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."

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.

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."

"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."

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.