a heated League of Legends match, furiously typing insults at my teammates in the chat. "Mia." It was only after the match ended that he finally spoke my name. I looked up mechanically, quickly locking my phone screen. "Henry, you don't have perfect vision, do you?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "No," he said, pausing for a fraction of a second. He nodded slowly. "Were you just looking at something I wasn't supposed to see?" "Hahahaha, that's great!" I let out a huge sigh of relief. "My phone screen cracked when I dropped it, so it's just showing a bunch of asterisks when I type. I didn't want you to think less of me," I said, shoving my phone in my pocket. It was a flawless excuse. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Are you hurt?" he asked, changing the subject. I stared at his lips, how they moved when he spoke. God, they were perfect. I could feel the drool pooling in my mouth. I shook my head, my persona as solid as a rock. "I'm okay. He took all my money and he hit me, but I'm really okay." "He hit you?" Henry's brow furrowed, his expression darkening. "Yeah, three times," I nodded eagerly. He held out his long, elegant hand. "Let's get you up. I'm taking you to the hospital to get checked out." This was my chance to create a moment. I immediately took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. "Excuse me, do you know which hospital they took the suspect to?" Once I was standing, I was reluctant to let go of his hand. To his credit, probably out of some sense of humanitarian duty, Henry didn't pull away. But he turned to ask the officer about the mugger. "He's at St. Jude's," I blurted out, my heart pounding. "Oh, my head feels a little dizzy from where he hit me. Can we just go home? I really need to lie down," I said, tugging on his sleeve and leaning weakly against him. His whole body went rigid, but he didn't push me away. And thankfully, he dropped the subject. "I'm taking you to a doctor. We need to make sure you don't have a concussion," he said after a slight cough. The mugger was probably lying in a bed at that very hospital. Going there would blow my cover completely. I waved my hands frantically. "No, no, it's fine!" "We should get it checked out," he insisted, his hand steady on my arm. "Really, it's okay! It's so late, I just want to go home and sleep!" I was getting desperate, and my voice, without its usual delicate filter, came out loud and clear. Henry froze. He gave me a complicated look. "Well, you certainly sound energetic. I guess you're probably fine." I stared back at him. Now it was my turn to look complicated. 5 That should have been the end of it. But then, they pulled the security footage from the alley. It all started when the local police department was featured on a reality show, something like a local version of Cops. One of the officers recounted the most memorable calls from the past week. The show's producers, bless their soulless hearts, tracked down the footage of my case, edited it into a segment, and the clip immediately went viral. The security footage clearly showed me grabbing a brick and knocking the 250-pound mugger to the ground. When he tried to get up, I flew at him with a kick that sent him sprawling, then pinned him to the pavement with my butt until he couldn't move. The video ended with him, lying on the ground, begging me to call the police. I hadn't seen the clip myself, but Henry was kind enough to share it with me. The title of the video was emblazoned across the top: “Gen Z Girl Annihilates Mugger, Who Begs Her to Call the Cops to Save His Life.” "Didn't realize you were such a hero," he texted. I could practically hear his deadpan voice through the screen. "You didn't see the beginning!" I typed back frantically. "He insulted the love letters I wrote for you! He insulted my love for you!" I was trying to salvage the situation. Henry's response: "Savage." I stared at the word, unsure how to reply. I gave up, flopped onto my bed, and opened the video's comment section. "LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO" "That dude's been mugging people for years and he finally met his final boss." "Three simple moves to make a criminal rethink his life choices!" For a crime story, the comment section was an unusually peaceful, harmonious place. 6 That night, the internet sleuths found my TikTok account. I gained 3,000 followers overnight. My TikTok is usually just a random collection of food, fun, and the occasional nerdy dance video. The comments were normally from a handful of friends and family. Now, it was a pilgrimage site. Underneath my dance videos, the comments were ruthless: "Where can I find a champion like this?" "Am I blind, or is she just wringing the air dry?" "I can feel the raw power and tenacity." And, of course, an endless, soul-crushing stream of "LMAO." My roommate tried to console me. "You may have lost love, but you're on the path to fortune. When you're forty, you can hire ten guys who look just like Henry." "How vulgar! I'm not that shallow. I love Henry for his beautiful soul!" I huffed, defending my honor. Though, I had to admit, the thought of twenty Henrys bowing to my every whim was… appealing. Just thinking about it filled me with a new sense of purpose. My fingers flew across the keyboard. "What are you doing?" my roommate asked, pointing at the academic journal database open on my laptop. "You have a paper due soon?" I shook my head. "I'm writing a new love letter for Henry. The last ninety didn't truly capture my feelings." My roommate stared at me, dumbfounded. "Hmph. I'm not like you people," I said with a smirk. "I'm going to have it all: love and money. I'll have the young and beautiful Henry by my side twenty years ahead of schedule." At two in the morning, I sent Henry my meticulously crafted, 3,000-word masterpiece of a love letter. Five minutes later, he replied with a plagiarism report showing an 88% match. I was speechless. I typed back: Your attention to detail reminds me of one of my mom's relatives. The three dots indicating he was typing appeared and disappeared for two full minutes. Finally, a single message came through: ? My mom's future son-in-law, I sent, feeling giddy. Henry: lol He didn't deny it! He even said "lol"! He really, really wanted to be my mom's son-in-law. 7 "Henry!" The next day at lunch, I "coincidentally" ran into him in the cafeteria, as usual. "What a coincidence! We must be destined to meet," I chirped, setting my tray down across from him and sliding into the seat beside him. He shot me a cool glance and didn't reply. Thanks to my frequent "coincidences," Henry's roommates had learned to make themselves scarce the moment I appeared. "Let's go to the movies tonight. I promise nothing will go wrong this time. I'll stick to the main roads," I said, poking his elbow. He put down his fork, a thoughtful look on his face. "I won't even go near an arcade! I won't carry a single cent! No one will have a reason to rob me!" I held up three fingers, swearing an oath. Henry gently pushed my hand down and pulled out his phone. He wasn't smiling, but I could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. My internal alarms blared. Was he about to text some other girl right in front of me? A second later, a notification popped up on my phone. A message from Henry. He had forwarded me a video. Suspicious, I pressed play. And then— My own voice, loud and unfiltered, boomed from the speakers. "Alright everyone, watch this! I'll make you some juice!" On the screen, my face was contorted in a ferocious grimace as I crushed an entire apple in my bare hand in under five seconds. Silence. A profound, deafening silence filled the space between us. I forgot how to move. … It was a video my aunt took last Thanksgiving at a family dinner. My cousin had just shown off by opening a beer bottle with his teeth, and not to be outdone, I'd performed my signature party trick: hand-juicing an apple. At the time, everyone thought it was hilarious, and they'd egged me on to post it to TikTok. Well, it was still hilarious. Just not for me. I wanted to cry. "Henry, what if I told you that was my alter ego? Would you believe me?" I stammered, inventing a sci-fi explanation on the spot. "She's a super-strong warrior. The real me is… very delicate." A small laugh escaped his lips. "Pfft." "It's true! I've been meaning to tell you," I insisted, pouting. His voice was laced with amusement now, as if I'd just told the funniest joke in the world. "So why decide to tell me today?" I kept the lie going. "I wanted to give you a heads-up. It's better you know now than finding out during the pre-nuptial check-up." Henry went silent. I might have been imagining it, but the tips of his ears turned bright red.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "384372", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel