In high school, Elio missed his chance to make the basketball team because of bullying by a clique. After that, he swore that in this lifetime, he would never let anyone pull strings right under his nose. Even on our wedding night, he made sure to stress to me, "Our company values fairness above all. To avoid suspicion, we absolutely can't go public about us." He added, "You're new here. You need to keep a low profile. Leave the wrap‑up work for the new project to someone else." Because of that, for five years of marriage, even though I secured countless orders worth tens of millions for the company, I remained at a junior position in the department. I thought this was proof of Elio's fairness. Until his old classmate went bankrupt and parachuted into the company the next day, becoming my direct boss. He said, "Valentina is a single mother. Life isn't easy for her. I want to help her out." He continued, "It just so happens that completing the account under you would qualify you for a promotion. Let her have it for now. No one in the company will say anything." Only then did I realize that in Elio's book, some people were exempt after all. Watching the project I'd secured by drinking until my stomach bled get its lead reassigned yet again, I fell silent for a moment, and suddenly, I no longer wanted to stay by Elio's side. So I replied to the text from our partner company. Mattia: I'm willing to work at your company, on the condition that this deal no longer involves partnering with Elio.

"What's it like to sleep with a blind woman?" The moment my vision cleared, I was moved to tears. The first person I wanted to share this with was Loren, so, ignoring my doctor’s advice, I headed straight to the private lounge where he and his friends usually gathered. My hand touched the door, and that was the first thing I heard. I thought I had misheard, but Loren’s next words shattered me, plunging me into an abyss of despair. He sat there, a cigarette hanging from his lips, his expression languid. "Want to know? I'll let you have a go. She's blind anyway; she won't know who it is. She'll just open her legs and enjoy it. Or better yet, next time we’re at it, you guys can come and watch. She won't see a thing."

On our third wedding anniversary, I waited at a table full of cold food until the restaurant closed. The lights were still on at the dessert shop across the street. Inside, Cedric Vaughn was cutting cake for another woman with practiced ease. When he finally came through the door, there was cream on his cuff. "Something came up at work. It took longer than I expected." I didn't call him out. I brushed the cream from his sleeve instead. "It's cold out. Have some soup." He froze. He remembered that I didn't eat cilantro. He even remembered that I took my coffee without sugar. The only thing he'd forgotten was what tonight meant. On the drive home, he made me a promise. "Next month, I'll take you to Norvessa to see the northern lights. I'll make up for everything I owe you." He always did that. He thought he could make it up to me later instead of choosing me when it mattered. I said yes, as obediently as ever, as though nothing had happened. When we first met, he'd pursued me for 6 months, going halfway across the city every morning to bring me breakfast. Somewhere in those mornings, I'd given him my whole heart. He had no idea that tonight was the last time I would ever wait for him.

I, Victoria Hale, had been engaged to Lucar Voss—the man in charge of Voss Group—for less than 1 year. He'd already called off our wedding in public three times. The fourth time, he waved off the suit the clerk held out. "Take it away. I don't need it." My head jerked toward him. "What do you mean?" Lucar had a cigar between his fingers and smiled like he didn't care. "Babe, I won't be at the wedding. You can try the suit on by yourself." "You're the groom. If you don't show up, how is this wedding supposed to happen?" A chill ran up my spine, and my voice shook. "Lucar, this is the fourth time. What is it this time?" Lucar tilted his head, his tone casual. "The wedding will have too many people—too many eyes. If Mia Quick finds out I'm getting married, she'll be hurt." I stared at him, feeling only how absurd it was. "The ceremony can still go on without a groom," Lucar said flatly. "Wasn't the engagement party the same? If it doesn't happen, we'll just do it another time." With that, he stubbed out his cigar and walked out. I stood there, a chill crawling up my back. The clerks exchanged looks, not daring to speak. After a long moment, I took a deep breath and gave them a string of numbers. "Have this suit altered to these measurements." True. A wedding without a groom couldn't go on. So I'd just get a new groom.

Garrett Croft and I—Isabella Moyer—had our third wedding. My sister, Hannah Moyer, planned all of them. The first time, Hannah sent me the wrong address. I spent 3 hours looking for the place in my wedding dress in the pouring rain. By the time I got there, it was over. I was shaking from the cold. Garrett rushed up and said accusingly, "Where were you? It was our wedding day. Hannah was crying her eyes out looking for you!" The second time, she made us draw lots. Draw 1, and we got married. Draw 2, and the timing wasn't right. Garrett drew 2, so the wedding was put on hold. I was shaking with anger. But my parents and my brother, Harvey Moyer, teary-eyed, tried to calm me down. "Hannah didn't mean it." Until today, I thought Garrett and I would finally make it. But halfway through the ceremony, private photos of me flashed onto the big screen. The room burst into laughter and whispers. Garrett's buddy held his phone in my face, snapping pictures and whistling. "Wow, Isabella acts all innocent, but she's wild in private! Send this to the group—let everyone get an eyeful!" Harvey pointed at me and yelled, "Shameless! A disgrace to our family!" Garrett pretended to be panicked. "I invited investors here today. How are we supposed to fix this now?" Then, my parents walked Hannah out in a custom designer wedding dress. Garrett said as if it were the most natural thing, "This time, Hannah will just have to step in." I looked at the dress—one that had to be ordered 3 months in advance—and said nothing. This wasn't an accident. It had been planned all along. I suddenly laughed and dialed 911. "Hello, I want to report someone spreading obscene material."

On our anniversary, Charles brought his ex—dying of late-stage brain cancer—back to our house, completely ignoring my protests. He even had the nerve to demand I give up the master bedroom, so Suzy could take it. All I did was point out that our suburban villa was bigger and way better for her recovery. Charles pinched my cheek with a patronizing chuckle. "Look at you, getting jealous again. You know how far out the suburbs are. "Suzy is sick. Try showing some empathy—what kind of example is this for our daughter?" Before I could even open my mouth, Mia jumped in. "See? Mommy has zero empathy! Auntie Suzy's sick, and Mommy needs to lead by example. Honestly, Mommy should just move to the suburbs, so there's more room for everyone here." That was it. Something inside me snapped. After the divorce went through, I blew up the yacht and disappeared. Years later, when our paths crossed again, the man and daughter who once claimed I'd come crawling back stood frozen, in tears. We stared at each other from opposite sides of the podium. "Honey..." he choked out. "Mom..." Mia sobbed. I yanked my hand back from their reach, expression cold. "You have the wrong person. Get out of my way."

Before our wedding, my fiancé, Corbin Merrick, suddenly sent me a location and told me to fly to Solara Cove Beach immediately.   When I arrived, Sabine Whitlock, the Whitlocks' biological heiress, was wearing the wedding dress he had designed himself. Corbin got down on one knee and slipped a ring onto her finger.   They kissed and embraced as the crowd cheered.   Only after the ceremony ended did Corbin notice me standing at the edge of the crowd, my wedding dress covered in windblown sand.   "Good girl. All I had to do was beckon, and you came running."   He walked toward me with a mocking smile.   That was when I realized I had been played.   My eyes burned.   "Corbin Merrick, you bastard!"   He clicked his tongue, muttered that I was ruining the mood, then took everyone away in a helicopter and left me there alone.   Standing at the edge of the cliff, I wiped away my tears and sent a message to a number I hadn't contacted in a long time.   Cecily: Come marry me.

My fiancé, Ryan Carter, loved playing mind games with me by bringing up Adrian, all because he knew Adrian had once confessed his feelings for me in front of a whole crowd of people.   Just to prove I would never fall for Adrian, Ryan dragged Adrian along on every single one of our dates, then purposely vanished halfway through to see how I'd react.   This twisted little test finally ate through the last of my patience the day I went to try on wedding dresses.   The second the spotlight flickered on, a video call popped up from Ryan.   "Adrian looks way more like the groom than I do. If you're having second thoughts, I won't stand in your way."   He was fully convinced I'd act just like I always had before, and swear I'd never want anyone but him for the rest of my life.   But I was drained.   I yanked the veil off my head in exhaustion, then glanced down at Adrian, who was frozen stiff.   "Did you bring the paperwork?"   While all his buddies stared at him like they'd just seen a ghost, Adrian pulled out the paperwork he'd kept.   "I've got it right here. It's Friday, and we've only got thirty minutes before the county clerk's office closes."

On Christmas Day, my best friend announced in front of everyone that I was a fake heiress while she was my parents' biological daughter. My parents threw me out. My future in-laws wanted nothing to do with me, and so did all my old friends. In one day, I lost everything.   Only my childhood sweetheart and fiancé, Evan Whitaker, still held my hand tightly. "I've known since we were kids that you're the one for me. Even if everyone is against us, I'm still going to marry you."   Through tears, I nodded and agreed. There was no engagement settlement, no family money for the wedding, no wedding, and no blessing from our parents, relatives, or friends. Still, Evan and I had known each other for years, and I truly loved him.   On the way back from city hall, I clutched the marriage certificate and looked at it again and again, too excited to put it away. 'At least I still have one person I can trust and depend on.'   Then I turned to the seal page but found nothing. My mind went completely blank.   Evan saw my reaction and said impatiently, "Stop looking. It's fake. Meg and I have already registered. She's pregnant, with my baby."   I stood frozen, my throat closed up, and I couldn't speak. The family I'd been proud of, the friendship I'd treasured, the love I'd tried so desperately to hold on to—all shattered at once.

The day before I was to marry Grant Foster, his first love, Paige Sutton, was driven to the brink by her bankrupt family.   Because her family was bankrupt, intimate photos from her younger years were put up for public auction to pay off their debts.   Grant received an invitation too.   I told him plainly that it bothered me and that I didn't want him to attend.   He kissed the back of my hand and promised, "Don't overthink it. I'm only going to watch the Sutton family make fools of themselves. I stopped having feelings for her a long time ago."   But that afternoon, my employee held out her phone to me with trembling hands. "Boss... the man who paid an astronomical price to buy every copy of those photos looks like Mr. Foster."   In the video, Grant spent 45 million dollars at the auction to secure exclusive ownership of Paige's intimate photos, then invested in the Sutton family on the spot.   Through her tears, Paige asked him, "Is there still a place for me in your heart?"   Standing beneath a storm of camera flashes, Grant gazed at her and said, "There always has been."   The livestream comments went wild over the powerful CEO reuniting with his lost love.   Behind me, the wedding cake I had prepared for the next day still bore his name and mine.   Late that night, a black Maybach stopped outside my bakery.   Grant came in, draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, and handed me an order of my favorite garlic pasta.   With a smile, he pinched my cheek. "Don't let your imagination run away with you. It was just a business investment. That's how capital works. We're still getting married tomorrow, okay?"   I nodded. "Of course." 10 minutes earlier, I had canceled the wedding we had spent a year planning.

Three years together, and this was the 17th time Nathan Mercer had spent the night at his ex-wife's place. At 7 a.m., he walked through the front door reeking of the rose body wash his ex-wife always used. He set breakfast on the table and casually told me to eat it while it was hot. I looked at the bowl of oatmeal and said, calmly, "Stop going to your ex-wife's apartment. It hurts me." Nathan frowned, irritation creeping into his voice. "I was just there to see my kid." "You don't need to sleep over to see your kid." He threw his coat onto the couch, his eyes going cold. "I just wanted some time with my son. Stop making assumptions about people." If this had been before, I would have fought back tears, tried to defend myself, swallowed it all just to prove I wasn't being unreasonable. But today, I picked up that bowl, packaging and all, and dropped it straight into the trash. "If you miss them so much, you shouldn't have gotten divorced just to mess up someone else's life." I turned my back on the shock in his eyes and walked into the bedroom. I shut the door, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't touched in three years. "Dominic, does your offer still stand?"

At the full dress rehearsal for our wedding, the officiant had barely handed me the vow booklet when my fiancé reached out and stopped him. "Let Rebekah walk through the blocking. She knows the whole sequence." Rebekah was the girl next door he had grown up with. I stepped down from the main stage and took a seat among the guests while they exchanged rings, embraced, and he kissed her on the forehead. My childhood friend stood below the stage with the run sheet in his hand and called out, "Groom, smile more. Bride, lean into him." They ran through it once, twice, then 10 times. Every run-through went smoothly. When we were children putting on plays, Rebekah played the princess while I stayed backstage handing her props. Now we were adults rehearsing a wedding. I was supposed to be the bride, yet somehow I was still the one below the stage, applauding her. When rehearsal ended, my fiancé pulled the vow booklet from my hands. "Valerie, why are you spacing out? Go help Rebekah unpin her train." The officiant laughed beside us. "Rebekah really photographs well. She looks more at home up there than the actual bride." I lowered my eyes to the ring on my finger. They already knew the whole ceremony by heart. By the wedding day, they probably wouldn't need me at all.

I was born able to see everyone's loyalty score. The day my mother jumped to her death, the number above my father's head was 0. From that moment on, I swore I would never end up the way she had. I chose Ethan Carter because his loyalty score had always been 100. Throughout our 3-year marriage, he treated me like a princess. He even checked the temperature of my drinks before handing them to me. Then tonight, while I was working late, I suddenly came down with acute gastroenteritis so severe that I could barely stand upright. I called Ethan 12 times. He never answered. I gritted my teeth, took a cab to the hospital, and found him in the ER treatment area with Natalie Foster, his first love, who had just returned from overseas. He had one arm around her and was warming her hands between his own. I stood around the corner and called him again. He glanced at the screen and declined the call. Natalie pouted. "Is that your wife? You should go. She'll be angry if she finds out." Ethan sounded openly impatient. "She'll understand. You're the one who needs someone with you right now." As the words left his mouth, I watched the 100 above his head plummet until it reached 0. I leaned against the wall as tears slipped down my face. 'Mom. So this was what it felt like for you.' I wiped away my tears, took out my phone, and calmly sent my supervisor a message. Jennifer: Director Brooks, about that assignment in Belvaria you mentioned before. I'll take it.

At the bachelorette party before the wedding, my friends brought out a lie detector and egged everyone into playing a game. When it was Damian Grant's turn, the question was: Is the bride tomorrow the person you love most? He said yes without hesitation, but the lie detector flashed a blinding red light. Dead silence fell over the private room. I forced a smile, trying to smooth things over. But Damian pulled his childhood sweetheart Lydia into his arms. "Since it can't be hidden anymore, I'll be honest. Lydia and I got our marriage license last month. Yours is fake. "The wedding will proceed tomorrow. You'll still be the glamorous Mrs. Grant, but I can't let Lydia be a mistress hidden in the shadows." I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. Trembling, I looked at my best friend. She avoided my gaze, pulled out a pregnancy test report from her bag, and handed it to me. "You're always so busy. Lydia is already carrying Damian's child. Be generous and accept this child. You've been given the title of Mrs. Grant. Does it matter who gives birth?" A thin sheet of paper cut my heart open like a poisoned blunt knife. 1,800 days and nights of companionship, only to be told, "Does it matter who gives birth?" The happily-ever-after I thought we had was nothing but a one-woman show from beginning to end.

While I was trying on my wedding dress, my fiancé's stepsister, Lyla Carter, walked into the bridal shop with a smile. She ran her fingers over the hem of my gown and leaned close to my ear. "Claire, Adrian's abs felt amazing last night. He was incredible in bed. He nearly wrecked my back." A wave of disgust rose in my stomach. I forced myself to endure it as I stared at her. She rolled her eyes and curled her lips. "We're not actually related by blood. What's wrong with getting to know each other's bodies? Adrian said he wanted me to help him practice beforehand so he wouldn't hurt you on your wedding night. We're all family anyway. Claire, you should be thanking me." My stomach churned. I couldn't hold back anymore and raised my hand, slapping her across the face. My fiancé, Adrian Carter, rushed in and pulled his stepsister behind him. Then he shoved me hard. "Lyla was willing to help me get used to things in advance. That was her kindness. And you actually hit her? Get out and calm down. Think about what you've done. When you've figured it out, come back and we'll get married." My best friends stood nearby, laughing as they watched the show. They were certain that I would choose to endure it for the sake of the Carter family's wealth. But I didn't cry. Instead, I immediately told the shop assistant to cut open the wedding dress I was wearing. Then I took out my phone and dialed Ethan Sterling's number. "Ethan, I agree to the engagement."

The moment Simon Carter's friend Lucas Bennett suddenly put an arm around me, I panicked. He showed me the message Simon had sent to all his friends. Simon: I'm done with my five-year girlfriend. Anyone want her? Sweet-tempered, obedient, no trouble. A second later, a message popped up on my own phone. Simon: Baby, I found you someone richer than me. You like money anyway, don't you? I had spent five full years by Simon's side. His friends jokingly called me his money pit. At a charity gala, I spent $20 million on a blue diamond. At the racetrack, I bet $50 million on a horse and lost every cent. At that gala, I happened to overhear Simon chatting with a friend. His friend asked if Simon had actually fallen for me. Simon blew out a smoke ring and laughed scornfully. "A woman who's only after money is easy to handle. She's good in bed, doesn't need to be coaxed, and treats me like I'm the best thing in the world as long as I keep paying her." We had agreed from the beginning that our arrangement was about money, not feelings. So I never threw tantrums or asked for his attention. I thought five years together had to count for something. Then his first love, Eunice Parker, came back, and everything changed. Simon actually gave me away to someone else. I left without taking a single thing he had ever given me and vanished from his life. The next time we met was at a Hall Group leadership gala. Simon tried to approach me, but my father's men stopped him. My father looked at me. "Lily, this is the man you nearly gave up your inheritance rights for? What a loser."

I was making the digital wedding invitation when my phone asked if I wanted to auto-select photos from the shared cloud album. I tapped Confirm. Thirty seconds later, the cover changed to a photo I didn't recognize. My fiancé, shirtless, was standing in front of a bathroom mirror. Behind him was a woman in his button-down shirt, her arms wrapped around his waist. The timestamp was the night my father died. That night, he'd said something came up at work, so he couldn't make it to the hospital. I stared at the screen, my fingers suddenly cold, but I didn't close the album. I kept scrolling. Hotels. Trips. Birthday cakes... Then I saw a medical document, half-covered by her hand. The hospital name showed in the bottom corner. It was the same hospital where my father spent his last days. The last clip was a video. She laughed and asked, "What do you think she'd do if she knew you come here every Wednesday?" Ethan Ford leaned down and kissed her forehead. "She won't find out. The wedding goes ahead. After that, I'll still be here with you." Later that night, he sent a message to the group chat, reminding me to get to bed early. Ethan: Get some rest, bride-to-be. You need to look beautiful on the big day. Ellie: Okay. Then I swapped the invitation cover to the bathroom photo and set it to auto-update at nine a.m. on the wedding day. I messaged the wedding planner. Ellie: Keep everything as planned. I was going to make sure this was a wedding they'd never forget.

My name is Evelyn Reed. On my deathbed, my husband held my hand tightly, crying as if his heart would break. "Eve, Adrian… he isn't actually your biological son." "When we did the IVF, the egg they implanted… was Elena's." Elena Carter was my husband Vincent Shaw's childhood sweetheart, the woman he'd never gotten over. She'd always claimed she was devoted to ballet—that she'd never marry or have children. Turns out she wasn't unwilling to have a child. She just didn't want to carry one herself. I lay rigid on the hospital bed, using every last ounce of strength to look at the son I'd loved for thirty years. There wasn't a trace of surprise in his eyes. He was impatiently clicking his car keys. "Dad, are you done yet? Elena's farewell performance starts soon. We don't want to be late." So I'd been the only one kept in the dark all along. I'd poured my heart and soul into this family, only for it all to benefit someone else. As my eyes closed, the last thing I heard was my husband's hollow promise: "If I could do it all over again, I'd treat you right." When I opened my eyes, I was back—thirty years in the past, the day I first found out I was pregnant.

At our wedding reception, Graham Holloway's childhood friend, Chloe Spencer, smiled as she splashed red wine across my wedding dress. "Place your bets on how big a stain we can get on the bride! Whatever you put in, Graham will double it and cover Evelyn's cleaning bill! The bigger the stain, the more generous Graham looks!" Dark red wine streamed down my chest, soaking through the lining and leaving me drenched and humiliated. Graham didn't stop her. Instead, he handed Chloe an entire bottle of liquor with an indulgent smile. His friends whistled and cheered, pulling out their phones to place bets and egg her on. I clutched the front of my dress shut and told them to stop, my voice shaking. Graham yanked my hands away and frowned. "Evelyn, everyone's just trying to have some fun. Don't ruin the mood." Chloe blinked innocently. "Evelyn, don't be such a spoilsport. Graham likes to have fun. If you're going to be with him, you have to be able to take a joke." I froze. All in the name of "having fun," Chloe had once broken the zipper on my dress and humiliated me in front of everyone. Graham had brushed it off as a joke. She had switched out my allergy medication and sent me to the hospital with respiratory failure. Graham had dismissed that as a prank too. In Graham's eyes, every cruel thing Chloe did to me was just harmless fun. Another glassful of hard liquor hit me full in the face, and piercing cheers erupted around me. I watched Graham make the transfer without a second's hesitation, his fingers moving briskly across his phone. Then I reached up and pulled off my veil. 'They're right about one thing. I'm done with this farce.'

When the doors of City Hall closed behind me in the pouring rain, my heart died with them. My phone lit up with messages from my college alumni group. My fiancé's childhood sweetheart, Nina Bennett, had just sent everyone a huge digital gift and said, "Thanks for witnessing this! Even on the day he was supposed to marry his fiancée, he still chose to pick me up from the airport first." My fiancé, Evan Sullivan, replied, "The Grant family's company still needs me to secure investors. Letting Sophie suffer a little isn't a big deal. Nina matters more." I had spent seven years standing by him while he built his business from nothing. Yet in his eyes, I was nothing more than a disposable pawn he could manipulate whenever it benefited him. Thirty minutes later, I changed into my evening gown and pushed open the doors to our engagement party. Evan was charming the older generation with talk of our families' future partnership, casually explaining that he had been late that afternoon because of an "urgent business matter." I walked straight to the control booth, pulled out his flash drive, and projected our private messages—and my declaration that I was withdrawing my family's investment—onto the giant screen. Evan's smile froze. He gritted his teeth and hissed under his breath, "Have you lost your mind? You're going to destroy the company's entire financial chain over something this trivial?" "My company's affairs are none of your concern, Mr. Sullivan." In front of everyone, I tore our marriage alliance agreement to pieces. Then I turned and walked toward the man sitting alone in the corner—a world-class cardiac surgeon whose family had threatened to suspend him from work if he refused to attend their matchmaking arrangement. "Reid." I raised my glass, meeting his utterly unreadable eyes. "You need a wife who won't give you trouble. I need a ready-made husband. I'll put up the money. Let's make this marriage happen. City Hall opens tomorrow morning. Are you brave enough to go with me?"

On my wedding day, my fiancé, Julian Heath, called and told me to wait for him in the banquet hall for two hours. His ex‑girlfriend, Vivian Shaw, had just been abandoned at her own wedding. The groom had run off, and she was alone at the bridal shop, falling apart. So Julian put on the groom's tuxedo and stayed with her. He took the entire set of wedding photos. For her. I asked him, "What about our wedding?" He paused. "Vivian only has me right now. Can't you be a little understanding?" I pulled off my ring and dropped it into my champagne glass. Then I turned to the guests in the hall and said, "Consider this my breakup banquet. Everyone, please enjoy the meal." That night, Julian rushed back to the venue. But the hall was already empty. Only the leftovers remained glasses half‑full, crumpled napkins, chairs pushed back in a hurry. Later, he planned a hundred weddings to win me back. But I wouldn't take a wedding that had to wait in line behind someone else's. Not a hundred of them. Not one.

On the day my husband threw me a birthday party, one of his friends teasingly asked him in Italian, "How many rounds did you go with your secretary last night?" William slipped an arm around my waist, kissed my forehead, and answered with a laugh, "Eight. If she hadn't gotten tired, it would've been a few more." His friends burst into laughter. The smile on my face slowly froze, but I still gave William a faint smile. "What did they say?" William answered gently, "They said you're beautiful." Then, switching back to Italian, he told his friends, "Just make sure none of you let it slip. My wife can't find out I've been cheating, or she'll divorce me." I sneered inwardly, my fingers tightening unconsciously. I understood Italian. And I had known about William's affair for a long time. I simply chose not to expose him. Instead, I sold off all the bonds and stocks under my name and quietly moved my assets elsewhere. Then I packaged five years' worth of financial records from William's shipping company and sent them to an international anti-money-laundering organization. Tomorrow, I wouldn't just be divorcing him. I would make sure he paid the price for everything.

The day I found out my husband, Tristan, was cheating on me, my entire family went ballistic. My dad smashed his car on the spot, his eyes red with rage. "How dare you hurt my daughter? I'll make sure you lose everything!" My mom grabbed a kitchen knife and stormed into Tristan's apartment, threatening to castrate him. My younger sister, Elena, went even further. She showed up outside Tristan's company with a sign in her hands, cursing him as a heartless cheater to anyone who passed by. She made such a scene that even the dogs passing by seemed ready to spit at him. They dragged me straight to the civil affairs office to get a divorce, cursing the whole way and saying I should have cut ties with a man like him long ago. Until a month later, when I unexpectedly ran into my sister outside the obstetrics and gynecology department. She was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by my entire family. My dad sat by the window, wiping away his tears. He took Tristan's hand and said, "You've been through enough. I just transferred five million dollars to your company account." My mom was carefully feeding my sister some soup. "Elena, I've been making you chicken soup for a whole month. You're pregnant, so you need to take extra good care of yourself. Those extras Tristan hired really played their parts, cursing him so convincingly. Once this is all over, you two need to hurry up and get married." Tristan kissed my sister on the forehead. "Our child deserves to be born into a proper family." I stood there frozen, tears blurring my vision. Only then did I finally understand. The woman my husband had been cheating on me with was my own sister. Worse yet, they were already having a child together... And my parents had chosen them, too...

In the sixth year of living together, I wanted to surprise my fiancé. So I submitted a request to have our wedding rings engraved through Amoréa's app. Less than half an hour later, the brand consultant sent me a private message and canceled my order. "An Amoréa diamond is meant to be given to only one person for life. Since your fiancé is already registered as married, you're no longer eligible to place another order." Then the consultant sent me a screenshot. Under my fiancé Nathan's name was a custom-order record. He had placed the order just three days ago. It was a massive diamond, with an engraving inside the band: My One True Love, Cecilia.  'My fiancé has actually married his first love, Cecilia?' I forced myself to stay calm, then picked up my tablet and went to find Nathan. After hearing what I had to say, he didn't even look up. "Cecilia's family needs a marriage alliance to secure their position. She and I only got legally married because it benefits both of us. If you know your place, I'll buy you even more expensive designer jewelry." Nathan's assistant knocked lightly on the door. "Mr. Sterling, the wedding is coming up. Miss Bennett asked me to remind you... The other woman needs to be dealt with. Don't wait until the Bennett family finds out. She doesn't want this getting ugly between the two families." Only then did I understand. The so-called six years of devotion Nathan had given me were nothing more than a secret affair he could never bring into the light. Back at my desk, I didn't make a scene. Instead, I canceled every VIP supplementary card Nathan had given me. Then I accepted a job offer from his company's biggest competitor.

At our wedding, my fiancé, Lucas Grant, was raising a glass with his friends when his childhood friend, Vanessa Cole, suddenly arched a brow at him. "Lucas, I still remember what you told me at my 18th birthday party. You said that if you ever got married and I showed up to steal you away, you would leave with me." She smiled. "Well, I'm here to steal you away now. Are you coming with me or not?" Lucas looked at me apologetically. "Emmy, you've always said you love that I keep my promises..." My face went cold. His voice softened. "I'll go with Nessa for a little while and come right back. Wait for me." One of his friends even chimed in with that classic line. "Emma, if Luke had wanted to be with Nessa, they would've gotten together years ago. You wouldn't even have had a chance." I stared at Lucas and asked him one last time, "Are you sure you want to leave with her?" His silence was his answer. "Fine." I walked straight to a table in the corner and reached for the hand of the man sitting there. His hand was warm and smooth beneath mine. "Adrian, does your promise to marry me still stand?"

Every single time Lillian Page showed up, my proposal got ruined. One time, she accidentally knocked over a cream cake. Another time, she accidentally shoved me into the pool. And every single time, Samuel Black would jump to defend his girl buddy, saying she didn't do it on purpose. Then came this time. Lillian took a ballpoint pen and wrote all over my face while I was asleep. When I woke up, I found the word "LOSER" in big capital letters right across my forehead. I grabbed her wrist, furious. "Was that an accident too?" Samuel burst in and pulled her behind him, voice dripping with impatience. "She was just trying to lighten the mood. You gonna throw a fit over that?" He still had this rock-solid confidence that I'd forgive him, because this was his fifth proposal. But he forgot one tiny detail: I'm Charlotte Lane, daughter of the East Coast's most feared mafia family. And next month, I'm going home to take over the business.

To protect Hawthorne Group's key trade secrets, I was run down by one of Adrian Hawthorne's business rivals, leaving both of my legs shattered.   Afterward, Adrian went berserk. He sent the man responsible, Ryan Bennett, to prison and drove Ryan's company into bankruptcy.   The once arrogant, headstrong CEO canceled every social engagement. He poured his entire fortune into building a state-of-the-art rehabilitation center for me. Every wedding anniversary, he pushed my wheelchair to a church in the mountains of another state and prayed fervently for me.   Whenever the pain left me sobbing in the middle of the night, he would hold me tight, his eyes red, and say, "Even if I have to take care of you for the rest of my life, I'll do it gladly."   I thought the damage to my legs had truly bought me his lifelong loyalty.   Then, on this year's wedding anniversary, a prenatal checkup report slipped from the lining of his suit while I was packing his things. The name on it belonged to Sophia Bennett, Ryan's younger sister and Adrian's childhood sweetheart.   With shaking hands, I unlocked Adrian's phone. The pinned chat at the top of the screen made my eyes sting.   Adrian: Did the hike wear you out today? Is the baby giving you trouble?   Adrian: Those ruined legs of hers are disgusting. Touching her feels like inviting bad luck. If I couldn't use praying for her as an excuse, how would my dad ever let me get away to see you?   The icy mountain wind blew away every last bit of gratitude I had ever felt toward him.   His devout prayers had never been for me. They were for the woman he kept at the foot of the mountain and their child from the affair.   I put down the phone. I did not confront him. I did not cry.   Instead, I called the clinic overseas and arranged my amputation surgery. I was going to leave this marriage forever.

I discovered that my lieutenant, Blake, could feel every sensation from my seal.   During a council meeting, I idly toyed with the seal in my hand.   Blake Wainscott, usually so composed and meticulous, suddenly stumbled and braced himself against the table.   I paused, then continued rotating the seal, my thumb brushing over the uneven engraved lettering on its base.   "Alpha..."   His eyes reddened, and his voice shook so badly he could barely form the words.   "Please focus on the meeting."   I smiled, my gaze dropping to the obvious bulge he was desperately trying to hide.   Poor thing.   I hadn't even started applying any pressure.   After all, once the meeting was over, I still had plenty of documents waiting to be stamped.

I came across a post from someone in my neighborhood. The blogger had posted a photo of a "sex toy." The caption read: My daughter bought this kind of thing. Is there something wrong with her? I stared at the photo, studying the background three times before finally realizing that it was my apartment. I rushed home and found my mother sitting on the couch. My little toy was sitting in plain sight on the coffee table in front of her. The moment she saw me, she raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. "What did you buy this for? Trying to seduce someone? You've embarrassed me enough!" I covered my cheek and tried to reason with her. "Mom, it's one of the products my company sells. Everyone has one, and you—" Before I could finish, she cut me off and hurled the toy at me. "What kind of trashy company do you work for? Nothing but a bunch of shameless sluts and perverts! I think you're the one who's sick in the head! What decent girl would ever touch something like this? You're coming to the doctor with me. Right now!" I yanked my arm free, my patience finally gone. "First, I'm not sick, and I'm not going to the doctor. Second, it's a perfectly normal sexual wellness product. I'm 25. There's nothing wrong with using one. And finally, Mom, you owe me an apology for what you just did." My mother's face darkened. "I'm your mother! If you don't throw that thing away, then don't ever call me your mother again!" She looked so certain I'd never dare cut her off. I smiled. "Fine." I pointed toward the door. "Then please leave my apartment, ma'am."

Corbin Hale was the Managing Director of the branch office, and every morning before work, he wrote out his daily schedule. The lower the number, the higher the priority. And yet, as his fiancée, Federica Ferraro, everything involving me was always ranked below Julia Ferraro, the fake heiress Julia had a fever. I had to wait for Corbin to take her to the hospital and come back before we could see the movie we'd booked in advance. Julia went through a breakup. I had to wait for Corbin to take her whale watching to cheer her up before I could go in for a surgery that required general anesthesia. Watching his schedule push my plans behind Julia's once again, I bit my lip and, for the first time, grabbed Corbin's hand. "Today, can I be your number one? Just once?" Corbin nuzzled the tip of my nose. "Julia's my secretary. Her time with me is limited. Don't make a fuss over nothing, okay?" But he seemed to have forgotten. A fiancé could be replaced. If I wanted, my time with him could be limited too. I stared at that blinding schedule, then suddenly snatched it up and tore it to shreds. "Write a new one. This time, leave me out of it." I was done begging someone to put me first.

10 minutes before the wedding started, my fiancé, Dorian Jackson, suddenly announced that the bride would be replaced by his newly divorced childhood sweetheart, Rose Vale.   He took the bouquet from me and said Rose had been ridiculed by her ex-husband for being unwanted, so he'd use this wedding to help her regain her dignity.   He also lowered his voice, urging me not to embarrass Rose in front of our families and friends. "Everyone knows I'm marrying you in the end. It's only a ceremony. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"   Rose appeared in the wedding dress, and he instantly released my hand and reached over to adjust her veil. The best man, Matthew Ford, finally couldn't watch anymore. He said he'd escort me out if I wanted to leave.   Dorian, however, looked like he had cracked the perfect solution. "If you're really desperate to get married, I'll introduce you to Matthew. He can escort you onto the stage later. Then you two can be a pair, and Rosie and I can be another."   He was sure that I couldn't bear to let go of our 10 years together and would back down, giving the wedding to Rosie.   "I won't be attending your wedding." I took off the bride's corsage and reached out to Matthew. "Mr. Ford, would you marry me and go get our marriage license right now?"

Ethan Davis and I had agreed, right after our wedding, to split everything—each of us covering one child's expenses. For six years, I pinched every penny and never once took advantage of him. When our daughter, Amy, developed an excruciating cavity, she writhed on the bed in pain, unable to even swallow warm water. My money barely covered our daily expenses. "The doctor said the treatment is $2,000. Could... could you lend me the money first?" He frowned and refused. "Rules are rules. You're responsible for Amy's expenses." Lucy, his daughter from his previous marriage, held a new gaming console and teased, "If you guys get divorced, maybe you'll actually get some money out of it." With tears in my eyes, I pleaded, but Ethan remained indifferent. That night, while applying an ice pack to Amy's cheek, I accidentally saw Ethan's payment records on his phone. He had bought a tech set for Lucy's new school year—a phone, a tablet, and a laptop totaling $21,498. He had also bought a new designer bag for his ex-wife, Nina Jones, for $29,999. In that instant, I snapped back to reality. I borrowed money to complete my daughter's treatment, then walked straight to the County Court nearby. Amy asked softly, "Mommy, why are we at the County Court?" I patted her pigtails and smiled faintly. "To split the money."

Five years ago, a car accident took my left arm. I waited three years for a spot to get a smart prosthetic limb, but my husband, William Smith, secretly gave it to my closest friend and fellow amputee, Olivia Vance. Heartbroken, I confronted him. "Why? I waited three years for that." William looked at me with a steady, gentle gaze. "Sophie, you've already adapted to life with one arm. Having a smart prosthetic won't make a huge difference for you. You can wait for the next opportunity. Besides, you have me. But Olivia is different. She's sensitive, fragile, and all alone. She needs this opportunity more than you do." He was the one who pulled me out of the darkness. He knew better than anyone that I had never, ever truly adapted to being broken. Yet, time and time again, I was always the one expected to make concessions. The first time, he gave my spot for psychological rehabilitation to Olivia, claiming her assessment was worse than mine. The second time, when our surgeries happened to overlap, he chose to stay by her side, delaying my operation. The third time, when my phantom limb pain was at its peak and I needed him most, he was out helping Olivia pick a prosthetic. He saved my life once, but he could just as easily offer that same tenderness to someone else. There won't be a next time. I'm done waiting.

My husband, Alexander Parker, secretly handed the kidney I had spent five years waiting for to his first love's brother.   The department director fought to change his mind. "What about Rosalie? She's rare Rh-negative. If she loses this matched kidney, a complication could take her life at any moment." Alexander fell silent for a long time before answering softly, "You don't understand. If it weren't for me, Charlotte's parents wouldn't have died in that accident. I owe her a family. Jack is Charlotte's only family member, and he's still young. He needs this kidney more than Rosalie does."   The director still couldn't bring himself to agree. "But Rosalie is already in end-stage heart failure. You know better than anyone what happens when there's no kidney donor. If she crashes, there won't be a doctor, a miracle, or a prayer in the world that can bring her back."   Alexander didn't waver. "Jack's condition is more urgent! Keep Rosalie going on dialysis for now. She's always been the understanding one."   I lowered my eyes to the organ donor consent form I had just signed, a strange sense of unreality washing over me.   Once, Alexander had been the man who was terrified of losing me, crossing the country to find a kidney for me. Now, for Charlotte Lynn's brother, he was the same man who had quietly taken away the kidney that could have saved my life.   The words "Do Not Resuscitate" stared back at me, cold and merciless, like the cruelest punchline.   I turned away, walked to the nurses' station, and pulled out my dialysis line.   Fine. Alexander wanted me to hang on through dialysis, so I would stop fighting. I wasn't going to cling to this life anymore, and I wasn't going to cling to him either.

My husband, Dominic Fairclough, was a mafia don. Three years ago, he faked his death for the woman he loved, Malvina Valdez. Now, he was back—and he brought our son, Santino Fairclough, with him. At the grand family gala held to announce his return, he stroked my hair with tenderness. "I know your mother is critically ill and on her deathbed. Remarry me, and I'll bring in the finest medical team in the world to save her." So, with trembling hands, I signed the remarriage agreement, stepping back into the role of the dutiful, stoic mafia wife. That very night, at his own homecoming party, Dominic slept with his secretary, Clara Powell. Afterward, I played the generous wife, quietly sweeping his scandal with Clara under the rug. When Clara casually mentioned she lacked an accessory for an upcoming party, I didn't hesitate—I slipped my own wedding ring right into her hands. Yet, Dominic lost his temper. He pinned me against the wall, teeth gritted, eyes brimming with disbelief. "Berenice, this is the diamond ring I custom-made for you when we got married!" Looking at his furious expression, I felt ridiculous. He still hadn't got it. I now would do whatever it took to keep him from running wild. Dominic had no idea that the dying woman in the hospital wasn't my mother. She was his biological mother, Hayley Fairclough. For three long years, she believed her son was dead. And so, she made me a promise that the moment she took her last breath, the entire Fairclough empire would belong to me.

Miles York had tricked me into signing the company over to him to manage, telling me I could sit back and focus on recovering, no strings attached. The day before our third wedding anniversary, he laid his cards on the table. He was cheating on me with my therapist, Sierra Mae. "Being around a psycho like you? I can barely fucking breathe. Only in Sierra's arms do I feel like a real man." "Guess which position felt the best when we fucked right next to your bed, while you were laid up in that bed of yours?" Already drowning in depression, I couldn't handle that blow. The shock hit me so hard I keeled over dead, choked up on my own fury. When my eyes fluttered open again, shards of our wedding photos littered the floor. I'd been hurled straight back to that exact second. I'd just flown off the handle, smashed half the stuff in the room, and was yelling that I'd kick Miles out on his ass. He scoffed. "The cameras caught every second of that little manic outburst. You're manic, out of your mind, completely unfit to run the company." My fingers curled up involuntarily. That choking, near-death terror from my last life slithered up my arms and legs, cold and crawling, and my vision grayed out fast. I dug my nails into my palm and fought like hell to hold my trembling, twitching hand still. And I knew, right then, that this time, I would make them pay. This time, I'll make them suffer for every last rotten thing they put me through.

After 10 years of loving him, I finally received the proposal I had dreamed of from Roman Beaumont on my 30th birthday.   He stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, dropped to one knee, and held out an exquisite box. Tears blurred my vision as my hands trembled while opening it.   But inside was nothing except a single leaf that looked like it had been casually ripped from a roadside bush.   A wave of laughter immediately broke out among the guests. I stood there frozen, still clutching the leaf.   My best friend, Celine Sinclair, laughed until she could barely catch her breath, "Lili, look at you. Don't tell me you actually thought Roman was going to propose to you today?"   Roman didn't even look at me. Instead, he took out a bracelet and placed it in Celine's hand.   "Celine saw this bracelet on the way here and liked it. Since today was your birthday, I used the box to test your reaction. I'm disappointed by your response. You know my company is at a critical point right now. I can't let something like marriage affect the bigger picture."   So that was what he thought. In his eyes, marrying me wasn't a big deal.   "Lillian, you're no longer a 20-year-old girl. You should know what matters and what doesn't."   'What matters and what doesn't?'   At 20, I said yes when Roman confessed his feelings to me. But 10 years later, I still hadn't gotten the proposal I had waited for.   He was right. I really had never understood what really mattered in life.   The leaf slipped from my fingers and landed on the ground. And with it, I finally let go of the 10 years of hope I had held onto.

My sister had just broken up with her alpha boyfriend after a terrible fight, so she went to a tropical island resort to get away. ​ That evening, several photos came through of her close-ups of a powerful werewolf's defined, muscular torso, alongside the caption: I'm going to find myself a new alpha, stronger, better-looking, and twice the wolf he ever was! ​ I reached to open the image, but Darius snatched the phone from my hand before I could. ​ He chuckled low in his throat. "She only ever knows how to lead my sweet Luna astray. Don't you get any wild ideas from her." Then he swiped the photos straight from my device. ​ I sighed, helpless. "She's hurting so deeply. Three years they were together; you know how much she loved him." ​ For all those three years, she had never told me which clan her boyfriend belonged to. She had never shown me his face, never arranged for us to meet. His clan, she'd always said, was in a time of great unrest. For her own safety, they had kept their bond a secret. ​ Darius frowned thoughtfully as he listened. "I'm traveling to the Turner Clan on business tomorrow. Take care of things here while I'm gone." ​ He was gone for a full week. The day he returned, my sister also came home from her trip. ​ The moment she saw me, she pulled out her phone, glowing with excitement, and began showing me photographs. She wanted to share everything: the ceremony, the vows, the formal binding ritual she and her "ex-boyfriend" had performed together on that island. ​ But when I looked at the image, my heart gave a sharp, sickening lurch. ​ In the corner of the frame, partially visible beneath a tailored suit sleeve, was a cufflink. I knew it instantly. ​ It was the very one I had personally placed into Darius's suitcase before he left.

In the torrential rain, a piece of flying debris gashed my leg, and blood welled up instantly. My husband, Callum Bennett, didn't reach for me. Instead, he pulled the female colleague beside him into his arms to shield her. He didn't so much as glance at my bleeding wound.  Braving the rain, he escorted the shaken woman to his car. The vehicle roared off. Minutes later, my husband texted me.  Callum: Don't be so dramatic. It's just a scratch. Clara's delicate. She got soaked and needs to get home and change right away, or she'll definitely fall seriously ill again.  Callum: Be good. I'll drive her home first. When the rain lets up, grab a taxi yourself. Drenched, I stood frozen where I was. Just then, my phone rang. It was the hospital. The doctor said his mother, Yvonne's surgery had been scheduled and told me to come quickly to pay and confirm the slot. Overjoyed, I immediately called Callum. It rang for ages before he answered. "Your mom's surgery got scheduled. I'm going to pay for it now." My husband went quiet for a second. "My mom? What are you going on about? My mom's perfectly healthy. It's your mom who needs an operation, and that costs money, but we've got none right now..." My heart dropped. I pressed him at once. "Where's the money?" "Clara's dad had a sudden heart attack and needs emergency surgery. I lent her the money to tide her over. Can't your mom wait a little longer?" Hearing his utterly detached tone, I realized it.' He'd thought all along that the one needing surgery was my mom.'

Nico Arden was a pilot. Every time he returned home, he brought gifts for Vivienne Pierce and me. Today marked the fifth anniversary of the day we got married. As usual, Nico brought gifts back. For Vivienne, an exquisite souvenir, a limited edition perfume. And for me, a generic city fridge magnet you could find anywhere. It was always like this, no matter the occasion. Vivienne always got the more expensive gift. Nico explained, "Isn't this just me earning brownie points with Vivienne? If I go a little cheaper on your gift, we can save more money for our wedding in the future, okay?" Because of this, I stopped buying cosmetics and skincare products. I didn't buy new clothes all year. Meanwhile, Vivienne constantly had gourmet coffee drinks, and clothes and jewelry kept streaming into her room. Until I accidentally overheard a conversation between Nico and Vivienne. Nico asked, "It's been six years. When will you finally tell Rosalie about us?" Vivienne replied, "Rosalie has been so good to me. We can't betray her." Vivienne covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Nico held her and said, "We met first." And I stood frozen in place, as if I'd been plunged into an ice bath. No wonder she always got the better gifts. So the ex-wife he longed for day and night was actually Vivienne. I was the third wheel. My phone buzzed, and I texted my agent. Rosalie Pierce: I accept the role. I'm leaving for Glendower in three days.

In the tenth year of my marriage to the mafia godfather, I received an urgent call from the hospital blood bank. The caller asked, "Is this a family member of Carlos Santos? Gabriela Silva suffered severe postoperative bleeding and urgently needed type P blood. Your son was the only registered donor in the city." I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. Carlos was the mafia don and my husband. Gabriela was my best friend. And type P blood was the unique trait of my son, Tomas. I was frantic to confront my husband, but my own sister stopped me with eerie calm. She said, "Julia, just act like you don't know. They already had a child together. Carlos was afraid you'd be too upset, so he made us all keep it from you." I felt like I'd been plunged into an icy abyss. Then my brother-in-law chimed in. He added, "Yeah, cut Gabriela some slack. It's not easy for a woman to raise a kid alone. You're both mothers. Don't be so harsh." One was my own sister, and the other was my best friend. And now they were telling me to forgive an illegitimate child and a mistress. It turned out I was the outsider in my own world.

On my wedding day, Adrian Foster's childhood sweetheart Vivian Clarke was wearing my wedding dress.   He stopped me and smiled as if this were all a joke. "Let's play a game. Guess which one is real. Is it your name on our marriage certificate, or are you the real bride at this wedding?"   Before I could answer, Vivian Clarke handed me a bridesmaid dress.   Adrian lifted the hem of her gown and smiled at her gently. "Vivian has progressive amnesia. I want to give her a wedding with everyone here to witness it. You get the marriage certificate. Vivian gets the wedding. That's fair."   Ardrian's sister, Natalie Foster, even adjusted Vivian's veil.   "Elena, if you're going to marry into the Foster family, you can't make a scene over every little thing. Be sensible."   Then the officiant announced loudly, "Please welcome today's beautiful bride, Vivian Clarke."   I tried to rush forward, but my best friend, Megan Brooks, held me back.   "Adrian and Vivian were together for 8 years. She finally remembered him. You absolutely cannot ruin this wedding."   Seeing my best friend side with them snuffed out the last bit of warmth I had left.   Everyone was helping Adrian betray me.   So I took off my wedding ring and threw it into the trash.   I didn't want this wedding anymore.   And I didn't want the man either.

Cecilia Morris was my twin sister. We looked exactly alike except for the small mole beneath my eye. We even fell for the same man, Cooper Bennett. But Cecilia was Cooper's official girlfriend. Whenever she went out with other men, I could only pretend to be her and keep Cooper company in her place. Cecilia dated Cooper for five years, and I slept with him for five years too. I thought we had hidden everything perfectly. Then one afternoon, Cooper forgot to hang up his phone, and I heard him talking to his friends. "You've been sleeping with Stella. Cecilia doesn't get mad?" Cooper laughed. "She has no idea. Besides, Stella is the one who keeps pretending to be her and shamelessly throwing herself at me. She practically delivers herself to my bed. How am I supposed to say no?" "Damn, Cooper. You're something else." Cooper gave a quiet, mocking chuckle on the other end. So he had known all along that I was pretending to be Cecilia. And all along, he had been pretending too.

I stopped by a convenience store and grabbed a bottle of water for $0.99. Without thinking, I swiped one of the cards in my purse. Before I could even walk out the door, two family guards blocked my path. One of them slammed my right hand onto the counter. "Madam, Miss Jones reported that you stole money from the family. According to family rules, anyone who steals from the family loses the hand that took the money." I hadn't even had the chance to speak when my husband Nick Roman's new secretary, Daisy Jones, called. "I told them to stop you. The family's money was earned with blood. The Godfather and everyone under him risked their lives for it. You've never fired a shot. You've never taken a bullet for this family. What gives you the right to spend it however you want? Starting today, if you want to eat, buy clothes, or even see a doctor, you'll need my approval before you get a single dollar." After listening to her lecture about "family rules," I actually laughed. Daisy had only joined the Falco family a month ago. Just because Nick spoiled her rotten, she suddenly thought she could enforce the Godfather's rules. What she didn't know was that every casino, port, estate, and hospital owned by the Falco family had been inherited by me from my father. Even the Godfather she worshipped like he was untouchable. Five years ago, he only got the position after I gave my approval and the five district bosses backed him. She was just a secretary collecting a paycheck from me. So who the hell did she think she was? Using rules that I wrote to order my hand cut off?

During our pre-wedding hiking trip, one of my fiancé's close friends pulled a prank on me to cheer up my best friend, Chloe Carter. While I was cleaning my glasses, he secretly replaced the glasses case with a toad​. The moment I opened it, I was so terrified that I screamed and nearly fell off the cliff. He doubled over with laughter. "Chloe, did you see Four-Eyes just now? Hilarious, right? Don't let being single get you down, okay?" My fiancé, Yari Grant, laughed along with him. "Don't worry, Chloe. If she gives you any trouble after the wedding, I'll be the first to stand up to her." Yari's sister, Sophie Grant, handed Chloe an orange with a smile. "Chloe, you should come over more often. It's always more fun when you're here." The toad's secretions had irritated my skin, leaving my palm bright red. My brother, Adam Quinn, walked over and silently handed me a bottle of ice water. "Hold this against your hand for a while. It'll help." After a brief pause, he added, "We'll still need you to take pictures for us when we head back down the mountain. Can't have your hand swelling up." Ever since I was a child, my poor eyesight had kept me on the fringes of their group. I couldn't watch movies with them. I couldn't ride roller coasters. Even when they went rafting, I had to stay behind onshore and watch everyone's belongings. For more than 20 years, I had desperately tried to force my way into their world. But today, I finally understood. It wasn't that I didn't belong. They simply never deserved me.

For seven years, my boyfriend Hunter and I had clawed our way from nothing to building a top-tier tech company. He was rational, level-headed, and fiercely principled—never once making exceptions for anyone at work. Until that interview, he made an exception to hire Diana. She had been flustered and error-prone throughout the entire process, utterly incompetent by any measure. Everyone was stunned, myself included. When it came to Diana, he tossed aside his strict code of fairness. He championed her, broke up the R&D team I led, and reduced me to a figurehead—stripping me of real authority, all to elevate her. Diana got critical data wrong, costing the company massive losses. Hunter knew full well the mistake was hers, yet he demanded I take the fall for her. After I took the blame, Hunter didn't show a trace of guilt. Instead, he gently comforted the distraught Diana. "This wasn't my mistake," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "I won't take the fall for her." He turned to me, his voice soft with false reassurance. "Once this is over, I'll make it up to you. We'll get engaged, and I'll give you a grand wedding." After all those years, this was the first time he had ever promised me a future together. But Hunter had no idea that I'd already given him the last of my love. He didn't fall apart until he found out I got married—and the groom wasn't him.

The day of my prenatal checkup, my husband suddenly spoke up. "Once you're pregnant, let's try having an open marriage." My hand froze midair, still holding the report. He reached out to fix my hair, his gaze as gentle as ever. "We'll still be each other's closest family, but physically, we can each see other people.  It's a waste to only sleep with one person your whole life. I don't want you to have regrets later. This is for your own good, too." I gently tucked the report into my bag and said okay. The next day, I left the signed divorce papers on the table and walked out with my luggage. When he found out, he blew up my phone. "I told you it wouldn't affect our marriage. Why are you so prudish?" I didn't reply. I simply blocked his number. The next time we ran into each other at the hospital, his eyes were red‑rimmed as he begged me to come back, saying he didn't want any freedom anymore. I rubbed my slightly rounded pregnant belly and smiled. "Sorry, I don't take back trash."

On the golf course, my tall, devastatingly handsome instructor used every correction as an excuse to run his hands over me. "Julie, you're sweating. You look a little flushed." As if he didn't know he was the reason. After everything he'd done, sweat slicked my skin, and my panties were already damp between my thighs. "Let me cool you down." Before I could answer, he yanked the zipper of my golf top down in one smooth motion, exposing the low-cut camisole beneath it, which barely covered my breasts. His hard cock pressed against my ass. One callused hand slipped into my panties and stroked between my legs, while the other closed around my exposed breast hard enough to make the soft flesh spill between his fingers. "Still can't get the swing right, baby? Then this is your punishment!"

After my best friend, Yuna Scott, moved into my place after a bad breakup, she grew obsessed with putting relationships to the test. She teamed up with my boyfriend, Aaron York, to see if I would stay faithful. She posted my profile on a dating site, grabbed my phone, and sent flirty texts to every guy in my contacts. She also shared cozy photos with Aaron to find out if jealousy would push me into someone else's arms. The cruelest part came when they drugged me and locked me inside a hotel room. A naked stranger trapped me at the foot of the bed. I fought until bruises covered my body. The moment I fell apart, they walked out from behind the curtains. Yuna slipped her arm around Aaron's neck and smiled. "Congratulations! You've found yourself a wonderful girlfriend. Sally really is loyal to the core." I stood there in shock, unable to breathe. Then I grabbed Yuna and demanded an answer. Her eyes were bloodshot, but before she could speak, Aaron pulled her behind him and looked at me. "She lost faith in love after what happened to her. She only wanted to help me test you. Weren't you the one who said she had been hurt too badly and needed people to understand her?" He gave a cold laugh. "So I've tried to understand her, while you're the one who's been acting all along." I bit my lip as my wrists trembled. When he saw I was still upset, he brushed it aside with a wave. "Fine. You can test me the same way." That was the moment I felt drained. I didn't want a relationship built on constant tests anymore.

Sarah and I grew up together at St. Jude's. From the time we were little, we made a promise to each other: whenever either of us thought about marriage, we'd bring the man home so the other could give her personal seal of approval. After college, I dated three men. Every single time, the day after I introduced them to Sarah, they broke up with me out of nowhere. Sarah always comforted me afterward, saying I just hadn't met the right one yet. She told me she couldn't wait for the day she'd get to watch me walk down the aisle. I believed her. Then came Liam, my boyfriend of six months. After the three of us had dinner together, I accidentally discovered that Sarah had added Liam on a burner account. Behind my back, she'd been sending him photos of herself in lingerie, along with messages: Sarah: Doesn't it get boring being with someone as dull as Maya? Sarah: Break up with her. Come be with me instead. What do you think? Then, on the tablet still signed into Liam's account, I saw his reply: Liam: Is this how you seduced Maya's three exes too? Sarah laughed and sent a voice message: Sarah: You're a sharp one. Honestly, I was surprised myself. All I had to do was crook my finger, and those three dropped Maya without a second thought. Sarah: So, what about you? Care to become my next target? The blood in my veins turned to ice.

I'm the most dazzling star in Hollywood. I dated the adopted son of San Verona's mafia godfather for five years, and he never once agreed to go public. I always told myself he was protecting me, afraid The Syndicate's enemies would use me as leverage. Then I went to the club to bring him the pistol he'd left behind. Inside the VIP booth, he had a Club Dancer in his arms, looking at her with a tenderness I'd never seen before. "She's just a stepping stone in my play for power. We grew up together. You're the only woman I've ever wanted to marry." I turned and walked out. In the middle of the night, he called. "Baby, where are you? Could you bring me my pistol..." Leaning into the chest of his adoptive father, Vincent, the mafia godfather whose name alone made people tremble, I cut him off. "Sorry, I'm busy. I'm having sex."

It was the sixth month into my online relationship, where I used AI-generated photos of a beautiful woman to keep him hooked. While slacking off at work, I sent him a teasing photo with my blouse unbuttoned. The image showed my white shirt half-open, revealing a glimpse of the delicate lingerie underneath and the curve of my chest barely contained by the fabric. "Babe, I'm wearing the lingerie you bought me. Is my puppy wearing his collar properly?" He replied with a photo of his bare torso, his shirt hanging wide open. Around his neck was the collar I had meticulously picked out, and following the path of the leash downward were his firm, well-defined muscles. "Master, your puppy is ready." I was feeling satisfied and was about to continue our flirtatious banter when I suddenly spotted a fountain pen in the photo—the exact model our company gave to its employees. My fingers froze as I typed. Could it be that the man I'd been dating online for so long was actually a colleague right here?

On the night I married Sergio Pagano, he finally appeared in my room after vanishing for two months. He sat on the large bed, absentmindedly spinning a revolver between his fingers, his smile easy, almost careless.   "Put this gun to your head, pull the trigger, and I'll pay you $10 million per shot. Marella, whether your family's company survives or not is now up to you." I understood exactly what he was doing. It was Sergio's way of revenging his stepsister and secretary, Louisa Pagano. After all, just the day before, while my family was being chased by debt collectors, I had broken Louisa's rule that every meeting with Sergio required prior approval.   I had even held her at gunpoint when she tried to stop me from seeing him, and nearly killed her in the process. But now, facing Sergio, I didn't rush into his arms like before. I didn't plead, nor complain. Instead, I calmly raised the gun, pressed it to my temple, and pulled the trigger.   A hollow click rang out. It was an empty chamber.   Sergio froze for a second, then a faint, satisfied smile appeared on his lips.   "Well done," he said. "You're finally learning. Keep following Louisa's rules from now on. Don't worry. You're already part of the Pagano family. I'll have people take care of your family properly. No one will mistreat them again." My grip tightened around the gun. "No need."   Because just yesterday, when Sergio locked me up for Louisa's sake, my family was already killed by those debt collectors.   When my family was already gone, what was left to protect?

Dumped publicly by my boyfriend of three years, I thought my life was over. To help me move on, my best friend dragged me to a club, where I picked out a broad-shouldered, breathtaking athlete for a wild, unforgettable night. I thought we were done when dawn broke. No strings attached. But a week later, he walked into my living room—as my new stepbrother. When my toxic ex started spreading vicious rumors about me on campus, my new "brother" destroyed him, forcing him to drop out in disgrace. "Thank you, Rhett," I whispered, trembling. But instead of a brotherly nod, he pinned my wrists against the wall, his teeth grazing my neck. Just a thin wall away stood his mother — my new stepmother. As I shook with fear and anticipation, he let out a dark, low chuckle, capturing my lips. "Pretending last night never happened, sister? Be a good girl. One more time."

I had always been reserved by nature, yet I somehow married the most ruthless mafia don alive.   In the two years since our wedding, I'd never once truly satisfied him.   After turning down his advances for the third time that week, I accidentally found the divorce papers on his desk.   He had already signed them.   After thinking it over again and again, I got up and knocked on the bathroom door.   The sound of running water stopped at once. Dante's cold voice came from inside.   "What is it?"   I asked nervously, "I'm done with work now. Can I... shower with you?"

After the private jet crash landing, I became bound to the Heartbeat System. It gave me 10 years to win over three conglomerate heirs. If even one man's Favorability Points hit the maximum, I would obtain the real-world awakening code. But I failed—completely.   I had once risked my life to save those three men, yet all of them chose to favor the fragile, pitiful Chloe Romanov. They claimed my terminal illness diagnosis was nothing but an expensive fake. They said my distress signal on social media was merely a disgusting stunt staged to ruin Chloe's birthday party. But if they truly loathed me to the core, why did those untouchable power players lose their minds the moment I pulled off the ventilator and died in a foreign country?

After Eric Hills won the Galaxy Open for the third year in a row, I threw myself into planning the perfect proposal. After all, he'd publicly declared at the award ceremony that he wanted to get married. I didn't mind being the one to take the first step. But behind closed doors, joking around with his friends, he admitted that I was nothing more than practice. I bit down hard on my hand, tears pouring down my face as I fought to keep the sobs from escaping. From twenty-four to twenty-nine, five years of my youth and every ounce of love I had given him had turned out to be nothing more than fuel for him to chase the girl he had always wanted. Fine. I pulled my investment out of the tennis club, married the man my family had chosen for me, and from that day on, I lived as a wealthy society wife with power, money, and not a care in the world.

When the fire broke out, my husband, Jack Lewis, smashed the only emergency window. Without hesitation, he helped his claustrophobic first love, Rose Lynn, out first, leaving me alone in the smoke-choked cabin. He had completely forgotten I was carrying the twins we had waited six years for. To protect my pregnant belly, I crawled through the dense smoke for half an hour, with my calves badly burned. After I was rescued, I underwent an emergency induction in the ICU and delivered two stillborn babies. He never even showed up. It wasn't until I dragged my wrecked body out for discharge that I saw him comforting Rose, who was completely unharmed, during a psychological debrief. He held her tightly in his arms, gently patting her back. "It's alright now, honey. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you again." When he saw my ashen, hollow face, panic flickered in his eyes, only to be replaced by a justified frown. "Rosie got triggered. The doctor said reenacting the scene helps her recover. I just got too into acting as her husband. Don't take it the wrong way. Besides, you're tough. A bit of time in a fire won't kill you." It was ridiculous. I dropped my gaze to my empty stomach. So in his eyes, my life and our babies had always been worth less than one of her emotional episodes. The tragic marriage where I had been his wife for six years had finally come to an end that day.