On our 3rd wedding anniversary, I was kidnapped by my husband's obsessive admirer.   She tied me up on the roof of an 18-story building and screamed at my husband through her tears, "Tell me you love me, or I'll kill her."   My husband's eyes reddened with rage, but he still told her, "I love you."   He even wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her deeply.   The police, who had been waiting for an opening, immediately seized the chance to rescue me.   My husband shoved his admirer away at once and retched over and over.   Moved by the sacrifice he had made for me, I rushed over and held him tight.   His obsessive admirer was taken away by the police to face justice.   I thought it was all over. I couldn't have been more wrong.   A few months later, in my husband's office, he held the same woman in his arms and kissed her passionately. With infinite tenderness, he murmured, "You're irresistible when you go crazy over me. I love you, baby!"

It was our daughter's fourth birthday, and Lucien Yorke had promised we'd have a nice family dinner for three that night.   I picked up the cake and walked through the front door, only to find the house already buzzing with warm, cozy laughter.   Lucien was playing around with Cecily, the daughter of his childhood sweetheart Yvette Laurent, while Yvette sat off to the side, watching them with a soft smile on her face. They looked like the real, perfect family of three.   When Yvette spotted me coming in, she smiled and called out, "Hey Lorraine dear, Cecily and I dropped by for dinner again! You don't mind, right?"   Lucien handed her a plate of freshly cut fruit, his eyes locked on me, not an ounce of guilt on his face as he spoke, "Come on, Yvette, what are you even saying? Of course, Lorraine doesn't mind. "Besides, we've known each other for over twenty years, you're like a real little sister to me. What right does she even have to mind?"   'Yeah, that's right. What right did I have to mind?'   When we first got together, Lucien put me first in everything, no questions asked.   That all changed the day Yvette moved back to the country with her two-year-old daughter.   When I was in my third trimester and had a prenatal check-up scheduled, he said Cecily was sick and Yvette couldn't handle taking care of her alone.   I went to the appointment by myself, and my blood sugar dropped so low I almost passed out. The raging pregnancy hormones cranked my already frayed emotions up to eleven.   I called him eight times in a row, and he didn't pick up a single one. The next day, he just shrugged it off like it was no big deal, saying Cecily had accidentally powered his phone off.   When our daughter reached her 100‑day milestone, he claimed Cecily wanted him there for her birthday, and didn't show up for even a moment that whole day.   On our daughter's first birthday, he said there was a terrible storm and Yvette would be scared home alone, so he left me with our sick little girl and walked out.   After that, it didn't matter if it was a big event or a tiny, casual occasion, any time we were supposed to have our little family of three to ourselves, we always ended up squeezed into a crowded mess of five. Cramming five people into a life that was supposed to be for three was suffocatingly cramped. I never had the right to mind.   But I do have the right to walk away.

On my wedding night, I regained my sight. I was about to tell Adrian the good news when I saw my own naked photo in his friends' group chat. The camera was up close. I was kneeling by the bed, my eyes dazed, completely exposed. In the chat, Bianca asked him a question. Bianca: Three years with a blind girl. Aren't you tired of her? Adrian: She's blind, so she makes up for it with skill. Adrian: Lots of moves, loud in bed. Otherwise, what would you all have to look at when I lose bets? It turned out, every time he lost a bet to Bianca, he'd drop one of my bedroom photos into the group, taken to Bianca's filthy specifications, for everyone to gawk at. As of today, that made 98 photos. Bianca sent a laughing emoji. Bianca: One more, and tonight I'm yours. Someone in the group chimed in. Adrian's friend: What if Summer finds out and divorces you? Adrian: She's blind. Who'd take her if I left? Adrian: Besides, she loves me too much. Even if she knew, she'd pretend she didn't. But he had no idea. I was the long-lost biological daughter of the most notorious mafia family. I was done being their entertainment. I was going home.

The century-old theater that Sylvie's grandfather left her was razed for one reason: it blocked the afternoon sunlight from reaching Alexander's foster sister's gallery. Standing before the ruins, Sylvie didn't argue or break down. She simply accepted the check Alexander offered as compensation. At last, just as he wanted, she became as quiet as someone who had never existed.

Ten days before my million-dollar wedding, I sent my ex-husband an invitation. What came back wasn't a reply. It was the news that he was already dead. "Ms. Taylor, Torrin passed away six years ago. Thirty-six days after your divorce was finalized." My lawyer slid a copy of the death certificate across the table. Her voice was so calm it was almost cruel. I stared at the date, disbelief crawling through me, my fingers going cold one by one. Because for six straight years, every Christmas Eve, a handwritten letter from Torrin had appeared at my door. Six letters in total. I assumed they were full of the same tired apologies and belated love. I never opened a single one. Robert used to hold me and take the letters away. "Don't read them. He just can't accept that he lost you." I believed him. I was even grateful to him for it. I let him comfort me in the dark, kiss me, and slip an engagement ring onto my finger. Until those letters ended up in front of me again. Every single one had been carefully sliced open with a blade, then resealed with glue. The signature on the return receipts was messy, but I recognized it. Robert Hall. My handsome, devoted, loyal fiancé. But what truly destroyed me wasn't that he had opened Torrin's letters. It was the first line of the very first one: "Vivian, if you're reading this, it means I'm already dead. Don't let Robert near you." Robert didn't just steal my letters. He stole six years of my life.

At a mysterious underground adult expo in the city center, I was pinned tightly against a wall by a pair of realistic tentacles. A bunny mask covered my face, black tape sealed my mouth, and the only thing I wore was a set of bunny lingerie. My breasts were almost bare, but worse, a pink remote-control egg vibrator was inside me, pulsing at a low setting and keeping me constantly wet.  Visitors were allowed to interact with me. Some fondled my nipples, some groped my ass, and some even put their mouths on my pussy.  Each person only got 1 minute, though, and every time I was about to come, the stimulation stopped. It was sheer torture, driving me insane. Just 1 hour earlier, I had been one of the visitors. By the time the expo finally closed, the tentacles behind me seemed to come alive. They released me and retracted into the wall. I dropped to my knees.  A pair of black leather shoes came into view. I looked up, and my eyes widened. 'It's him! How come?' The man held the remote for the vibrator. He crouched down, tipped my chin up, and whispered in my ear, "Alba, do you want to experience ultimate pleasure?"

My daughter, Lily Ashford, had been pleading for a puppy, but my husband, Arthur Ashford, never gave it a second thought. It was not until his first love, Chloe Mercer's daughter, Mia Mercer, piped up that she wanted a dog too that he finally brought home two puppies. One was a bundle of spirited energy and sturdy legs. The other was born with a pitiful limp. Without a shred of hesitation, Arthur scooped up the healthy golden retriever and placed it right into little Mia's waiting arms. Mia clutched the wriggling pup with a smug, sickening grin and aimed a venomous sneer straight at my five-year-old Lily. "Lily is just a worthless bastard who does not even deserve a good puppy!" A cold shudder ripped through me. I braced for Arthur to snap at her, to defend his own child. But instead, he simply stroked Mia's head with sickening tenderness, then swiveled toward Lily, his eyes flat and chillingly matter-of-fact. "Lily, how many times do I have to tell you? Mia does not have a real family, and she is very sensitive. From now on, whenever Mia is around, you cannot call me Dad. You have to say Uncle Arthur. Got it?" And then, as if it were nothing, he dropped the limping puppy at Lily's feet. "Lily, you take care of this one." He said it so casually, so offhandedly, like my daughter was born to accept rejects, born to hand over her own father to someone else. I watched Lily bite down hard on her trembling lip, fighting back the tears as she bent down with aching gentleness to cradle that quivering little dog. My heart did not just break, it was shredded, twisted like a blade gouging through my chest. Arthur had made a habit of giving the very best to Mia, all because he thought Chloe and her girl were so pitiful. But he had forgotten: Lily was his own flesh and blood. I did not argue. Not a word. I just calmly took Lily's hand. If he was so terrified of bruising Mia's heart that he would even snatch away the word "Dad," then let him be Mia's father for good. "Come on. Let us take the puppy home to Boston."

I was a low-tier blood servant with barely a spark of magic. I was so weak that I didn't even qualify as a regular blood donor. All I could do was scrounge through the lower levels of the castle, gnawing on rotting meat just to stay alive.   I was already on the brink of starving to death, so I screwed up all my courage and snuck into the main tower. I figured I'd find some random sleeping noble and sneak a quick bite.   But when I pushed the door open, I bumped with the Vampire Duke himself, right in the middle of his Blood Moon frenzy. Dark crimson flames curled around his body.   A high-tier witch was crumpled on the floor, wailing in agony, "Your Highness, your Dark Source Power will burn me to ash!"   I swallowed hard, my eyes fixed on the man. Not only did he have the purest progenitor blood running through his veins, but I could sense two throbbing blood cores pounding inside his body...   My sharp fangs sprang out before I could even stop them.   Under the witch's stare, I lunged forward, grabbed the Duke by his fancy embroidered collar, swung a leg over and straddled his lap, then sank my fangs deep into the throbbing carotid artery in his neck.   "This top-tier blood bag's mine. Get lost!"

When my husband's mistress lay down on my gynecology exam table, she was badly hurt. "Vaginal tearing caused by rough sex." I turned my back to her and washed my hands. "Youth is capital, but on a mafia bed, your body can't take it either." I shut off the faucet, my voice flat. "While you're at it, pass a message to Carmine. Tell him to keep it in his pants for half a month. Don't touch you again." Behind me, however, came a remarkably coquettish little moan from her. "Dr. Mercer, why don't you... tell your husband yourself?" I ignored her provocation. Three months ago, when I found out Carmine had cheated, I had already decided to leave Valdoria with my son. To a place with no gunshots, no family wars, and no one who would humiliate him. Let him grow up in peace.

"Something came up at home tonight, so I can't make it to your graduation ceremony," my boyfriend of four years said softly over the phone.   Yet that night, at my graduation party, I saw him making out with another woman in a corner.   'Family emergency? So that's his excuse for sneaking around with someone else?'   A crisp cedar scent drifted over me from behind, and a man's soft, warm breath brushed my ear. "Babe, want another kiss?"

I had brewed potions for the werewolf clan for 100 years. The one time I was so exhausted that I had to take a short break, the princess who had just taken control slapped me in front of everyone.   "Do you think the Sacred Grounds are a place for you to slack off? We werewolves respect strength. We don't keep useless dead weight around."   Acting on her own, she dissolved the Potion Department and stripped me of every title and position. My mother stepped in to stop her. "The night of the full moon is almost here. Without the potion, transformation will be excruciating for the werewolves!"   The princess scoffed. "Our clan has its own regenerative ability now. Why would we need any potions? You're old and still shameless enough to throw yourself at my father. Don't think sleeping with him gives you the right to act superior to me!"   She didn't stop at humiliating my mother. She badly injured her too. That was the last straw. I smashed every potion on the spot.   She probably had no idea that the clan's powerful regenerative ability was only possible because my witchcraft had been sustaining it all along. Without my potions, once those werewolves went into a mating frenzy, she would be the first one they tore apart.

On my wedding day, I sat in the bridal suite for 30 minutes, waiting for a groom who never arrived.   Then my fiancé, Ethan Lane, finally called. "Sophia's having an asthma attack. I'm staying with her. Push the wedding back one day."   After he hung up, I called the business rival I'd been fighting for 3 years.   "Alex, I'm short a groom. Will you come?"   There were 3 seconds of silence on the other end.   He asked, "A stand-in, or a legal husband?"   I looked at myself in the mirror and wiped away the tear that had just slipped down my cheek.   "Legal."   40 minutes later, he appeared at the hotel entrance in a black tuxedo, carrying a bouquet of freshly cut white roses.   Meanwhile, the fiancé who'd abandoned our wedding still thought I'd sit right where he'd left me, waiting for him to come back, just as I had for the past 4 years.   He hadn't realized that I was done with both: a man who could leave me on our wedding day, and a marriage in which I'd always have to step aside for another woman.

At 18, after my family went bankrupt, I was taken in by Simon York, the most powerful man in Kingswell City.   I thought he was my salvation, so I swallowed every bit of my pride and loved him with all the care I had.   But the first time I accompanied him to a party, he frowned and pushed me away. "That smile is way too eager. You're making the York family look bad."   I froze on the spot, becoming the punchline among the socialites.   The second time, I wore a Mikimoto necklace.   His eyes were full of mockery. "Putting a crown on a stray cat won't turn it into royalty."   I quietly took off the necklace and never touched another piece of jewelry again. I buried every sharp edge, all so I could stay by his side.   Yet at parties, he still told his friends that I was hopelessly out of place. He even deliberately set the household staff against me, hoping to grind down whatever pride I had left—until I became the softest target in the circle, easy prey for anyone.   I stared at the stranger in the mirror, and the last spark inside me finally went out.   Simon looked into my lifeless eyes and said without a care, "As long as you keep being this obedient, I'll buy you a place of your own once I marry my future wife."   So all my desperate attempts to please him had earned me nothing but the role of a mistress he could never acknowledge in public.   With no tears left to shed, I waited until he went to his bride's birthday party.   Then I turned around and accepted the proposal from the man who had always quietly followed behind me, the one who told me I looked beautiful even without makeup.   3 months later, Simon returned.   When he learned that I had become another man's wife, his eyes reddened for the first time in his life.

I found a digital purchase costing 9.9 dollars in my fiancé Shane Mercer's shopping account. The product was called "In-Depth Relationship Assessment: How Much Do You Still Love Her?" Beneath it was a review with a photo and a long comment from Shane.   Shane: [I didn't expect this result, but in a way, it makes sense. It matches how I really feel right now.]   The screenshot of his results displayed a bold message from the system:   You once loved her fiercely, but her oversensitivity, suspicion, and repeated unreasonable outbursts have exhausted that love. Letting go is the best way for both of you to move on.   I held the tablet, my fingertips slowly going cold. The lock clicked. Shane stepped inside, bringing the chill of the night rain with him. He carried chestnut cake from my favorite bakery, his expression as gentle as ever. "Why are the lights off? Nikki, I picked up dessert for you on the way home."

My husband kept a ledger dedicated to tracking every penny I cost him. When relatives got married and we gave cash gifts, he would dig up exactly how much cash they had given us years ago. He also insisted on going grocery shopping right before the supermarket closed, because that was when the vegetables were cheapest. I always thought he was just scarred by poverty and accustomed to being frugal. Until I had uterine surgery, and the doctor explicitly said no sex for six months. That night, he sent me a video, telling me to learn to use my hands instead. "It cost 80,000 dollars to marry you. I can't just waste half a year because we can't do it, right? Twice a week, eight times a month, 96 times a year. At that rate, each time is still over 800 dollars. Actually, that's still pretty expensive." I was shaking with rage. Just then, as luck would have it, I found a notebook he had left at the hospital. From the very first day of our marriage, he had been recording a two-year countdown in it. The last page read: The bet is almost over. I'll get your kiss soon! That was when it hit me. Our marriage was nothing more than a bet between him and his dream woman. As long as he stayed married to me for two full years, he'd get a kiss from her. And I was nothing but a living doll he had bought for 80,000 dollars, a sunk cost he couldn't bear to waste! I dialed my brother Rhys's number. "Rhys, help me set this up. I want in on this bet." "What are you betting on?" "His life!"

After marrying Lance Stanford, I could never forget how cold and dismissive he had always been toward me because his heart still belonged to my stepsister, Bella Morgan. Later, Lance was gravely wounded on the battlefield and nearly died. To save his life, I traded my eyes to a witch in exchange for a life-saving potion. Lance cried as he touched my sightless eyes, and I thought I had finally won back his heart. Then Bella escaped from the Dragon God's territory and returned home. Crying, she begged him, "The Dragon God's land never sees the sun. I'm terrified of the dark. If I stay there any longer, I'm going to die!" Lance was silent for a long moment before he finally said, "Send Annie to serve the Dragon God instead. She's blind anyway. She's not afraid of the dark." Standing outside the door, I trembled from head to toe. I couldn't believe what I had just heard.

On the way to our wedding, my fiancé got a hysterical call from his ex-wife. "Come quick, Corvyn! Gentry's having another attack. He keeps crying for his daddy!" It was the third time. Every time Corvyn and I were about to get married, his son had another catastrophic episode. "Lirael, Gentry's in bad shape…" Corvyn looked at me, hesitating. "I have to go. You understand, don't you?" Like always, I nodded. "Yes. Gentry needs you." Relief flooded his face as he grabbed my hand. "I'm sorry, Lirael. I swear I'll make it up to you." I'd barely found my footing on the roadside in my wedding gown before he ordered the limo to turn around. As I watched the wedding car disappear, my phone lit up with a notification. Incoming Wire Transfer: $100,000,000.00 Memo: Compensation for today. He remembered to pay me. But he'd forgotten what I told him after the second time: "Corvyn, if there's ever a third time, we're over." I took the money. You should never disrespect money. But no amount of it could stand in for respect. Gentry needed his father. And I needed my dignity. After three betrayals, Corvyn wasn't worth staying for.

The night my boyfriend's company secured 10 million dollars in funding, he kicked me off the core team. He said a regular girl who only handled logistics had no place standing beside him and no right to founder shares. I was supposed to cry, make a scene, and beg him to reconsider. Instead, I closed my laptop and asked, "Are you sure you want me to give up my admin access?" He laughed and told me I didn't understand business. The investor's daughter had already agreed to marry him, he said, and the company would never lack resources again. Later, at the funding announcement, he crossed my name off the founder list in front of everyone. A second later, the head of the investment team walked in and addressed me deferentially. "Miss Parker, the Chairman wants you to decide. Are we still funding this project?" I looked at my ex-boyfriend's bloodless face and smiled. "No. We're out. I wouldn't touch it."

At 24, my family arranged for me to marry Alexander Grant, a man eight years my senior. Everyone said a notorious, wayward woman like me was unworthy of Mr. Grant, the most self-possessed man in Kingswell. Yet he would defend me openly at galas, take my hand, and tell everyone I was the wife he had personally chosen. So I sheathed my claws and loved him without reservation for five years. It wasn't until I was three months pregnant that I first met Selena, his first love. It was on that day that I learned he'd never married me for love. This marriage was merely a performance he staged for Selena. Even the name he'd chosen for our child carried the shadow of another woman. Later, I gave up being Mrs. Grant, and I gave up on him, too. But when the divorce papers actually reached Alexander, the man who'd always been certain I'd never leave him completely lost his composure for the first time.

For 3 years, I anonymously supported Ethan Mercer, a brilliant student from a poor family.  He promised that once the SATs were over, he would confess his feelings to me. I waited for him all day, only to see him walking my stepsister, Vanessa Caldwell, home hand in hand. That was when I learned Vanessa had pretended to be me and gone to meet Ethan in my place. In my past life, I rushed forward with our chat history and told him I was the girl he had been looking for. Furious, Ethan shoved Vanessa away. Later, just as he had promised, he married me, and we spent more than 50 years together. But as he lay dying, the only name he kept calling was Vanessa's. Only then did I understand that the few short hours he had spent with her on that first date had been enough for him to fall deeply in love with her. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the SATs ended. This time, I would step aside and let them have each other.

While pregnant with twins, I ran into my husband's mistress during a prenatal appointment at a private clinic in Kingsward. Her face went white when she saw me. Mine barely changed.   In 10 years of marriage, Alessandro Vitale had affairs with four different women. Leah Marino was neither the first nor likely to be the last. If I got angry every time it happened, I probably wouldn't live long enough to see the Vitale family appoint its next Godfather.   Yet when I returned to Vitale Estate, Alessandro was the one who confronted me. "I told you Leah and her child would never threaten you. Why did you go to the clinic and scare her?"   I lowered my gaze and put a protective hand over my stomach without arguing. He smashed a 17th-century handblown glass vase, then left for Leah's apartment with a gun and his bodyguards.   The butler stood amid the shards and cautiously asked me what he should do. I took a picture and sent it to Alessandro's mother, Caterina Vale.   10 minutes later, 15 million dollars was transferred into my personal trust. The note contained just one sentence.   Caterina: Viola, don't let another woman ruin the peace between our two families.   In the past, I would have moved the money into my daughters' education fund and told myself I could still endure the marriage. This time, I looked at the broken glass on the floor and called a divorce lawyer.

7 days before the wedding, Ethan Chase came to me with his cancer-stricken first love. "Serena might only have three months left. Her one wish is to wear a wedding dress." I asked, "To take a bridal photoshoot?" He glanced at Serena beside him. "No.to have the wedding. Ours." On the table lay the invitations that had just arrived. My name was embossed, but slightly faint on one corner. Last night, Ethan had held them up to the light, saying a wedding happened only once in a lifetime. It couldn't be half-hearted. I stared at those faded letters, then called the bridal boutique. The stylist asked if the main gown should be altered to fit the bride. I said, "Hold off. Don't give it to anyone who comes for it. That gown is not for loan." Later, Ethan took my words—"the gown is not for loan"—and twisted them into "the wedding is available for loan." He even told friends and family that I would be the one handing them their rings on stage. I had the cancellation notice printed on new invitations. Before I could even mail them out, Ethan sent me a photo of a marriage certificate. "I had to sign the surgery consent forms for Serena, so we got legally married first. Zara, just wait for me for three months."

As my boyfriend walked down the aisle with my sister, I stood in the shadows of the waiting area.   My mother turned to me and said matter-of-factly, "Maisie, don't stand in the way. Once your sister finishes rehearsing, it'll be your turn."   "The bride... isn't she?" the officiant asked quietly.   My father waved a dismissive hand. "The sisters each get a rehearsal. That's only fair."   Fairness had always been their favorite word.   Whenever they bought me a dress, they made sure Serena Carter got a more expensive one.   Whenever they cut me a slice of cake, they cut two—and let Serena choose first.   And now, even at my own wedding, my groom had to walk down the aisle with Serena before he did with me.   Adrian Hayes never looked my way.   He lowered his head to adjust Serena's veil, his expression so tender it felt unfamiliar.   It was the same look he had worn when he proposed to me.   Only later did I realize that the so-called rehearsal had been their real wedding.

Before our engagement party began, Damian Caro reassigned all four bodyguards who were supposed to protect me. His first love, Leah Collins, had called him in tears, saying someone was following her. "Eve, you've known how to shoot since you were a kid. You'll be fine getting home on your own." He kissed my forehead, then added, "Leah gets scared easily. Just put up with it for tonight." I was shot in an underground parking garage 20 minutes later. Braced against my car door, I fired my last bullet before Damian finally arrived. He took off his coat, but instead of draping it over me, he wrapped it around Leah's shoulders even though she was completely unharmed, then turned and blamed me for shooting back. "You made too much of a scene. Now everyone will think I can't even protect my own woman." I laughed through the pain. He was right. So before the ambulance arrived, I took off my engagement ring and called my father right in front of him. "Lock down the ports and end every partnership. And notify the Five Families for me. Damian and I are no longer engaged." From that moment on, the Moreau ports, doctors, and safe routes were no longer available to Damian. He thought I was just jealous. By dawn, all seven of his cargo ships had been barred from the harbor, and his seat on the family council had been removed.

Derek Lockwood and I had been together since we were young, the kind of devoted couple everyone held up as an example. Derek was the only son of Larkhaven's wealthiest family, born into privilege and adored by all. Then, at 20, he lost both parents. His uncle seized control of the family, and Derek was abandoned in Karsia with no one to turn to. When malaria left him fighting for his life, I was the only person who followed him across thousands of miles—an 18-year-old nanny who stayed by his side. 10 years later, Derek returned with a vengeance. He reclaimed the Lockwood family empire and avenged his parents. The first thing he did afterward was marry the nanny who had cared for him for 10 years. The whole city was stunned. Betting pools sprang up everywhere over how soon Derek and I would divorce. Yet we remained deeply in love. After 5 years, the women who had tried everything to seduce him finally gave up. No one questioned our marriage anymore, and I became known as the luckiest woman in Larkhaven. But only I knew the disgust in Derek's eyes whenever he noticed the lines on my face. After another night when he left our bed unsatisfied, he walked out with a dark expression. Before long, a woman 15 years younger than me entered his office. At that moment, I finally gave up. The 15-year entanglement between Derek and me needed to end.

In Jacob Jenkins's dictionary, everything had its own priority. Even as his wife, if I wanted to have an anniversary dinner with him, I had to make an appointment with his assistant first. Yet on my ninth attempt, I was still told there was a scheduling conflict. The assistant told me, "Mrs. Jenkins, Mr. Jenkins's schedule is fully booked for this month. Why don't you try making an appointment for next month?" I looked down at the soup in the that had simmered for six hours, and frowned. "But this is already the ninth time I've come." The assistant looked embarrassed, smiling bitterly as he begged me not to put him in a difficult position. It wasn't until that evening that my younger classmate from college posted a set of nine photos on her social media. They were photos from the party celebrating her adoption of a stray cat. Through the reflection in the glass, I saw a familiar figure. But he wasn't alone—my biological father was there too. At that moment, I finally realized that throughout this betrayal, I had been the only one left in the dark.

My husband, Miles, was 8 years younger than me—and my ex-husband's former student.   After stealing another man's wife, he never forgot how our relationship began. He kept me on a brutally short leash: check-ins at 1-hour intervals and a tracker I had to carry everywhere.   I laughed at how possessive he was and indulged it as a harmless quirk.   Until the day I saw his messages with a friend.   Miles: Nora was so promiscuous she even seduced her own husband's student back then.  Miles: If I don't keep a close eye on her, what if she cheats on me?  Miles: Besides, as long as I know where she is at all times, I won't have to worry about her finding out about Paige and me.

Julian Ward was kind and decent, always eager to help others. He wasn't well-off himself. He had to pick up part-time jobs to cover his own tuition and living expenses.  But he still willingly gave me half of what he earned to pay for my schooling—me, a walking jinx with no one in the world—from junior high to university graduation, a full ten years. We were so poor that we survived on nothing but plain bread, day in and day out, and wore the same patched clothes for three years. But Julian never treated me like dead weight. On the day we graduated, we got married. In a cramped, stuffy rented room, we vowed to love each other for a lifetime. Later, our business took off, and we moved into a mansion. On my thirtieth birthday, I got pregnant. Everything was falling into place, until I caught Julian kissing the girl he was sponsoring. 18 years on, Julian was still kind, still decent, still eager to help others. But this time, the one he was helping wasn't me. And it was time for us to end, too.

On my first night after moving into my stepfather Alaric Vaughn's house, I caught him making love to my mother, Felicia Vaughn.   He held her firmly around the waist while his long fingers gripped the nape of her neck, pinning her against the dining table as he thrust into her hard from behind.   "No, Alaric. Easy... Don't wake Vera up," Felicia gasped, her face flushed.   "The way you're squeezing me says otherwise, slut!"   Alaric smacked Felicia's round ass. His cock drove in and out of her, each forceful thrust making her tremble.   I had only come out for a glass of water, but I froze where I stood. When I looked up, my eyes met Alaric's gray-blue gaze. Terrified, I turned and ran back to my room.   Alaric merely raised an eyebrow before losing himself in their passion again.   That night, I had a wet dream.   I dreamed that Alaric lifted my nightgown and caressed my pale breasts, kneading them again and again until my pussy grew slick.   His fingers never stopped. They moved lower, rubbing my clit over and over until soft moans escaped my lips.   "Oh, Daddy, that feels so good... I'm gonna come..."   "Vera, were you calling for me?" Alaric's voice rang clearly beside my ear.   I jolted awake and saw Alaric holding my thong, staring at the fingers I had unconsciously slipped inside myself.

I was the fiercest she-wolf by Alpha's side. Ever since the day I carried him, half-dead, out of a blood-soaked battlefield, he swore I was his one and only. Until a delicate outsider, an Omega, arrived in our pack, soft as silk, yet bearing a scent so eerily similar to my own. On her very first day, Alpha cleared out my territory for her. He turned to me and said, “You merely borrowed the Moon Goddess's light. Now that the real one is back, get lost.” Only then did I realize I was nothing but a combat stand-in, a shield meant to take blades meant for him. He threw the exile contract in my face, then turned and placed the crown that should have been mine upon her head. He even allowed that Omega to trample my wolf emblem beneath her feet. I signed the exile contract without hesitation and left without a backward glance. He believed that without the pack, I would die in the wild. Ten minutes later, hundreds of Shadow Wolves obliterated the border.

The night we hiked up the snowy mountain to catch the aurora, a freak blizzard blew in out of nowhere. Liam Drake, the man I'm supposed to marry, left me stranded in the sheltered rest stop halfway up the mountain for two whole hours. When the rescue snowcat arrived, he let his childhood friend, Wendy Woods, take the passenger seat. Wendy was wrapped in his long down jacket, cozied up under the heater's warm blast. The rescuer rolled down the window and yelled to me, "Miss, there's no room for you up here. We're overloaded. Your fiancé said you can wait for the next trip." I said okay. Then I stood there in the snow. The wind, laced with tiny ice shards, stung my eyes so bad they burned. Through the car window, I saw Liam pouring hot water for Wendy, using the thermos I had filled to the brim that very morning. Wendy's timid voice drifted out through the crack in the window. "Liam, Cindy is gonna be mad about this." He chuckled. "If she can't even cut some slack for someone with a sprained ankle, there's no point in us getting married anyway." He was right. There really was no point. My fingers were half-frozen when I fished out my phone and typed a line into the wedding planning group chat.   Me: The wedding has been canceled. Sorry, everyone. I hit send, left the group, and trudged down the mountain alone, following the deep tire ruts the snowplow had pressed into the snow. Thick, howling snow roared down in sheets, swallowing the whole sky above. I didn't even spare it a single glance.

In the third year of our marriage, I saw Sofia Costa at Damian Moretti's lakeside safe house. She was wearing the white cashmere robe I had left in the master bedroom. Around her neck hung the highest‑ranking black onyx amulet of the Moretti family. That amulet is no mere piece of jewelry. Everyone in the Yorkshore underworld knows that to see it is to stand before the Godfather himself. Twelve hours later, Damian cut short a family council in Sicily and flew back to Yorkshore overnight. He didn't even take off his coat. He stood before me and said, "Sofia won't threaten your position as godmother. And I won't let anyone take your place." A pause. Then his voice dropped lower. "So, Elena. Don't touch her." I thought of a makeshift medical station in northern Silria, years ago. Back then, he wasn't the Godfather yet. He was just a war photographer with a bullet in his chest, lying on my operating table. I pulled the bullet out. When he woke up, he gave me a Damascus rose with its edges singed by gunpowder smoke. "Doctor," he said, "I owe you a proper cup of coffee." He made it back to Yorkshore alive. He became the youngest Godfather in the city's history. And I became his wife. But that cup of coffee never came. I turned my wedding ring slowly around my finger. "Don't worry. I won't touch her." I'm thirty years old. I wouldn't end a three‑year marriage over a robe or an amulet. But that night, for the first time, I realized that Damian's promise only covered no one taking my place. As for how much of that place still held any love for his wife, he had never truly cared.

Three months after I cut ties with my family, my parents sued me. They claimed I'd disappeared after college, stopped caring about them, and refused to take their calls. I pulled every bank transfer and call log from my phone. 127 transfers and 600 calls in all. I'd left a note on every transfer, clearly marking it for living expenses or medical bills. The first transfer came from my very first paycheck. After paying rent, I had $676 left in my account. I sent my parents $300. From then on, I sent them money on the first of every month. I'd always done my part. But I wouldn't let them use my money to clean up my younger sister Eden Hale's messes. I stopped trying to explain myself after what happened when I was 18. My mother slapped me so hard that my right ear rang all night. At the hospital the next day, the doctor asked how I'd been feeling lately. I told him I wanted to die. Sitting beside me, my mother had only one question for the doctor. "How much is this going to cost?"

I had only been back with the Brooks family for two months when my biological father, Robert, threw me a birthday party at his private estate. Dressed in a luxury designer suit, I was being introduced to relatives and business associates when Dana, my nanny's foster daughter, suddenly burst into the ballroom. Clutching an ultrasound report, she grabbed my hand and cried, "Quinn, you promised you'd take responsibility! You can't abandon me and our baby just because you've been welcomed into a wealthy family!" The entire room went dead silent. I froze too. Robert's expression instantly darkened. I shook off Dana's hand and tried to explain, but my brother, Daniel, slung an arm around my shoulders and gave me a hard squeeze. "Damn, Quinn. You've only been home for two months, and you've already knocked someone up!"  I couldn't help thinking: They hadn't even gotten my gender right. What kind of tragic soap opera were they trying to stage?

When Julian Ashford dropped a fortune to plaster his latest mistress across every billboard in the city, I was still sitting at my computer, cleaning up the PR mess from his last scandal. On screen, surrounded by flashing cameras, he managed a smirk. "Make sure you get my devoted expression. My wife loves that." Then he read out my personal email address to every paparazzo in the room, his tone lazy and indifferent. "Drafting press releases, wiping up my messes, that sort of thing. Mrs. Ashford is an expert." That night, my inbox was flooded with hundreds of provocative photos, dripping with mockery. They expected me to do what I'd always done. Bury the headlines, scrub the comments, and go on being the gracious, understanding Mrs. Ashford. I looked at the reflection of the two of them embracing on my screen and felt nothing but amusement. Three years of marriage. Three years of his depravity. Three years of him exploiting my love without consequence. This time, I deactivated my work accounts and let the media frenzy run its course. I packed my bags overnight and signed the divorce papers. 'Julian Ashford. From now on, clean up your own messes.'

I naturally ran hot, so I chose two highly compatible beastmen: a snow fox beastman and a serpent beastman.   I was especially devoted to the beautiful snow fox, Felix Hale.   At first, he was sweet. He clung to me every day and was always preparing little surprises.   Then he came back from a family gathering 1 month ago and changed completely.   Every time he saw me, he frowned in disgust.   "I can't stand looking at you. Stay away from me. I only bonded with you because my heat cycle messed with my judgment that day. Sooner or later, I'm dissolving this bond."   Felix was an orphan, so I assumed something at the gathering had upset him.   Each time, I spent 1 hour coaxing him before he would let me cling to his naturally cool body until the heat passed.   Even when I was burning up, I put up with his moods.   Then one evening after work, I stopped at Felix's favorite dessert shop.   I had just gotten back into my car when Felix walked past with his arm linked through my older sister, Bianca Quinn.   The tenderness in his eyes was something I had never seen before.   "Bianca, don't be upset. Ava brings me dessert every night anyway. I'll give it to you when she does."   "Felix, you've been bringing me treats for 1 full month. You're spending too much on me."   "It's fine. I only make Ava buy them because you like them. As long as you're happy."   Bianca smiled, then turned toward my car and gave me a mocking look through the window.   "Looks like you lost again, Ava."   I froze.   A painful knot tightened in my chest. I gripped the steering wheel until the veins stood out on the back of my hand.   So Felix hadn't been hurt at the family gathering.   He had fallen for Bianca there.   I had been nothing more than a clown, someone he used to keep Bianca happy.   Now I knew the truth, and I was done playing the fool.   I let out a bitter laugh, rolled down the window, and threw the dessert away.

Three months ago, at an exclusive dinner gala, I turned down a blonde lunatic who swore it was "love at first sight". I was the youngest partner at a top venture capital firm in Manhattan. I would never waste my time on an arrogant man who treated love like a game. He watched me leave in the rain and whispered, "You'll regret this." Three months later, my company was hit with a hostile takeover, and that man, venomous as a serpent, parachuted in as my new boss. Ivan Klein, heir to the Klein family, a billion-dollar empire with its tentacles deep in the dark web. He forced my hand. Drugged me at a banquet. Locked me inside his penthouse fortress, a place that felt like a medieval castle in the sky. I drove a shard of glass into his shoulder and ran. Made it all the way to the police station, covered in blood. But when I sat trembling in that room, the chief himself held the door open for Ivan. He walked in wearing a pristine suit, crossed the room to where I sat shaking, and traced his long fingers down my tear-streaked cheek. Then he smiled at every officer in the room and said, "I'm sorry. My fiancée has a bit of a mental health condition. She forgot to take her medication again."

I was born with freakishly dense bones. My boxing coach had spent a decade praying for an athlete built like me, a once in a lifetime boxing physique. Zane Cole looked me over with a frown. "You're built like a linebacker. Total turnoff." So I survived on almost nothing until I dropped to barely 80 pounds. But even after three years of marriage, Zane never had sex with me. I thought I still hadn't gotten thin enough. The day his childhood sweetheart came back, he shoved me down the stairs and spat, "Stop acting like you're all delicate and fragile. It makes me sick." After I got a second chance at life, the first thing I did was tear into a seven-pound tomahawk steak. Three months later, he walked in with his childhood sweetheart and demanded a divorce. Right in front of him, I slammed my fist into the solid oak table. The tabletop cracked with a sharp snap. "Divorce? You? Who the hell do you think you are?"

On our seventh trip to the clerk's office, Marcus Hale said his eye had been twitching and it felt like a bad sign. And once again, he pushed our wedding back another month. The six times before had gone exactly the same way. Every time, some part of him ached. And every time, he bumped our appointment back a month. After putting up with a painful wisdom tooth for 2 weeks, I finally went to the dentist to have it removed. But in the elevator, I looked up and saw Marcus ahead of me with his assistant, Natalie Moore, a young woman I had once sponsored through school. Her eyes were red. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hale. If I hadn't called out to you, you wouldn't have turned around, and that bike wouldn't have hit you." Marcus patted her head and smiled gently. "Don't be silly. You're my little ray of sunshine, my lucky star. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You're nothing like Eleanor. She's a walking jinx. All she ever brings me is bad luck." I was Eleanor Clark, his fiancee, the woman who had stayed beside him from the days when he had nothing until he became a rising star in tech. I was devastated. I looked down at the message on my phone urging me to come home and marry someone suitable, then replied. Eleanor: Mom, I agree to the arranged marriage. I'll return to Eldermere in a few days.

After the ninety-ninth attempt at consummating the marriage failed due to my husband's lack of response, my sister shoved me aside, taking over herself. "Put your hand here. Focus your attention downward..." Caleb Rivers's rigid body instantly relaxed, and his movements lost their resistance. The two of them shifted through position after position, from gentle caresses at the waist to vigorous friction, looking for all the world like a loving married couple. I stood naked to one side, as awkward and out of place as a mistress. The next morning, my husband woke refreshed and invigorated. Three weeks later, Sylvia Whitmore tested positive for pregnancy. Mrs. Whitmore had built a business empire and was desperate for a grandchild. When she heard the news, she couldn't stop smiling, her face lit with genuine joy. "Sylvia really is capable. Avery, you should thank her for giving the Whitmore family an heir." From the time I was found at 16 after being lost as a child, ten whole years had passed. My birthday had to piggyback on Sylvia Whitmore's banquet. My marriage was arranged with the man she'd rejected. My marital home was decorated and furnished according to her tastes. And now even my nominal heir would emerge from her belly. No one had ever asked what I liked or whether I was willing. Hearing Mrs. Whitmore's words now, the last trace of hope inside me vanished completely. She still didn't know that the precious daughter she expected to carry on the family line was actually the child my live-in father had with his mistress. And my billionaire adoptive parents had been waiting for me to come home and inherit the family business for quite some time.

Just 30 minutes before the Blood Hunt began, my wolf vanished from my body without warning. Panic flooded through me as I grabbed Elias's hand. Beside him, Camille bent over, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "Elias and I made a bet, to see if you'd even realize you'd taken the Suppressant. And look at you, you're still completely unaware." Elias slipped the antidote between my lips, his fingers brushing through my hair in that familiar, comforting way. "Chloe, you always manage to stumble into danger, don't you? How am I ever supposed to stop worrying about you?" Camille smacked his shoulder, pretending to be offended. "Don't you dare talk about my best friend like that." The two of them playfully wrestled, their laughter slowly fading as they moved farther and farther away, leaving me frozen in place. Cold sweat gathered on my skin as unbearable pain tore through my body. The three of us had grown up together, and those two had always enjoyed making bets. The last time, they bet on whether I'd notice they'd mixed silver dust into my setting powder. My face broke out in a terrible rash, forcing me to stay home and making me miss my dance audition. The time before that, they bet on whether I'd realize they'd replaced the sacred hymn meant for the Moon Goddess. I was branded a heretic and locked away for three days and nights. After every cruel prank, they would run their fingers through my hair with those same smug smiles and tease, "Chloe, you always manage to stumble into danger, don't you? How am I ever supposed to stop worrying about you?" But every danger I'd ever faced had been caused by them. I watched their carefree figures as they laughed and fought with each other, then turned around and bought a ticket to the polar ice caps. It turned out that the aurora over that frozen wilderness was meant to be seen alone.

To prove that art could succeed without capital, I hid my identity, worked three jobs, and helped my penniless boyfriend make his movie.   In public, he reduced me to "the production assistant delivering a receipt." He stood by while his influencer mistress ground a stiletto into my foot. To preserve his image as a principled artist, he even let his PR team portray me as a deranged gold digger and unleash the entire internet against me.   When our three-year agreement expired, I revealed that I was the sole heir to a powerful film conglomerate. I withdrew every cent of funding, bankrupted him overnight, and had him cast out of his family.   As he knelt sobbing in the rain, I linked arms with my childhood sweetheart and fiancé.   "Mr. Clement, when faced with real capital, your performance falls apart."

On Valentine's Day, the boyfriend who had turned down nine of my marriage proposals suddenly dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him. He fumbled through his vows, his voice shaking as he opened his palm to reveal a heart-shaped gold ring. Tears blurred my vision as I watched hundreds of drones light up the night sky above the harbor, forming the silhouettes of a man and a woman. Convinced my happily-ever-after had finally arrived, I held out my ring finger. The moment the ring slipped onto my finger, the giant screen on the rooftop terrace of the Manhattan Hotel flickered to life. A video of Jason and my best friend, Chloe, filled the screen. "I bet she'll show up. All I have to do is use marriage as bait. She'll drop everything and come running to me every single time." The room erupted in laughter. "Come on, Zoe. Are you really that desperate to get married?" "The ring cost $1.39. And it's a chocolate ring. Those drone figures? They're Jason and Chloe, not the two of you. Even the proposal speech was something he copied off the internet." "They bet on whether you'd realize the proposal was fake. Looks like Jason lost again." Chloe's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Surprised? I told him a hopeless romantic like you would cry and say yes without a second thought. He actually argued with me." As if nothing had happened, Jason casually reached for my suitcase. "You didn't really think I don't know Zoe, did you?" Jason said, glancing at Chloe with a grin. "You've been down lately. I was just trying to make you laugh." "Zoe's the 'strong, independent woman'. She proposed to me nine times, even after I rejected her every single time. She even made it through years of long-distance without ever complaining." "So there's no way she'd get upset over something this small... right?" He looked at me expectantly, already certain of the answer. I nodded. Then I smiled along with everyone else. Why would I be angry? At least I found out I was the joke before the wedding instead of after it. Nine years. It was finally time to start a new chapter of my life—instead of wasting another day hanging on to a man who was never worth it.

My husband's adopted sister, Violet Steel, unexpectedly became a widow. To be with her, he kept pushing me to divorce him. Rowan Steel sat on the sofa, his fingers lightly tapping the table. His tone was self-righteous. "Violet just lost her husband. She's emotionally devastated, and as her older brother, I can't let outsiders gossip that she jinxed her husband."  He added, "We'll split the marital property fifty‑fifty. You get custody of Ruby, and I'll pay 50,000 a month in child support. You won't get a raw deal." My blood boiled. Trembling with anger, I grabbed the divorce agreement and hurled it at his face. He covered his face. His gentle facade crumbled, revealing the irritation and impatience hidden beneath. "Why can't you be reasonable? Violet is emotionally fragile right now. If I don't spend more time with her, and she does something drastic, can you live with that?" With that, he slammed the door and left. That night, I had a dream.

Before I married Nathan Carter, his childhood sweetheart, Sophia Reed, mocked me for pretending to be too good for everyone. Three days later, her family was driven into bankruptcy. Everyone knew Nathan had done it to defend me. After we married, the man worth tens of billions became even more insatiable with me, coaxing me into abandoning every last shred of restraint. "Tell me you want me. Say it in your dirtiest voice." Blushing furiously, I said things I never wanted to remember again. For a time, I lost myself in the illusion that I was the only woman he would ever cherish. Then, at a private auction, a price was placed on my voice. I heard myself begging in my most wanton voice, "Nathan... please take me. Please make me feel good. Please... ruin me." No one there had imagined I could be so shameless. Suggestive gazes swept over me from every direction. With Sophia in his arms, Nathan smiled cruelly. "Honey, you sound so beautiful. Wouldn't it be a shame not to let everyone hear you?" I pulled off my wedding ring and threw it to the floor. Then I smiled lightly in the room. "Nathan, you seem to have forgotten that my last name is Bennett." "The last man hailed as a legend of the business world was my father."

At a Valentine's Day kissing contest, my boyfriend turned away when I leaned in and kissed his childhood sweetheart instead.   I stood frozen as whispers rose around me. Ethan Cole and Chloe Reed ignored everyone, clung to each other, and kissed for 8 straight hours, winning the contest.   I was never the suspicious type. On our anniversary getaway, Chloe said she had never taken a romantic trip, so Ethan brought her along and turned what should have been a trip for two into an awkward vacation for three. On my milestone birthday, Chloe said she had never had a celebration like mine. Ethan put her name beside mine and shifted the entire room's attention to her.   Every time I objected, Ethan said Chloe was an orphan who had no one else and told me not to make a fuss.   Today, I arrived at our engagement party in a gown I had chosen with care, only to discover Chloe's name on the giant screen where mine should have been. Ethan waved it off and told me not to get hung up on one little detail.   That brought back the conversation I had overheard between him and his friend the night before.   "Ethan, aren't you afraid your obedient girlfriend will finally walk if you keep pulling stunts like this?"   Ethan simply took another sip of his drink. "I promised Chloe I'd help her fulfill three romantic wishes. Tomorrow is the last one. After that, I'll marry Vivian and settle down with her."   Now, surrounded by snickers and whispers, I felt strangely calm, and I smiled.   'Ethan, you still think we're getting married, but I've changed my mind.'

I made plans with my boyfriend, Arthur Smith, to go to Valdoria together and watch the World Cup games. On the morning we were supposed to leave for that trip, I got to the airport and ended up waiting there for three whole hours, yet Arthur never showed up at all. I stood there watching a couple next to me—arms wrapped around each other, kissing excitedly as they were about to board. Meanwhile, I kept dialing Arthur's number over and over, but I never got through. It was not until the sky turned completely dark that my phone finally rang and I heard his voice on the other end, "Sorry, Vivienne, I forgot to mention that Leah also wanted to come to the World Cup, and she got so excited about it last night that she couldn't sleep at all, so she insisted on dragging me to leave early with her. We have just landed now. You can still make your way over on your own, right? We'll all meet up at the stadium entrance tomorrow." I froze right there on the spot, completely stunned by what he had just said. I had been looking forward to this trip for such a long time that I had actually arranged to take two weeks off from work, all for the sake of watching the matches with Arthur, and we had also made a promise that after the games ended, we would fly over to Ashford to take our wedding photos together. And yet, with that one casual remark about leaving early, he simply set aside every plan we had made and completely forgot about me. I forced a bitter smile and said to him, "You two go ahead and have a good time. I suddenly don't feel like going anymore." The next day, when I scrolled through my feed and came across Leah Smith's Instagram post, I saw a photo of her posing with Messi, and she was wearing the limited edition jersey that I had custom-made especially for this trip but never even had the chance to put on. Arthur was standing right next to her, pressed close to her side, and the two of them were grinning so broadly that they looked like they didn't have a care in the world. The caption read: Thank you, Arthur, for getting me this picture. You are always so wonderful, and you never miss a single important moment in my life! I calmly tapped the like button, and then, I contacted the wedding planning company to cancel the ceremony that was scheduled for three weeks from now. He never missed any important occasion of hers, but he missed every single one of mine. I pulled the diamond engagement ring off my finger and casually tossed it into a trash can right there at the airport because I no longer wanted any part of this relationship that had never been taken seriously, and I wanted nothing to do with Arthur himself either.

I had been engaged to Kieran Kargin, Alpha of our Pack, for years, but he never once mentioned setting a date for our wedding—until one day I happened to overhear him joking with his friends, saying, "Sofia doesn't even have a wolf spirit. How could a low-rank wolf like her, with no spirit at all, ever be my Luna? Once I've gone through with the alliance marriage, I'll just keep her somewhere on the side, and that'll be that."  I didn't cry or make a scene, nor did I charge in to question him. Instead, I turned around and went straight to my brother Sean Archer's grave, where his ashes rested quietly in the urn. Later, while Kieran was on his way to the Wolf Alliance, I visited his mother and called off the engagement myself. When he came back to the Pack and couldn't find me anywhere, he searched for me frantically. But by then, I was already standing in the Bloodmoon Pack territory, receiving my coronation as queen.

The day my sight finally returned, I kept it a secret from my husband, Adrian Smith. I wanted to surprise him, to see the look on his face when he realized I could look into his eyes again. Instead, I found him in a private lounge, sharing drinks and laughs with a few of his closest buddies. "Adrian, your wife has been blind for over a year now," one of his friends asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "How much longer are you going to let Ethan pretend to be you? How long can you keep up this game?" Adrian casually poured more whiskey for everyone, his face completely untroubled. "Ethan and I have been best friends since childhood. He knows exactly where the line is. Besides, my wife has always been cold and detached. Ethan has not even shared a bed with her this whole time." "Well, that sounds like a tragic waste," another friend joked. "We all know Ethan's the stamina king among us." Adrian's remarks triggered a wave of crude laughter around the table. Over in a dimly lit corner, Ethan Maxwell sat quietly, his head down as he listened to music through his headphones. For over a year, that very man had used his raspy, soothing voice to sing hundreds of songs to comfort me in my darkness. I stared at Ethan, studying him through the crack in the door. He had broad shoulders, a lean waist, and striking, bright eyes. He carried an air of cold indifference, yet I knew he had a deeply warm heart. As I looked at him, a dark thought crossed my mind—it really was a shame that I had never slept with a man like him.

I was able to marry Lance Reynolds only because I had a face that looked very much like his deceased first love.   For seven years, I stayed by his side, accompanied him through the lowest days of his life, and gave birth to Xavier Reynolds for him.   I had thought seven years would be enough to change many things.   Until the younger sister of Lance's deceased first love, Nina Lane, returned home.   He forgot our wedding anniversary completely, yet remembered to celebrate the birthday of the dog Nina raised.   In the past, Xavier had clung to me the most.   But now, he said to Nina, "You're gentler than Mom."   In the family portrait he drew, there was Dad, Nina, himself, and a puppy.   I was the only one missing.   I pointed at the drawing and asked him, "What about me?"   He lowered his head and said casually, "I forgot."   At that moment, I finally came to my senses.   It turned out that there had long been no place for me in this family.   The next day, I pushed the divorce agreement in front of Lance.   But he thought I was only throwing a tantrum, so he signed it in anger.   Before I left, my son did not even look at me.   He said, "I want to stay with Nina."   I nodded.   This time, I could finally be myself again.

By the third year of my marriage to mafia boss Nathan Blackwell, I had turned myself into a silent shadow.   He said he liked simple, understated things, so I locked my closet full of red dresses in the deepest corner of the attic. Every day, I wore cream-colored cotton dresses, arranged flowers, and brewed coffee at home.   He said the business world was too dirty, so I obediently stepped away from the company I had built with my own hands and retreated behind the walls of this mansion.   My world shrank into a gilded cage. The most important thing I did each day was wait for him to come home.   But over the past three months, Nathan had come home less and less. Whenever he did return, his shirt carried the same unfamiliar perfume.   The scent was loud, brazen, and impossible to ignore. It smelled like wild roses.   A friend hinted, "Once the novelty wears off, who stays interested in a housekeeper who spends all day in the kitchen? You have to make him want to win you over again."   So that day, I cooked all his favorite dishes. I pulled out the slip dress I hadn't touched in three years and put on bright red lipstick in front of the mirror.   But when Nathan came home, he brought another woman with him. She was his right-hand aide, Sienna Cross.   She wore a tight bodycon skirt. Her hair fell in long waves. And she carried that familiar perfume.   "Nathan, so this is your... housekeeper?"   Nathan didn't deny it. He didn't even spare me a glance.   I said nothing. I threw out the cold food and texted a number that had been silent for years.   Claire: Book me a flight home.

When I was dragged into the dungeon by the rival family and my legs were crushed to a pulp, my husband, Carlo Vitale, was busy making a baby with his mistress. After five years of marriage, he finally wanted a child. But the mother wasn't me—it was a girl he'd known for only two months, who looked just like his dead first love. When I called him for the last time, he answered breathlessly, "Leave me alone. I'll come back once she's pregnant." Five days later, dockworkers fished out my remains. As the Mafia Don, he came to identify me himself. He put on gloves, lifted the sheet, and stared at the severed arm for a long time. There was an old scar on the inner forearm, from seven years ago when his gun misfired and grazed me. In that moment, he went completely insane. But even with all his power, he couldn't bring back the dead.

For nine years, I helped Ethan Carter rise from nothing and become the tech world's newest star. But before his mother's seventieth birthday gala, he arranged a seat for his pregnant mistress at the main table and ordered me, "Do not wear anything too eye-catching. She will not like it." I smiled and nodded. On the night of the gala, Bellemont's elite gathered under the lights. I walked in wearing the Reed family's heirloom ruby necklace and replaced his mistress's place card with one that read: Ethan Carter's Secret Mistress. Beside it lay her prenatal report, clearly showing that she was thirteen weeks pregnant. The entire room fell dead silent. Ethan's eyes were red with fury as he shouted, "Sophia, have you lost your mind?" I picked up the microphone and smiled. "No. I am simply here to formally inform you that you are about to lose everything."