To avoid even the slightest hint of favoritism, my husband, the Chief of Surgery, barely spoke to me at the hospital. If I presented a case at conference, he refused to comment on it. If I signed up for a department event, he made sure not to attend. If I applied for a fellowship or leadership program, he made sure he wasn't involved in the selection process. Because of him, I'd spent 5 years as an attending physician without advancing any further. And yet my case records, CME credits, and written exams were all up to standard. Lance Thorne was one of the most influential members of the promotions committee, and every single time, his evaluation said the same thing. Meets minimum expectations. Further development recommended. That was all it took to keep me exactly where I was. After my application was rejected for the 3rd time, I finally started thinking about transferring to another hospital. Lance rushed into the break room the moment he found out. "Can you wait one more year? Next year, I'll be promoted to Medical Director. Once that happens, we can make our relationship public, and I won't have to hold back anymore." His eyes were red when he said it. So I withdrew my resignation. A year later, Lance became Associate Director right on schedule. I prepared every document, submitted my application, and waited. This time, I truly believed he would approve me. I thought he would finally tell everyone the truth about us. 2 days later, my name wasn't on the promotion list. Not far away, a group of coworkers were congratulating Lance's first love, who had only returned to the country a year ago. "Evelyn, Dr. Thorne really pulled some strings for you this time. I heard his review alone was over 10 pages." Lance lowered his gaze toward her, his expression gentle. "She was qualified. I just helped things along." I stood there frozen. Then I looked at the promotion list one last time. Whatever hope I had left died right there. I pulled out my phone. This time, I didn't hesitate. Jocelyn: I'll take that position you said you'd keep open for me.

My fiancé, Ethan Calder, hosted a late-night relationship advice show. Every day, he told listeners to talk things out instead of giving up on a relationship too easily. Yet whenever we fought, all he ever said was, "Can't you be a little more mature?" Before our wedding, I left our names out and sent the story of our 7-year relationship to his listener inbox. When he read my letter live on air, he had an answer almost immediately.   "This man doesn't love you anymore. He missed your birthday and left you sick and alone to keep a female coworker company. He wasn't busy. Someone else simply mattered more."   I sat frozen in front of the radio for a long moment. That was when it hit me: he understood everything.   His co-host asked, "Then why hasn't she left him?"   Ethan laughed. "Because those 7 years mean too much to her. She can't bear to admit she chose the wrong man. She's easy to win back. Ignore her for a few days, then buy her flowers. She'll come back on her own."   After the show, Ethan messaged me.   Ethan: Still mad? I bought you flowers. I'm on my way back. I'll go with you to your wedding dress fitting tomorrow morning.   He had no idea the man he'd just picked apart line by line was himself. And I'd already taken his advice. After all, 7 years was a long time, but I wasn't going to throw the rest of my life away too.

The night I lost my bid for a promotion to director, I sat on the curb and bought a box of tater tots.   I ate them one by one as tears streamed down my face.   I texted my boyfriend, Jason Carter.   Ella: I'm a little tired today, but the tater tots are good.   He didn't reply.   After 30 minutes, I couldn't help sending another message.   Ella: Are you busy? I want to talk to you.   He finally replied.   Jason: What's that supposed to mean? Are you asking me to pay for them?   I stared at those words for a long moment.   When Harborline Advisory was just getting started, Jason's ex-girlfriend had run off with every cent of his investment. Overnight, he had been left with more than $100 million in debt.   Ever since then, he had hated gold diggers more than anything.   That was why I had gone 50-50 on everything with him for 6 years. I returned every gift unopened, and I made sure every project win was on the record for anyone to scrutinize.   When I refreshed my social media feed, I saw that Mary Collins, the intern who had beaten me to the promotion, was wearing a limited-edition diamond necklace.   Mary's Status: Thank you, Jason, for celebrating my promotion. I know I have a bright future ahead of me.   I had seen that necklace in a magazine. Only three were made.   In 6 years, Jason had never given me a gift worth more than $50.   The necklace around Mary's neck was worth $1 million.   My tears blurred the phone screen. Suddenly, I felt that all the years I had spent desperately proving I wasn't after his money weren't worth even a box of tater tots to him.

Ever since Ethan Clark and I got together, threatening to break up had been his go-to move. Over those three years, I'd lost count of how many times he'd said it. Again and again, I'd been the one to give in, smooth things over, and apologize to him. Until now. This fight started because I found a tube of lipstick in his car. Before I could even ask about it, Ethan looked at me, clearly annoyed. "If you can't even trust me over something this stupid, then let's just break up." I stared at him for a long moment. Then I quietly put the lipstick back where I'd found it. "Okay," I said softly. "Then let's break up." For just a second, he looked genuinely caught off guard. Then his brows drew together. "Whatever. Do what you want." I watched his car disappear down the road. For once, I didn't give in first. And this time, I wasn't going to be the one to apologize.

Five years into our engagement, Nate Pierce finally agreed to go ahead with our wedding. But the night before the wedding, he handed the reception hall I'd designed and my wedding dress over to Vanessa Hale, who'd just returned from abroad. Our guests wouldn't even need to be swapped out. "Her father only has 3 months left. We can reschedule." He said it as if it were nothing, then told me to stay and run the ceremony for them. I didn't cry or make a scene. I took off my lead planner's badge and sent one last email to the venue and every vendor. Raine: Revoke all design licenses for tomorrow's event. Terminate the partnership with Pierce Weddings. He thought I was just sulking. The next morning, as 300 guests filed in, the lights went out. A notice terminating the design license appeared on the main screen, and I led my entire team out through a side door. Only then did he understand. I hadn't just canceled a wedding. I'd taken away every last trace of the 10 years I'd spent loving him.

My husband and I had lived in different countries for 7 years without seeing each other. He came home the day after I drew up our divorce papers. His first stop wasn't our house. It was my office. When I arrived, he was quietly scolding the student who'd been making my life a living hell. She looked amused, not intimidated. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. I knocked, interrupting them. She didn't look remotely embarrassed. She just rolled her eyes at me. "My parents are busy. Whatever you have to say, say it to my fiancé. He flew all the way back from Valenne today just so you could lecture him instead of me." The lipstick on his lips brought back a memory from our anniversary last year. This same girl had called me a crazy old virgin in front of hundreds of students. As the lecture hall erupted in laughter, I'd fallen apart and called Julian, begging him to come home and be with me. His answer had been cold. "I'm busy. Deal with it yourself." Julian froze for a second when our eyes met, then gave me a distant nod. "I'm not her fiancé. I'm Sophia's friend. I'm here to apologize for her behavior at school." "Friend? I'm marrying you as soon as I graduate!" "Don't say things like that..." Julian frowned, ready to explain. I cut him off with a smile. "It's fine. You're young. I understand. I hope you two tie the knot soon."

Before our wedding, my fiancé, Carmine, moved the ex he'd never gotten over into one of his houses. When I questioned him, he sounded completely sincere. "Lucia just got divorced. Her ex ran up a mountain of gambling debt and left her to pay it off. She doesn't have a job or even a place to stay." He swore it was temporary. He was just helping her out, and he wouldn't cross any lines. In 4 years together, he'd never broken a promise to me. I trusted him to keep his word, so I agreed. Then, one afternoon, I stopped by his members-only club with a floral sample I'd just finished for our new home. Through the doorway, I saw him sitting with Lucia. He held a cigarette between his fingers and sounded pleased with himself. "It's all taken care of, Lucia. Your ex's debts are paid off, and the house is in your name. You can relax." Lucia laughed. "That's a lot of money. Aren't you afraid your fiancée will check the accounts?" Carmine chuckled and casually tapped the ash from his cigarette. "She wouldn't know what to look for. That money she gave me to save the company? I took half of it to bail you out. I've covered it up in the books. She'll never notice." Outside the door, my grip loosened. The flowers drooped at my side, their thorns digging into my palm.

My boyfriend loved playing the amnesia game. Every year, he pretended not to know me, forcing me to chase him all over again. He did this because he was insecure and needed constant reassurance of my love. It was incredibly annoying. But for the sake of his beautiful face, I tolerated it. In our third year together, he "lost his memory" again. Only this time, he brought another woman back with him. Right in front of me, Mike kissed her on the lips. I froze for a second, feeling a quiet sense of pity—'He's ruined now.' Seeing my gloomy expression, Mike's lips curled upward. "Who are you? Why are you in my house? Don't tell me... you're my dad's little girlfriend?" I looked at him quietly, suddenly remembering what I had overheard him telling his friend yesterday, "Lina has been a bit cold to me lately. I've decided to follow Amir's advice and give her a good scare. If she passes this test, I'll propose to her." Loving someone like this was just too exhausting. So, I nodded. "Yes. Call me Mom."

At five years old, I was finally recognized and brought back to my wealthy family in America. Right after my parents transferred one million dollars into my account for living expenses, they packed their bags and flew abroad for a business trip. They left me and the fake heiress, Wendy, staring at each other in a massive mansion in suburban Westoria. Three months later, my parents returned early, wanting to surprise us. But the moment they stepped into the backyard, they saw Wendy, who was usually so delicate, covered in dirt and chewing on a charred piece of corn. My mother's heart wrenched, and her eyes welled up with tears instantly. She turned to look toward the house, her voice trembling, "Where is Daisy? Did she use her status as our biological daughter to bully Wendy? Forcing someone to eat wild weeds and wear tattered clothes... Are you trying to torture her to death?!" In the next second, I popped out from behind the bushes, carrying a small bamboo basket on my back. Lying inside the basket was half a load of empty soda cans and three withered wild weeds. I wiped the soot off my face with the back of my hand, revealing two rows of bright white teeth, and smiled innocently and brilliantly. "Mom, did you call me?" My parents fell dead silent. Because they realized... while the fake heiress looked like a savage, the real heiress looked even more like a savage. So, here comes the question: where did all the money go?

For five years, I was stationed overseas. Now, I was finally flying back to San Francisco from the London branch. As I walked out of the airport, I was filled with anticipation. I thought Julian Caulfield would keep his promise and propose to me. But he was merely standing at the pickup area, his expression utterly indifferent. "Sophia, I'm sorry." Before I could sense that something was wrong, he spoke again. "I was the one who pulled the strings behind that transfer. I deliberately had you transferred to the London branch to make room for Linda and me. She was pregnant back then. I had no choice." A long silence followed, lasting until I bit my lips hard enough to draw blood. For five years, I worked from dawn until late at night, pushing myself through every project until I developed stomach problems. Still, I gritted my teeth and carried on. I had thought he wanted me to advance my career, prove myself, and return to become the new vice president of the San Francisco headquarters. But it turned out that all of it had been an elaborate lie he had carefully orchestrated. "You're too ambitious and too forceful," he said. "I was worried you'd hurt her. "I'm telling you the truth, not because I'm asking for your forgiveness. I just want you to have time to calm down so you don't make a scene." His voice was filled with helplessness. I took a step back, avoiding the hand he reached toward me, and smiled through my tears. "Julian, you took something that could have ended with dignity and made that impossible."

My best friend, Sarah Morley, handed me a sandwich.  I took a single bite, and the raw, blistering heat hit me instantly, leaving me gasping with my tongue out. She doubled over, clutching her stomach in laughter. "Oh, Lauren! I drowned that thing in hot sauce. If you want some water, all you have to do is ask!" I opened my mouth, straining with everything I had, but not a single articulate sound came out. "Alright, that's enough. Stop teasing her," my boyfriend, Andrew Marshall, chimed in. He handed me a glass, and I grabbed it, gulping desperately, only to choke on the chili water. A violent coughing fit tore through my chest. Panicked, I lunged toward the water pitcher on the table. Sarah beat me to it, snatching it up and holding it high out of reach. Andrew looked at me with an encouraging smile. "Lauren, Sarah's right. If you want something, you need to use your voice." Ever since the night an intruder broke into my house and murdered my parents, I had been trapped in functional aphonia. Since then, the two of them had made it their personal mission to shock me back into speaking. Once, while hiking, they abandoned me all by myself in the middle of nowhere. Another time, during a trip, they hired someone to pose as a burglar and break into my hotel room. They were convinced that forcing me to the absolute edge would unlock my hidden potential. But every single time, all I could manage were helpless, broken croaks. Just as the searing heat turned my face crimson and my throat threatened to close up completely, Sarah finally handed over the pitcher. I grabbed a glass and chugged the water down, only to hear her whisper another idea. "This isn't intense enough, Andrew. What if we kiss? Lauren cares about you so much. If she gets jealous enough, she'll definitely yell out." Stunned, my hands flew up, desperately signing to Andrew, "No, please don't." Andrew closed his eyes tightly, turning his face away. "Lauren, my eyes are closed. You have to tell me with your words." I turned to Sarah, pleading with my eyes, but she just gave me a playful smirk. She slid right onto Andrew's lap, cupped his face in her hands, and pulled him into a deep, lingering kiss. As their lips locked in a passionate, tangled mess, I struggled to force the words out. "Let's break up."

The day before our high school reunion, Helena, the cheer captain who'd tormented me nonstop for three whole years, suddenly dropped an old video into our class group chat. The footage showed my 180-pound teenage self, locked in a supply closet, external media text reading: Fatty pigs not permitted to eat. Ping. The chat blew up instantly, messages flying in faster than I could read them. Classmate A: Holy shit, she's coming to the reunion too? Classmate B: Think the restaurant chairs are gonna hold her weight? Classmate C: It's been years, right? What if she's so big now she can't even squeeze through the door? Helena, the ringleader of all the abuse I went through back then, tagged me directly. Helena: Hey, Lucy! Everyone's dying to see you. You have to make it this time, okay? Before long, someone set up a betting pool, wagering on whether I'd have the guts to show up. Helena dropped a hundred dollars on me bailing. The football team captain, Dominic, the guy I'd had a crush on for three whole years, threw down his bet right after she did. Dominic: If she actually has the nerve to come, I'll give her a big hug in front of everyone. Call it an apology for all the stuff that went down back in the day. The whole chat erupted in laughter. I stared at that video, the same one that had jolted me awake screaming from nightmares so many times, and clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. During high school, I started taking medication for an illness, and my weight climbed to 180 pounds. I quit the cheerleading squad. Jessica, who had always been jealous of me, suddenly started bullying me. But she didn't know—after I recovered, my weight had dropped back to 98 pounds, and I had become a supermodel. My runway walk was named "Best Supermodel of the Season" by Vogue. I'd just wrapped shows at all four major fashion weeks in Milan, Paris, New York, and London, landing runway slots for three blue-chip fashion houses.  Even less did they know that Elite Model Management, the agency Helena had sent hundreds of applications to without ever landing a single interview, had already added me to their global supermodel roster. My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second. I quietly placed a five-hundred-dollar bet on myself showing up, sharp and on the dot. Then, as everyone in the group whooped and roasted each other, I shot back a single message. Me: Winner takes all, loser pays up.

Cole, my husband, had agreed that we’d stay child free for twenty whole years. Then, out of nowhere, his seven-year-old child showed up. I hired a private investigator to dig into the whole mess, only to find out that his mistress, Lila, was already pregnant with another child. The day the ugly truth finally came out, Cole and I exploded into a vicious screaming match. Our parents and old friends rushed over to mediate, crowding into the living room and taking turns giving us their two cents. "Why do you have to drag this out and make such a huge scene? You two have been married for twenty years, for crying out loud. Let’s be real, when a man reaches this age, of course he wants a child of his own. That’s completely understandable." Tears burned the backs of my eyes as I stared at Cole, who hadn’t said a single word the entire time. He was in his early forties now, but he was still as handsome as ever. "You can bring the child here to live with us. That’s the biggest compromise I’m willing to make." Cole grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. I thought he had accepted my offer, until he reached up and ripped our wedding photo off the wall. "Lila carried my child for ten whole months. She went through hell for me. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving her all alone!" He looked straight at me, and there wasn’t a trace of love left in his eyes. "If you can’t accept her and the child, starting today, I’ll stay over there on weekdays and come back here on weekends to be with you." I clenched my palms so tightly that my nails dug crescent-shaped marks into my skin. At that moment, I knew deep down that we could never go back to the way things were. I dug my nails so deep into my palms I could almost taste blood. Then I spat out the words I never thought I’d say. "Fine. If that’s how you want it, we’re getting a divorce."

I was the most admired wife in a wealthy family, yet I personally took care of my husband's dog. No matter how dirty it got, I always bathed it myself. My husband often became jealous because of it. "Didn't we hire a housekeeper? You spend all day bathing the dog and never have time for me." I merely smiled and said nothing. Sometimes, a dog is more useful than a person. There were things I could not get out of a person's mouth, but a dog would tell me through its actions. The day before yesterday, just as I was about to wipe the dog's paws, it suddenly pulled a pair of pink lace panties out of my husband's bag. I picked them up and took a look. They were not my size. The next day, I took the dog to my husband's hotel and let it smell the panties again. "Smell carefully and find out who this belongs to."

The first time I laid eyes on Carter Boone, the captain of our school's ice hockey team, I fell head over heels for him instantly. Amy Reed cheered me on to shoot my shot if I really liked him, and she even came up with a whole game plan for me. She told me to lay on the charm, act all cute and playful, and call him "babe" every time we ran into each other. She also pushed me to join the cheer squad so I could be right there at his games, cheering him on like his own personal hype woman. But after two whole months of me chasing him like crazy, even Carter's teammates were practically melting at how much effort I put in. The guy himself? Still as cold and unresponsive as a block of ice. It wasn't until today that Amy finally came clean. "Actually, that online boyfriend I've been telling you about? It's Carter. I told you to go after him just to test how loyal he is. I had no idea he was this dedicated—he even turned down a total knockout like you! Sorry, girl, but looks like I can't let you have him after all."

At the freshman orientation party, Joren Thorne's underclassman Luvy Mia suggested playing Truth or Dare. When she got picked to spill a secret about someone in the room, she leaned in with a mysterious little smile and said in a dramatic, hushed tone. "This girl is wild as hell. She makes Rhys Thorne go with her to the hospital every month to get her hymen repaired. Total shameless skank who throws herself at old men to climb the social ladder." Everyone there knew Rhys Thorne was Joren's dad. The room immediately erupted in whoops and catcalls, everyone yelling over each other to ask who she was talking about. Luvy snickered first, then darted a pointed look straight at me. "Who else could it be? C'mon, it's obviously the one here in the most revealing outfit, duh!" When she noticed me glaring right at her, she panicked and scrambled to cover her tracks. "Whoa, senior, I didn't mean you, okay? It's just a joke, don't take it seriously!" Just like that, in the blink of an eye, every single pair of eyes in the room was locked on me. I let out a cold, cutting laugh. "Oh, you're not wrong. The last time Joren brought you home, you even called me Mom."

The most arrogant rich heir in Chicago confessed to me in public, but I threw the flowers he gave me into the fountain and started making up lies on the spot. "Sorry, but your best buddy already told me—you're only chasing me because you bet a hundred-million-dollar estate with someone that you could sleep with me within a month. "Instead of getting mad that a girl from the slums stole your number-one spot at Evermont University, why don't you actually study harder for the next exam?" Then, I looked at the group of heirs standing around us. "Sure, all of you have said so many nasty things about him behind his back just to make me happy, but... "I don't like men who betray their brothers. Sorry." The moment those words left my mouth, everyone started looking at each other in shock and suspicion.

The impostor heiress was desperately insecure. Again and again, she pushed her wealthy fiancé, Adrian Hale, away just to test his love.   After I was brought back to the Bennett family, she even started pushing me toward him.   At first, she merely had me appear before Adrian in one of her dresses. Later, she deliberately tricked him into entering my bedroom.   Whenever we were discovered, Chloe Bennett would burst into tears and say, "Claire is the one who should be your fiancée. I'm nothing but an impostor."   Every time, Adrian pushed me away and chose her without hesitation.   Reassured by his repeated displays of devotion, Chloe grew bolder and took her little games further.   Finally, she insisted that every relative and friend be invited to her wedding with Adrian.   Then, with all eyes on her, Chloe once again declared that she wasn't worthy of him and booked an overnight flight out of the country.   "Adrian, she's the one who should be your fiancée."   She thought this time would end like all the others.   But Adrian looked back at the cousins waiting to see him humiliated and rubbed his brow wearily.   "Claire Bennett, will you marry me?"