A meteor, the color of a flash of cobalt, tore across the night sky with a magnificent, burning tail. I snapped the photo, my heart thrumming, and immediately sent it to Leo, a thousand miles away. He’s been my boyfriend for years, ever since we met during my semester abroad. Back when his family was still footing the bills, before the fall. Now, he was just another broke student in London trying to make it work. I texted: This one should sell for a good price. As soon as the payment hits, I’ll wire you the money. Get yourself a decent meal. Don’t starve. He replied with a single word: Okay. The next day, my meteor picture was everywhere online. I followed the digital breadcrumbs back to an Instagram account belonging to a girl in the UK. She was listed as the “original artist.” The account wasn't just for photography. Sprinkled among the professional shots were glimpses of her life, a curated story in filtered squares: navigating a supermarket in dreary, gray London with a tall, slender man whose face was always just out of frame, hunting for discount vegetables; sharing a single scarf on a snowy walk down a city street; kissing on a blanket in the grass on a rare sunny day. It was so romantic. It would have been perfect, if the watch on his wrist wasn’t the exact one I’d given Leo. 1 My vision blurred as I scrolled back, my thumb moving frantically. I landed on a video. A girl’s sweet, playful voiceover. “Someone said he wanted to celebrate landing the project bonus, so he booked this place as a surprise! I’m so spoiled!” The camera panned to the man sitting across from her. Only his jawline and the hand cradling a wine glass were visible. On that wrist, the watch I’d bought him was a searing brand. He murmured a low “Mm,” and the sound was laced with a familiar, lazy smile. It was the tone he only used when he was in an exceptionally good mood. A project bonus? My mind flashed back a week. Leo had vaguely mentioned being part of some group project, that there might be a small stipend. I’d been so happy for him that I’d transferred him the eight hundred dollars I’d saved by eating ramen for a month straight. Buy yourself some supplements, I’d texted. Don’t work yourself to death. Now, the thought was a bitter pill. My money probably just covered the bouquet of flowers sitting on their romantic dinner table. At the end of the video, the girl cooed, “I love that watch. You wear it every time I see you.” The man’s voice was laced with a casual, indulgent affection. “It’s an old thing. But it felt right for tonight.” An old thing. Felt right for the occasion. Every word was a needle dipped in ice, piercing my eardrum, plunging straight into my heart. I’d spent three months taking on every freelance gig I could find, working until I was so exhausted I ended up in urgent care on an IV drip, just to save up for that watch. And he wore it to accessorize a romantic dinner with someone else. “Anya!” Mark, a guy from the university photography club, tapped my shoulder, pulling me from the screen. “You can’t wear that busted old coat to the desert next month. It’s literally got holes in it.” He gestured to my frayed parka. “It’s not professional, and it’s definitely not warm enough. You should get a real technical jacket.” I forced a smile. “No money.” He looked completely baffled. “How is that possible? Anya, your work is incredible. Magazines would kill for some of your shots. How are you always broke?” “The money I’ve earned the last few years? I fed it all to a dog.” I laughed, a hollow, self-mocking sound. My eyes dropped back to my phone. I dialed Leo’s number. “The meteor photo that’s all over the internet,” I said, my voice flat. “What’s going on?” He paused, then his voice turned cool. “You were going to sell it anyway, right? I just sold it to a classmate ahead of time.” “Where’s the money?” “I kept it. Saves you the trouble of wiring it back to me.” I took a deep breath, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Leo, are we still a couple?” His tone sharpened, turning dark. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you breaking up with me?” A raw, painful laugh escaped my lips. “I’m not the one who wants to let go. But I’m not so sure about you.” The line went silent. All I could hear was his breathing, each exhalation heavier than the last. The cool, self-possessed man I knew, the heir who never lost his composure, was finally angry with me. “Anya Ross,” he seethed, his voice tight with fury. “Say that again.” But before I could speak, he hung up. It was just like when his family’s fortune first collapsed. He couldn’t handle the loss of status, and he’d lash out just like this—angry outbursts, hung-up calls. And within a day, I’d be the one crawling back, apologizing, sending him money, waiting for him to graciously accept my apology. But not this time. Ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest, I opened an airline app, my face a mask of stone. Destination: London, United Kingdom. I confirmed the booking. My passport and visa were still valid from a trip we’d planned and canceled. The entire process was brutally fast. The flight was on the 23rd. Fine, Leo. If you don’t want to listen to what I have to say, I’ll just have to come show you the proof in person. 2 My fingertips were trembling, but I forced myself to keep digging through her account. The girl, Chloe, wasn’t just sharing her life; she was a well-known photography influencer on the platform. The Northern Lights, the Milky Way over snow-capped peaks, star trails in the desert… she had posted dozens of breathtaking, magnificent photos, earning her a legion of adoring fans. They called her a prodigy, a visual queen. Her latest post had just gone up. My favorite photo of the year. Come enjoy the cosmic fireworks with me~ The attached image: my meteor photo. Including that one, every single one of her posts with over a hundred thousand likes was a photo I had taken. I was the original artist. But I had no capital to prove it. Because I had sold them all. I’d sold them completely—usage rights, credit, everything. It was the only way to get a high price quickly, the only way I could make enough money to support Leo’s life abroad. I opened my message history with my regular buyer, a private account that went by “Mr. S.” Leo, is it fun using my photos to pave the way for your new girlfriend? A single question mark appeared in response. You’re a real piece of work. (This message could not be delivered. You have been blocked by this user.) Ha. Hahahaha! I clutched my stomach, laughter bubbling up and turning into gasping sobs that tore from my throat. I remembered, before he left the States, a crisp autumn day when Leo had driven me deep into the mountains to a forest of golden aspen trees. He was wearing a dark gray cashmere sweater, and his warm hand enveloped mine as we pressed the shutter button together. The proud, privileged man I knew had leaned in, for the first time, and whispered softly in my ear. “Anya,” he’d said. “I will always love the world I see through your camera.” He was the one who led me down this path, and then he was the one who bled me dry, sucking the marrow from my bones. All to elevate his bright, dazzling new love. I had become a ghost, a photographer with no name and no dignity. The irony was crushing. The moment I stepped into my dorm room, my roommate’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Well, look who it is. If it isn’t the great photographer Anya, always too busy for us mere mortals.” She rolled her eyes. “All that time shooting and not a single decent photo to your name. And you’re still president of the photo club…” She scoffed. “You’re not half the artist Chloe is.” I tilted my head. “Who’s Chloe?” That was all the invitation she needed. She shoved her phone in my face. Oh, I knew that face all too well. The girl who had built her fame on my work. “Her full name is Chloe Reed,” my roommate gushed. “Her family doesn’t have much, but she worked her ass off and got a full scholarship to study in London! She’s talented, beautiful, and she has a super hot boyfriend.” She pointed to the screen. “Look, this meteor shot that’s gone viral? She took it.” I pushed her hand away. “I took that picture,” I said, my voice low and heavy. I hadn’t signed a contract for that one. It was still mine. “Bullshit!” she snapped, instantly defensive. “Just because you can’t produce anything good yourself, you’re going to steal credit for someone else’s hard work?” My other roommate, who had been reading, looked up. “Seriously, have some self-respect.” I was about to argue, but the first roommate suddenly shrieked. “Oh my god, Chloe just posted again! She’s in such a good mood today, she put up a bunch of new pics with her boyfriend!” I immediately unlocked my own phone. A new post had just appeared on her feed. Waves and sand~ The photo was of her in a cute, sexy bikini, her chest pressed tightly against a man’s bare torso. There were faint, ambiguous red marks on her neck, her waist, even near her bikini line. Someone in the comments mentioned she must be rich. She replied instantly: Not me, but the people around me are! lol~ I think he comes from some big, important family. Even though all the signs had been pointing to the fact that Leo wasn’t as broke as I’d believed, seeing it laid out so clearly was like a punch to the gut. “Hey,” my roommate taunted, “I heard you have a boyfriend abroad too. How does he stack up against Chloe’s?” My mouth opened, but no words came out. My heart felt like it was being squeezed and torn apart. What could I possibly say? That my boyfriend had already been sleeping with someone else? That while he was working up a sweat in bed with Chloe Reed, I was wearing through the soles of my boots in the desert just to capture a landscape that would sell for a high price? I ate cheap bread and skipped meals, I wore clothes until they fell apart, all so I could send every last cent to him. In all these years, I could count the number of times he’d kissed me. But the number of times he’d been with that girl… it was probably more than the number of words he’d said to me all month. Anya Ross, how pathetic can you be? I pushed past them and dialed a number I kept buried deep in my contacts. “Hello?” A deep, commanding male voice answered. I picked at a hangnail. “I need to file a lawsuit. Someone stole my photography, and it’s getting a lot of attention. I need your help.” “Anya Ross?” The man’s voice softened, a note of lazy amusement creeping in. “Give me one good reason why I should help you.” “Because you’re in love with me.” 3 A stunned silence hung on the other end of the line. Finally, the man’s voice came back, tight and strained. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. Do you really think I’m some dog you can keep on a leash? That you can just call whenever you feel like it?” My own voice was eerily calm. “You’re not a dog, Evan. You’re the only person I trust right now.” I could almost hear Evan Grant trying to suppress a smile. He adopted a strange, mocking tone. “What’s wrong? Why not ask Leo? Your precious boyfriend, the one you’ve poured your heart and soul into for all these years?” “He cheated on me. And he’s been lying to me for years, using my work to build a platform for the girl he’s sleeping with.” “…What?” Each word was clipped, precise. Evan’s voice had turned arctic. “That bastard. How dare he?” I didn’t say any more. I hung up and sent him a text. [I’ll send you the evidence and her account info later. I have something to take care of first.] [?? Where are you going?] [To catch a cheater.] On the morning of the 23rd, I boarded the plane. I didn’t sleep for a second during the ten-hour flight, and by the time we landed, my eyes were shot with red. Ding-dong. I rang the doorbell of Leo’s apartment. After a long moment, I heard the sound of shuffling footsteps approaching. A woman’s delicate, breathy voice came from behind the door. “Who is it?” She pulled it open. I was face to face with the girl I’d seen a thousand times on my phone. Chloe Reed, looking sweet and pretty, was wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, her lips suspiciously red and swollen. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin was covered in fading marks, and she had the languid, dazed look of someone who’d just been thoroughly fucked. From the bathroom a few feet away, I could hear the shower running. Leo’s voice, husky and satisfied, drifted out. “Chloe, baby, who’s at the door?” She tilted her head, looking at me with confusion. “Can I help you?” “Chloe Reed?” I asked, my voice flat. She nodded, frowning, and started to close the door. I jammed my foot in the opening and then kicked it hard. As she stumbled back, off-balance, I swung my arm in a wide arc and slapped her across the face. CRACK. “Ahh!” she screamed, a hand flying to her cheek where a red mark was already blooming. “Are you insane?!” Hearing the commotion, Leo rushed out, not even bothering to put on pants. He had a towel wrapped around his waist. “Chloe! What’s wrong?” When he saw me, his furious expression froze. He stared in disbelief, murmuring my name like a ghost. “Anya… Anya Ross?” I just looked at him, saying nothing. Hidden at my sides, my nails were digging so deep into my palms that I was sure I’d drawn blood. His face was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, embarrassment, regret… Finally, he swept his damp hair back from his forehead, revealing his sharp, handsome features. His eyes, however, were filled with a thick, suffocating… disgust. “Following me all the way here,” he said coolly. “You’re really overplaying your hand.” I thought I’d misheard him. The blood in my veins turned to ice. “I’m overplaying my hand?” Chloe scrambled behind him, grabbing his arm timidly. “Leo, she just hit me. It really hurts…” His brow furrowed into a deep line. He nodded at me. “Apologize.” “Chloe! I got the mini-cupcakes you wanted!” A cheerful voice interrupted the standoff. It was my younger brother, Sam. The bright smile on his face vanished the second he saw me. “Anya.” He shoved past me, his voice full of complaint. “What are you doing here? You’re going to scare Chloe.” I grabbed his arm, my own voice tight and strained. “You’re my brother, Sam. Leo is cheating on me. Why didn’t you…” Why didn’t you tell me? He wrenched his arm away. “It’s not cheating! Chloe is amazing, and she and Leo are in love!” He glared at me. “Besides, don’t you think showing up here like this makes you look like a crazy, jealous wife?” A… crazy wife? I stared at my empty hand, numb. “Sam, don’t talk to your sister like that. You’ll hurt her feelings,” Chloe chided, pouting. But the look she shot me was pure, undisguised triumph. Sam rolled his eyes. “Who cares? She dresses like a slob, never wears makeup. It’s so trashy. I’m embarrassed to even admit she’s my sister when we’re in public.” “Enough!” Leo rubbed his temples. He strode forward, grabbed my hand, and yanked me into his arms. His fingers clamped around my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. His tone was the same as always—arrogant, entitled. “I already told you I’m going to marry you. What I do for fun is none of your business.” My body was pressed against his bare chest. The thought of what he had just been doing with Chloe in this apartment made my stomach churn with nausea. Fighting the urge to vomit, I squeezed two words through my teeth. “We’re done.” Leo’s brow tightened. He didn’t believe me. “Stop playing hard to get. The position of Mrs. Maxwell will be yours eventually. All this drama is just annoying.” I screamed, my voice raw. “I SAID WE’RE DONE! YOU’RE A FILTHY ANIMAL WHO CAN’T KEEP IT IN HIS PANTS, AND THE THOUGHT OF YOU DISGUSTS ME!” His expression shuttered, the atmosphere around him turning dangerously cold. “Say that again.” He crushed my struggles, pinning me against him. I was burning with a helpless, bloody rage, completely unable to move. Suddenly, there was a sharp whistling sound through the air. THWACK! A fist connected with Leo’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. A familiar voice, cold and vicious, came from behind me. “She said let go. Didn’t you hear her?” It all happened in an instant. A long, strong hand landed on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The person leaned in close to my ear, his voice a low, teasing drawl. “Good thing I made it in time. Wouldn’t want our Anya getting bullied, now would we?” Tears instantly welled in my eyes. It was Evan. He was here.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "386020", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel