It’s been a year since we broke up. My ex-boyfriend suddenly rose from the dead and sent me a text. 【Do you remember that lipstick you used to wear when we were together? What was the shade? I’m seeing someone new and want to buy it for her.】 I thought about it for two seconds and texted back: 【Oh, I forgot. Why don't you ask that guy on your basketball team? He’s the one who bought it for me.】 My phone stayed silent for exactly two seconds before it started vibrating like a bomb. 【WTF!】 【Who? Which teammate?】 【Who the hell was it?】 【Answer me, please.】 I sent him a cheeky emoji with its tongue sticking out. 【None of your business.】 1 Friday night. I was huddled on my sofa, mid-slurp into a bowl of spicy ramen, when my ex-boyfriend’s name popped up on my screen. I didn't just jump; I practically did a 360-degree backflip of joy. It wasn't that I missed him—it was that "I won" feeling. When we broke up, I gave Caleb Vance the full treatment: deleted, blocked, and erased from every social platform. I only kept his number unblocked, waiting for the day he’d be the first to cave. "Ha!" I screenshotted it immediately and called my best friend. "Keisha, Caleb just texted me." "No way. What’s he want?" "Probably realized I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. Probably crying into his pillow." I opened the message, ready to reject a long apology. Instead, the smile froze on my face. 【Do you remember that lipstick you used to wear? It looked great. What was the shade? I’m seeing someone new and want to buy it for her.】 Are you kidding me? He’s already chasing a new crush? Was I the only clown here? Caleb really is a jerk to the bitter end. I thought for two seconds and hit him with the teammate line. Then, I turned my phone off. By the time I’d finished my dishes and came back, I had 99+ notifications. 【?】 【Chloe, tell me right now!】 【Who?!】 【Which one?】 【TELL ME.】 【Are you seriously ignoring me?】 Caleb’s texts were flying out like they were free. I pulled out my secret weapon: the cheeky emoji and the text: 【None of your business】. The phone went quiet. For a second. Then: 【Chloe!】 【Stay right there. I’m coming to your place.】 Someone’s triggered. 2 Caleb and I were a college romance that died at graduation. He’s a walking contradiction. Before we dated, he was the "Ice King"—cold, untouchable, the campus god. After we started dating, he turned into a total sarcastic brat. If I took my jacket off because I was hot, he’d ask if I was preparing for takeoff. If I crouched to tie my shoe, he’d call it "Transformers, roll out!" A high-altitude flower with a gutter mouth. I used to complain to Keisha, and she’d say it was "the gap-moe charm." To be fair, Caleb had his perks. He did all my elective homework. He tutored me through Calculus until I actually got an A. He even mapped out the framework for my senior thesis. The price of being "carried" academically was that Caleb moved to Wall Street for a high-powered internship, while I became a junior editor at a tiny boutique agency. That’s when it fell apart. He was drowning in spreadsheets at an investment bank. We went from talking every hour to three sentences a week. I understood he was building a future, but I was lonely. The breaking point? One night, he finally had time for me. After a rare moment of intimacy, I wanted to cuddle and talk. Caleb just rolled out of bed, grabbed his laptop, and started working on a pitch deck. A total "hit it and quit it" move, even if we were dating. I snapped. I ripped off the necklace he’d bought me with his first paycheck and threw it at his face. "Caleb, we’re done." The look on his face then was terrifying—like a storm about to break. I shuddered at the memory. "Bad vibes, bad vibes," I muttered, closing my eyes to sleep. "Caleb has bad luck, Caleb has bad luck..." Just as I was drifting off, my phone rang. "What? Caleb is in the ER?!" Did my bad-luck chant actually work? Do I need to buy a lottery ticket? "Ms. Smith, you need to come down. It’s... complicated." 3 I rushed to the hospital. I finally found the VIP wing and pushed open the door. Caleb looked up. His white shirt was stained with blood, his chest was half-bare, and his arm was in a heavy cast. Thankfully, his face was still perfect. The doctor handed me a chart. "Car accident. Road rash on his back, a fractured radius, and a significant concussion." "Wait, a concussion? Did he hit his head hard?" I walked up to Caleb. "Do you know who you are?" Caleb stared into my eyes for a long beat, then slowly shook his head. Great. If I saw this plot in a Netflix drama, I’d turn it off for being too cliché. "Ms. Smith," the doctor said, "you’ll need to settle the intake fees at the window." "Wait, I’m not—we aren't together." The doctor looked at Caleb. "Didn't you say she was your girlfriend?" I glared at him. What game was he playing? Caleb silently pulled out his phone and showed the doctor our lock screen—it was a photo of us making out from two years ago. Then he pulled up an old campus blog post about the "Chemistry Department's Power Couple." I couldn't believe he still had that stuff. The doctor waved it off as a "lovers' quarrel" and left the room. We were alone. I dropped the act. "I don't have the money for this, Caleb. I'm leaving." Caleb lunged for my hand, hissing in pain as he strained the wounds on his back. That low, gutteral groan... it was way too easy to misinterpret in a quiet hospital room. He looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes. "Babe, did we fight? My gallery is full of us, but I can only text you? Why am I blocked?" I fought the urge to give in to his "battle-worn" handsomeness. "Cut the crap. You're faking. We’ve been over for a year." Caleb’s breath hitched. "Babe, I'm not faking. Memories can go, but the feeling doesn't. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please don't leave me." I was losing the battle. Even the toughest woman can't handle Caleb Vance when he’s being this pathetic. "I'll add you back on WhatsApp if you give me the cash for the bill," I bargained. "I’ll send you three thousand," Caleb said calmly. "Pay the bill, keep the change." I found a "Sugar Daddy" in the ER. I pulled out my phone immediately. "Fine. Deal." Caleb smiled—a satisfied, "gotcha" smile—and scanned my QR code. I texted Keisha: 【He’s faking amnesia. I’m taking the money and running tomorrow.】 Keisha: 【Spoken like a true queen. Drain him dry, girl!】 4 It was nearly dawn. I decided to crash in the VIP suite's lounge chair so he couldn't claim I robbed him. When I woke up, Caleb was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at me like a lost kid. "Chloe... about that teammate." Here we go. "Which one was it? Why did he buy you lipstick? What shade?" I sat up, doing that "fake-busy" thing people do when they’re caught. I couldn't tell him the truth yet—that his teammate did give it to me, but only because Caleb had been too shy to give it to me himself and used the guy as a courier. "I don't have to tell you," I snapped. "I didn't ask you about your 'crush' from the text." Caleb’s expression hardened. "I don't remember much right now, but I know for a fact I don't have a 'crush' on anyone but you." Liar. I ignored him and scrolled through TikTok. The algorithm knew exactly what I wanted: hot guys in gray sweatpants. I was literally drooling over a video when I noticed Caleb’s shadow looming over me. "Phone's dying," I said, turning around. "Got a charger?" Caleb looked at me, his voice muffled. "In my bag." Who brings a charger to an emergency room car crash? I went into his bag—a high-end leather briefcase. Hanging off the zipper was a tiny, knitted peanut keychain I’d made him for his birthday. He’d called it "low-effort" at the time, but he was still using it. My heart twinged. I grabbed the cable and went to sleep. The next morning, I woke up to a heart-stopping sight. Caleb was shirtless, crouching by my chair. Eight-pack abs, high-definition, no filter. "Babe, you're awake?" He only used that word in bed before. I pushed him away. "I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, get back!" 5 I didn't realize how hard I pushed. Caleb is 6'2", but since he was off-balance, he went straight to the floor. He groaned, clutching his injured arm. I panicked and helped him up, my hand "accidentally" lingering on his abs. Smooth, warm, rock-solid. Better than college. Caleb smirked, catching my hand and pressing it harder against his stomach. He leaned into my ear. "Like it? I worked out just for you." My heart did a Olympic sprint. I pushed him again. "You’re shameless!" Caleb just laughed. He was a completely different person. The "concussion" had turned the Ice King into a Golden Retriever. The nurse walked in, clearing her throat. "Alright, break it up. Time to change the dressings." I bolted to the bathroom to wash my face. When I came out, the nurse was handing me a tube of ointment. "Once a day. And tell him: No strenuous activity." Caleb winked at me. I rolled my eyes. "Caleb, I have to go to work," I said, packing my things. "It's Saturday." "..." "I'm wounded. I can't even feed myself. You’re going to leave me here?" "The doctor said you're being discharged in two days. You aren't paralyzed." "Chloe, stay. I'll pay you a hundred dollars an hour to be my 'medical companion'." I paused. "You're that rich now? What's your salary?" Caleb shrugged. "I don't remember the exact number, but my bank statements suggest I'm clearing well over seven figures." My jaw dropped. I make forty-five thousand a year. "Well... purely for humanitarian reasons, I suppose I can stay." 6 I spent the next few days in a daze. Caleb was being... nice. He didn't make fun of my "Transformers" movements. He praised my "cooking" (which was just takeout I plated to look fancy). I was almost ready to give him a chance. Until I saw the truth. I arrived at the hospital thirty minutes early with "lunch." Through the glass of the door, I saw Caleb. He was hurriedly throwing off his suit jacket and putting on his hospital gown. Standing next to him was an elegant, mature woman with French curls and a tailored power suit. She was fixing his tie. "Slow down, Caleb. She’s not here yet." Her touch was familiar. The vibe was intimate. Caleb didn't pull away; he let her touch him like it was a daily habit. I felt like a total fool. Played twice by the same man. I turned around and walked out. I'm not a dog; I'm not coming back when you whistle. 7 I blocked him on everything. Again. I went to Keisha’s place with a case of beer and the most expensive sushi we could order. "He’s dead to me," I sobbed. "Good," Keisha said. "Because I have someone new for you. My high school friend. He’s 6'3", a corporate lawyer, and looks like a Disney prince." I needed a rebound to save my soul. "Fine. Set it up. Tomorrow." The next day, I wore my best white sundress. My date, Ethan Hunt, was actually better looking than his photos. He was a total gentleman. He pulled out my chair. He talked about philosophy, travel, and the future. Just as I was starting to forget Caleb Vance existed, Ethan leaned in. "You know, you actually remind me a lot of my ex-girlfriend." I almost choked on my drink. "Excuse me?" "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It’s just... she was my first love. We met abroad. We were going to get married under the Eiffel Tower." "Then what happened?" "My parents. They're old-fashioned. They didn't think she was 'high-class' enough. I couldn't stand up to them. I regret it every day." I felt a wave of pity. We were both victims of circumstance. Suddenly, a hand clamped onto my wrist. I was yanked out of my chair and into a solid chest. The scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne hit me. Caleb. He was in a sharp navy suit, his left arm still in a cast, but his right arm was wrapped around my waist like a vice. "Having fun?" he whispered into my ear, his voice tight with suppressed rage. Ethan stood up. "Who are you?" Caleb gave him a terrifyingly polite smile. "I’m her boyfriend. Who are you?" Ethan looked at me. "Chloe?" "He's my ex!" I yelled, trying to wiggle free. Caleb let out a cold laugh. He dragged me toward the exit. I pounded on his back. "Caleb, stop! This is kidnapping! I’ll call the cops!" He ignored my screaming, threw me into his car, and locked the doors. "Chloe," he warned, his eyes dark. "If you try to get out, I'm posting your drunk singing videos from college on LinkedIn."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "390784", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel