After my daughter, Daphne Mercer, was born, I worried that she might not be able to hold on to the family business. So I chose four boys from an orphanage and took them in.   For more than a decade, I gave them money, opportunities, and the standing that came with being sons of the Mercer family.   Those four boys had once struggled to get enough to eat. I brought them all the way into Mercer Group's inner circle, until people were calling them the rising stars of the business world.   I thought that with four older brothers looking out for her, Daphne would never have to suffer at anyone's hands.   Then the hospital called with an emergency.   By the time I reached the ER, Daphne's head was covered in blood. It had taken 13 stitches to close the wound on her forehead.   The four sons I had raised were fussing over a girl with nothing more than a scraped elbow.   One gave her water. Another fetched her medication. A third called for a doctor, while the fourth stayed by her bed, soothing her fears.   Not one of them turned to look at Daphne.   That was when I learned that the girl was Phoebe Lane, their childhood friend from the orphanage.   Daphne had refused to give her a limited-edition handbag. For that, Adrian Calder, the eldest, had pushed my daughter down the stairs.   As soon as I walked in, Adrian said, "Mom, Daphne has a terrible temper. I taught her a lesson for you. Maybe now she'll remember how to behave."   Nolan Voss, the second eldest, joined in.   "It's just a cut on her forehead. A few stitches will fix it. Why make this ugly for everyone?"   I smiled when I heard them.   Apparently, putting on a suit and signing a few contracts had convinced them that the Mercer family belonged to them.   I had given them everything they lived on. If they used it to hurt my daughter, I would take every last thing back.

The 99th time Denise Voss left me for Colin Pike, an influencer, we were outside the waiting room at my father's cremation. Colin's eyes reddened on the livestream. She pushed my hand away and bent over her phone to tip Colin more.   "Hugh, he's a streamer the company is heavily promoting. Helping him climb the rankings is work. Your father's already gone. Can you grow up and stop using his funeral to guilt me?"   She had forgotten that my father had put up the 320 million dollars that saved Voss Group.   While I waited, I played the last recording he had left me.   "Hugh, that Voss girl doesn't care about you. That streamer is the only one she cares about. I want you to find someone better. She doesn't care when you're hurting. I do."   I listened again and again without a word. When Denise returned, I was straightening the cloth over the urn.   "Why aren't you demanding an explanation today?"   I smoothed the last crease. "Denise, let's call off the engagement."   She froze for a moment, then laughed. "Are you doing this again? Hugh, that's enough."   Every time we fought, I had always found a way for her to back down without losing face. This time, I didn't want to.

While my brother's funeral was underway, Ethan Whitmore spent a fortune renting a private island and putting on a fireworks display, all to welcome back his first love, Chloe Bennett.   Comments flooded the livestream chat.   A: [Mr. Whitmore, isn't your brother-in-law's funeral today?]   Ethan pulled Chloe into his arms, his voice dripping with disdain.   "Talk about bad luck. He's already dead. Does everyone else have to sit around crying over him?"   The large memorial hall sat nearly empty.   My mother-in-law, Patricia Monroe, sat off to the side sipping coffee and rolled her eyes.   "Enough. Stop crying. No matter how much Ethan dotes on that woman, you're still entitled to half the marital property. You should know when you've got it good."   They seemed to have forgotten.   Years ago, when the Whitmore family nearly went bankrupt in a boardroom power grab, Owen stepped in. He saved Ethan's life and kept the Whitmore family from collapsing.   Before he died, he gave me every debt guarantee document tied to the Whitmore family.   'Know when I've got it good? I'll make all of you pay.'

It all started when my fiancé, Milo Zachery, told me that I had to give away Copper, the golden retriever I'd raised for 6 years.   I sobbed and begged him, "Milo, Copper's such a good boy. He's family to me."   But Milo was dead set on it, trotting out his usual excuse.   "I have a severe pet fur allergy. Even a single stray hair can trigger an asthma attack. If you really love me, you'll make this sacrifice for our future marriage."   I had no choice but to swallow the lump in my throat, tears streaming down my face as I dropped Copper off at a relative's place out in the country.   Milo was satisfied and praised me for being reasonable and mature, then immediately came up with an excuse to leave town on a business trip.   Thankfully, the U-Haul driver helped me load up the rest of Copper's things, including his dog bed, and didn't charge me extra for the trouble.   While I was settling the bill, I mindlessly scrolled through my social media feed and stumbled across a new post from Milo's recently hired female assistant, Audrey Sinclair.   The best things in the world? Cuddling cats and having a guy who's willing to turn into a total cat simp just for you.   Attached to the post was a video.   The guy shoving his face straight into a Maine Coon's fluffy belly and scroooching back and forth was Milo.   I stared at my phone screen, frozen solid for what felt like ages. I'd been staring so long that the driver eventually handed me a tissue.   "Hey, kiddo, I know it sucks giving up your dog, but let me tell you something. Some people? They're way worse than dogs. Better to figure that out now than later, yeah?"   Only then did I realize my face was streaked with tears.   I gave the driver a wobbly smile.   "Yeah. Dogs are loyal."   Too bad Milo wasn't.

7 months after forgiving my cheating husband, I discovered my entire family had been helping him support his mistress.   For those 7 months, my father checked his dashcam footage every day, while my mother reviewed his bank statements on schedule.   Even my best friend carefully inspected his clothes each day for long hair and perfume.   In the end, they all concluded that Ethan Sterling had truly come back to the family.   I believed them and stayed home, waiting peacefully for the baby's arrival.   When I was 7 months along, Ethan said he had to go out of town for business.   I went to the hospital alone for a prenatal checkup, only to hear a familiar voice at the end of the obstetrics hallway.   When I pushed open the door, Ethan was holding a newborn in his arms, his head lowered as he kissed Chloe Reed on the forehead.   My parents stood nearby with an insulated food container, while my best friend held up her phone to take a photo of them.   The moment she saw me, her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor.   My parents rushed to stand in front of the bed, while Ethan clutched the baby tighter.   All of them watched me warily.   I stood still, looked at Chloe, then at Ethan.   "Congratulations. You managed to deceive me for 7 whole months. Don't worry. I'll file for divorce right away and make room for you guys."