One week before her wedding, Rose Leonardo receives a mysterious email that shatters her perfect life. Hidden behind lies, secrets, and stolen promises is a betrayal far worse than she ever imagined. Her fiancé and her best friend have been deceiving her for years.  As the wedding day draws near, Rose must decide whether to fight for the love she once believed in or walk away from the people who broke her heart. But some betrayals come with a price, and not everyone will escape the consequences. Will Rose get her happily ever after, or will revenge and regret be the only things left standing?

When New York City ran its annual ranking for the Most Useless Heir and Most Outstanding Heir, my stepbrother and I still held down the number one spots on both lists. But right after the results dropped, explicit photos of my fiancée in bed with my stepbrother blew up the trending searches. There they were, right by the floor-to-ceiling window, my perfect little fiancée, the one everyone praised as a model of grace, raised strictly on three thousand rules of proper conduct, pinned down by Lucas, twisting through one humiliating position after another. Every single person in the city was holding their breath, waiting to see how I'd react. After all, the last guy who dared so much as flirt with my fiancée was still laid up in the hospital to this day. I chain-smoked all night long. I went through every single one of those thousands of photos, one by one. Dawn was just breaking over the city when Winnie finally called me to explain. "I had a little too much to drink last night," she said, "I mistook him for you. Just go out and take the blame for the photos trending, okay? If you don't, Pattinson's reputation will be ruined forever." This wasn't the first, either. This was the ninth time she'd 'mistaken' Lucas for me. Listening to that pathetic, lazy lie spill from her mouth, I didn't snap, didn't roar. I just ground my burning cigarette out right on top of her name printed on our engagement contract. "It doesn't matter anymore." Who was in the photos? Doesn't matter. Winnie Hudson? She doesn't matter either.  If she could mistake another man for me, then there was nothing stopping me from marrying another woman.

Robert Smith lost his memory. He forgot every single thing about me. His mind is stuck in the year when he loved his ex-wife more than anything. No matter how many times everyone around him tried to talk sense into him, he was dead set on the idea that I was the homewrecker who stole him away from her. The doctor said there was a chance his memory could come back, and I clung to that tiny sliver of hope for dear life, refusing to let go. Three long years dragged by, and in that time, we got divorced and remarried, over and over. We became the biggest laughingstock of the entire Washington, D.C. social elite.  People even started placing bets. They bet on when I’d finally walk away, and on when Robert Smith would finally remember who I was. Then the news of our eighth divorce blew up and hit the number one spot on the hot search rankings. Reporters came storming into my office at the law firm, bulky cameras propped on their shoulders. They jammed microphones right up in my face, every question dripping with biting provocation. "Lawyer Chastin, you’re a divorce lawyer yourself, and you’ve been divorced eight times already. How do you feel about that?" The firm’s sign was smashed to bits, and the custom honorary banner I’d earned was dragged to the floor and trampled underfoot. Before I could even open my mouth to respond, my boss fired me on the spot, claiming I’d ruined the reputation of our entire industry. "Jane Chastin, let me give you a piece of advice. Have some decency. Stop hounding President Smith already." I squeezed my trembling hand, and suddenly, a bone-deep exhaustion washed over me. They weren’t wrong. This time… I really do need to let go.

When Liam and I got married, he insisted on having his ex-wife as our official wedding witness. This was our seventeenth attempt at a wedding, and Molly once again fainted from crying right between Liam and me, forcing the wedding to be called off. Liam automatically lifted Molly into his arms and announced the cancellation of the wedding. This time, I did not break down. I simply called out to him calmly, "Liam, if you walk out that door today, there will be no future for us." The man sighed in resignation, "You know full well that the child she's carrying is mine. She is my responsibility for life. "You don't want to marry an irresponsible man, do you? Be good, I'll take Molly to the bridal suite to rest first. You calm down the guests, and remember to come back and cook for us when you're done." After he left, I tore off my veil and tilted my head back to force my tears back. A call came in from a familiar number, and the voice on the other end was thick with teasing.  "Couldn't go through with the wedding again, huh? You may as well marry me instead." I said calmly, "If you’ll have me, I’ll marry you."

At the company's annual gala, Stacy Hayes, President Miller's personal secretary, walked away with 500,000 dollars as her year-end bonus. Murmurs rippled through the crowd around me as the news spread. "She never brings in any actual results. There's gotta be some under-the-table deal going on, right?" "Well, she's his personal secretary, isn't she? A couple of nights with President Miller and she's earned it, easy." I spoke up then, trying to defend Sebastian Miller, who, unknown to everybody else, was my husband. "They're just regular boss and subordinate, there's no way there's any foul play," I said. The employees all turned to stare at me like I was an idiot. "Didn't you see the ring on her finger? It's worth over five million, a gift from President Miller!" "Calling her a secretary is a joke. She's practically the boss' wife already!" I turned my head slowly. My heart dropped straight through my stomach. There stood Sebastian on stage, arm wrapped snug around Stacy's waist, his features soft with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years. The cracked, frost-bitten cuts on my hands throbbed sharply, and suddenly, the whole thing felt hilarious. Let's rewind what happened for the past two hours.  Sebastian had told me he needed to keep a low profile to avoid suspicion, so I had to find my own way to the venue. I didn't have any cash on me, so I rode a shared bike for ten whole kilometers. I took multiple tumbles on the ice-slick pavement. Even when I got there, he stuck me in the most invisible corner of the entire venue. Not a single person recognized that I was his wife. Then my phone buzzed. It was a message from him. Sebastian: Can't send too big an amount, got to avoid suspicion. I stared at the dollar transfer he'd sent me and the tears came pouring out before I could stop them. If being your wife means we have to hide me just to avoid suspicion, then I'd rather just be an irrelevant outsider instead.

My husband thought I was boring in bed, so on our wedding night, he made me sit right there and watch him fool around with his little mistress. After they finished, I tore a check out of my checkbook on autopilot and handed it to the woman, who was covered head to toe in love bites. I never saw what was coming next. Eugene reared back and smacked me straight across the face. She turned her head, pouting and cooing at Hunter, "What does your wife take me for? Some cheap street whore?" Far from getting angry, Hunter just laughed. "Nonsense, you're my favorite little baby," he said. He cupped Eugene's face in his palms and dove back in for another kiss. Even as their tongues tangled together, he still had the presence of mind to grab the fallen check and pass it back to me. "It's your mother's medical bills," he said. He smiled slowly and lazily. "Tiffany, Eugene was nothing like the other ninety-nine women before her. You don't need to pay her. "From now on, Eugene and I will give you lessons. Once you learn what you're supposed to do, I'll give you the proper wedding night you deserve." I crushed the check in my fist and didn't say a word. Right after that, I booked a plane ticket to Paris. What Hunter never knew was that during those three straight days and nights he spent fucking Eugene senseless, my mother was fading fast.  I'd knelt right outside his bedroom door, banging my forehead against the hardwood over and over, begging him to save her. But the only answer I got was Eugene's moans, getting louder and wilder with every thrust. When my mother saw my head, raw and bleeding from all the kneeling, she reached up and pulled out her own oxygen tube. Right before her heart stopped for good, she gasped out one final warning, "Tiffany, don't beg him anymore."

When I brought up divorce to Magnus Rowe again, he still hadn't come down from his high. His fingers lazily traced the red marks on the body beneath him as he said, "Elara, do you think the beauty mark on her body looks good? Especially when she's emotional. It's absolutely irresistible." After speaking, he waited for me to break down hysterically like I always had before. But it was as if I hadn't heard a thing. I simply flipped the divorce agreement to the page about property division. "Everything you gave me, I'll return to you. I'll leave on my own." Magnus' hand paused for a moment before he spoke again, as if nothing had happened. "Then can you give back the heart I gave you too? Baby, stop making a scene. You know you're the only one in my heart. Be good and wait for me at home." I ignored him and stubbornly handed the divorce papers over. I stopped wanting his heart a long time ago. The only thing I want now... is freedom.

It had been seven years after my husband died in a mountain climbing accident in the Alps, and I still hadn’t broken the habit of chatting with him every single day on WhatsApp. I’d also long grown used to never getting a single reply back. This New Year’s Eve, my Alzheimer’s-stricken mother-in-law wandered off again. I was running a 40-degree fever, but I still searched for her until deep into the night. When I finally dragged my fever-weakened body home, I found I'd left the door unlocked. Every last bit of cash and anything valuable we'd had left was stolen, clean gone. After I got my mother-in-law settled and calmed down into bed, I sank down amid all the broken, tossed-apart mess and pulled out my phone. I typed a message. Willow: Maxwell Sanders, how dare you leave me here all alone? The long-silent chat box with his name on it suddenly pinged alive with a new message. Maxwell Sanders: What do you want with my dad? My heart completely stopped. Chills shot up my spine, and every hair on my body stood straight on end. Willow: Who is this? The 'Someone is typing...' notification popped up, then vanished again. No reply came. The next day, I typed and sent a message back to the person on the other end of the chat. Willow: Your mom passed. We're laying her to rest in three days.

During the tenth year of our high-profile relationship, Damien Prescott and I finally got married and received our marriage certificate. But on the very same day, he canceled every wedding ceremony overnight.  Dressed in plain black mourning clothes, his eyes were filled with helplessness. "Helena, Grandpa suddenly passed away. My family has decided to postpone the wedding for the time being. I'll definitely make up the wedding ceremony for you in the future, okay?" For three years, I endured endless gossip, judgmental stares, and grievances I had nowhere to place. Whenever friends asked about the wedding date, I could only pretend to be calm and say we needed to wait a little longer. The eyes of relatives constantly lingered on me, their open and hidden mockery piercing like needles. Then, on our third wedding anniversary, he once again postponed the wedding because the family was still grieving. A social media post from my adopted sister, Alice Lockwood, suddenly popped up on my phone. In the post, Damien was holding a ten-carat pink diamond ring as he knelt on one knee to propose to Alice. "Alice, this is the ten years I owe you. Today, I can finally marry you with everyone's blessings." My phone screen was still open to my chat with Damien. Damien: Tonight is Grandpa's memorial gathering, and there's a lot to handle. Go to sleep early and don't wait for me. As I watched the man onstage passionately kissing another woman, my stomach churned violently. So I took out our marriage certificate and immediately called the police. "Hello, I'd like to report someone for bigamy."

My husband had been missing for a month, and the stress caused me to miscarry. But right after my uterine evacuation surgery, I came across a post online. "What should you do when you meet the person you want to protect most at an age when you're powerless to protect anyone?" One highly upvoted reply read almost boastfully: I couldn't bear to let her suffer, so I let her chase her future. But I also didn't want to lose contact with her, so I married her childhood friend, the kind of woman suited to hardship, and had her stay by my side while I built my success. Now that my first love is back, I can finally stop letting her suffer. I kept hoping my wife would catch me cheating so I could use it as an excuse to divorce her, but she's too clueless. I left lipstick in the car, gave her a freebie necklace... I even disappeared for a month, and she still hadn't figured it out. Lipstick. Necklace. Missing for a month. Those familiar details made my fingers go numb. Thank God she came back… I almost thought I'd have to spend my whole life with that ugly toad. My mind went blank with a loud buzz. 'Toad.' That was the nickname my childhood friend used to bully me with. A chill spread through my entire body as I desperately hoped it was all just a coincidence. Until I read the final line. I pretended to go on a business trip to a dangerous region and disappeared for a month. In reality, I was on a honeymoon with my first love. Just got a text from my wife saying she's hospitalized. Tonight, I'm taking my sweetheart to the same hospital for her prenatal checkup. Maybe we'll run into each other if we're lucky. My whole body trembled uncontrollably as I instinctively looked up. At the entrance to the ward, my missing husband, Nathaniel Graves, stood in a perfectly tailored suit, his arm wrapped around a petite, charming woman as they laughed together on their way toward the obstetrics department. As if sensing something, he casually turned his head. Across the corridor, our eyes met.

Steven Lawson still couldn't feel any sexual desire.  Beads of anxious sweat covered Evelyn Shepard, and he seemed just as uncomfortable.  "Let's stop, Evelyn..."  Evelyn's hands hung at her sides, her knuckles whitened from how tightly she clenched them.  This wasn't the first time. After five years of marriage, she'd been failing more and more to satisfy Steven in bed.  Knowing he was returning today, she had secretly learned from videos—this position should have worked best.  Yet even as Steven's waist tensed, his eyes held only suppressed fatigue, not a flicker of desire.  "Let's try the other one..."  With a hoarse voice, she started to lean forward, only for Steven to catch her wrist.  His palm was scorching, but his grip was gentle. "Don't push yourself, Evelyn. You're drenched. It hurts me to see you like this. Next time, alright?"  Assuming he was simply tired, Evelyn went to shower.  But when she came out, she saw his messages with another woman. She found out that he wasn't tired. He was just bored with her.

I followed, silent as a shadow. The door was slightly ajar, and the faint creak of the door was drowned out by Bianca's voice seeping through the gap. "Jack, your police bride can wait. Tonight you're mine—every last second of it." Jack's laugh dripped with contempt. "Relax. She's just a smokescreen for us. That frigid ice queen? I'd sooner hug a cactus." Then he swore an oath sharp enough to draw blood. "If I ever touch her, may I be hit by a truck. If I ever kiss her, may my bloodline die out." The second the words left his mouth, they collided like starving animals, and their limbs tangled in a frenzy of betrayal. Our bedroom stayed empty that night. While they writhed in the dark, I did not shed a single tear, and I did not scream. I simply pulled up the security footage and hit save with a smirk, capturing every damning second. Then with a single tap, I launched the livestream.

Just as I was about to transfer nine million dollars to my husband, who was overseas negotiating international business, the one-of-a-kind luxury watch I had my eye on at the auction was suddenly 'lit into the sky' by someone else. Furious and unwilling to back down, I kept raising my paddle until the bid hit one million and five hundred thousand dollars, when suddenly, an arrogant female assistant barged into the private booth. "I'd advise you to know your place and back off now! Steal our boss' most coveted item, and you won't even live long enough to regret it!" Everyone around me looked frozen with fear, too scared to make a sound. I couldn't help but wonder when some new big shot I'd never heard of had popped up in Florida. I glanced over at the big shot's private box, and who did I see?   None other than my husband Henry Walton, the man who was supposed to be overseas on a business trip! Just the day before, he'd sounded so guilty that he couldn't make it home for our wedding anniversary. Now he was kissing the female college student I'd been sponsoring, his voice soft and sugary.   "It's your birthday present. Do you like it?"   Behind me, the female assistant's voice cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard.  "Standing bid! Our boss says no matter what anyone else bids, he'll go five hundred thousand dollars higher!"   I let out a cold laugh and raised my paddle without hesitation. "I'll match it!"

For three years, Olivia believed her husband was asexual. Out of love and respect, she never questioned the distance between them, the separate sides of the bed, the rejected touches, the endless excuses. Even when he insisted they conceive through IVF, she trusted him completely. Then, on her birthday, she discovers the devastating truth. The husband, who claimed to have no desire, had been passionately involved with another woman all along. Worse, Olivia learns that her marriage was built on lies, betrayal, and a cruel scheme that turned her into nothing more than a pawn in someone else's love story. Humiliated, abandoned, and stripped of everything she once treasured, Olivia walks away and starts over. But when her ex-husband realizes too late that the woman he truly loved was the one he destroyed, no amount of wealth, regret, or desperate devotion can win her back. Some betrayals can be forgiven. Others leave nothing but ashes.

It was a rainy day, cars sped past, sending muddy water flying everywhere. Cross Davis instinctively pulled the girl beside him back out of harm's way, and the filthy spray splashed all over Camilla instead.   He quickly offered an explanation, "She's younger than you. If her dress gets ruined, she'll definitely burst into tears."   Camilla Ellison fell silent. Slowly, she reached down and tried to wipe at the brand‑new white trousers she had bought specially to meet Cross' mother. But no matter how hard she dabbed, the fabric only grew darker and more stained, until a large, ugly blotch spread across the leg. A hollow feeling suddenly washed over Camilla's chest. She lifted her head and said calmly, "Let's not go today after all."

On the day of Jessica Bancroft's wedding to the most powerful crime boss in Boston, an explosion suddenly tore through the venue. A disadvantaged scholarship student named Lila Maynard threw herself forward to shield Damien Wilcox, and the blast left her with severe brain damage, leaving her simple‑minded and easily confused. Determined to help her recover, Damien indulged her every wish and whim without question.   The first incident happened when Lila locked her inside a walk‑in cold storage kept at ten degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Her body temperature dropped dangerously low, and she was rushed to the intensive care unit, where she fought for her life for a full day and night. The moment she regained consciousness and reached for her phone to call the police, Damien took it from her hand, telling her she should calm down first and not act rashly.   The second time, Lila got behind the wheel of a car and drove straight at her, running over both of her legs and crushing them beyond repair. Damien stared at her mangled, broken limbs, his eyes turning red with rage, and swore he would surely teach Lila a serious lesson. Yet only days later, he took Lila straight into his own home and arranged to look after her personally around the clock. She broke down completely and confronted him, but he only looked at Lila with eyes full of tenderness and affection.   "Jessica, Lila never meant to hurt anyone. From now on, I will be your legs and your support. Please do not hold this against her, alright?"   Left crippled and with nowhere safe to go, she had no choice but to stay and endure every strange, violent outburst Lila had as her condition worsened. This went on until the ninety‑ninth time. That day, during another severe episode, Lila grabbed a sharp surgical blade and cut straight into her abdomen while she was six months pregnant. Gasping for breath, bleeding heavily, and growing weaker by the second, she begged Damien over and over to drive her to the hospital right away. Damien knelt beside her, held her tightly in his arms, and pressed a soft, pained kiss to her sweat‑damp forehead, but the words that followed were colder and crueler than any weapon.   "Honey, hold on just a little longer. Lila has steady hands and knows exactly what she is doing. This might just help her clear her mind. Do not struggle or make a fuss now, or you might frighten her."   Because he delayed taking her to a proper hospital for far too long, her wounds became severely infected, and she died an agonizing, lonely death. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself right back on the exact day Lila had thrown a tantrum and demanded to be allowed to drive. This time, she saw the car speeding wildly toward her and leaped aside just in time to avoid being hit.  Without wasting another second, she took out her phone and dialed the private number of the most feared, untouchable man in New York City.   "I agree to marry you," Jessica said clearly and firmly, "but only on one condition. Make sure Damien Wilcox loses every single asset, every ally, and everything he has built, all within seven days."

On my thirtieth birthday, I bought a fully realistic custom robot as a boyfriend online, only to find out it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal. Every night, I fairly took turns climbing into their beds, never favoring one over the other. But over time, I discovered that Jordan was gentle and always completely obeyed all my commands, always finding a way to make me feel most comfortable. On the other hand, Leon was very rough, malfunctioning several times at my most intimate moments, switching to 'aggressive mode'. I called customer service and got a response. "Dear customer, theoretically, robots will completely obey their owner’s commands. But occasionally, they need to be tamed according to their personality. Of course, if you feel that any model is unsuitable, you can contact us for a return, and we will proceed with explosive destruction." After thinking it over, I decided against returning them, as I had already developed feelings. So, I decided to try taming Leon. Originally, it was Leon's turn tonight, but I opened another door wearing a lace nightgown.

Liam Lambert, who had been sexually indifferent for years, used photos of his female apprentice to relieve his sexual urges. I figured he had developed feelings for her.  Later, because Jenny Salvatorre showed off on the operating table, which resulted in my mother becoming paralyzed, I gave him two choices: either send her to prison or get a divorce.  Liam spent a night on the balcony in the cold wind and submitted evidence of Jenny's major mistake the next day. After that, he became known in the medical community as a 'henpecked husband' and our love was as strong as ever.  Until I found out I was pregnant and secretly went to attend the award ceremony at Liam's institute, wanting to surprise him. But as soon as I entered, I saw a young girl on the podium holding a trophy and giving a speech. I felt a chill run down my spine. To my shock, it was indeed Jenny, the one who should have been in prison.

When the notoriously fierce and domineering Miranda Jones publicly had her father-in-law tied up and whipped inside the manor hall, everyone in high society was convinced that Cedric Green would finally file for divorce this time. But to everyone's surprise, the very next day, Cedric presented her with gemstones worth hundreds of millions and even gifted her a private island. The entire social circle was buzzing with speculation. "Do you think Cedric Green is hiding some terrible secret that Miranda Jones has over him?" "Maybe she's put some kind of curse on him? Or threatened him?" That night. Miranda was pinned against the massive bed in the master bedroom by Cedric. The air was thick with raw desire and burning passion. His kisses carried an irresistible intensity, as if he intended to consume her completely. After the third round, Miranda could no longer endure it and finally begged for mercy. "I can't anymore. My whole body feels like it's falling apart." Cedric rolled onto his side and said softly, "Father probably won't be able to get out of bed for at least half a month." Miranda nestled herself against his chest. "I really regret not sending him to the police. He cheated on your mother and pushed her into such emotional distress that she nearly took her own life. He deserves to pay for what he did!" A flicker crossed Cedric's eyes, but he said nothing. Just as Miranda was about to continue speaking, she lifted her gaze and noticed something on top of the wardrobe directly facing the bed. A tiny red light blinked silently in the dim darkness. A hidden miniature camera was pointed directly at the tangled bed.

The hundred-day banquet for Megan's son had just wrapped up, when her husband of seven years suddenly smiled and asked her a question out of the blue. "What do you think of me having two wives?" "What?" Megan blinked, certain she'd misheard. The very next second, her stepsister walked through the door, holding the hand of three-year-old Johan. Megan was still frozen, too stunned to process what was happening, when Liam drawled lazily, "I invited them here." He reached out and slipped his hand gently around the boy's, a soft smile on his face. "Let me introduce you. This is my son with Sandra." Boom! Megan's brain exploded. It felt like a bomb had just gone off inside her skull. Then Liam's voice drifted to her again, calm as anything, as he explained he'd been with Sandra for four years already. "I know you blame Sandra for your mother's death. That's why I gave you space. I made her and our son stay in the shadows for four years. Now I just want them by my side, out in the open where they belong." Megan forced her shaking legs to hold her upright, her voice coming out raw and trembling. "What the hell are you talking about?" Liam lifted a hand and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye, his touch light as a feather. "I just want you to be the bigger person here. Don't stop me from staying with them every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday of every week." He paused for a beat. "Or you can divorce me, and leave our son with me. I just... don't care about you anymore, so I can't promise I'll take good care of the kid you gave birth to, you know?" He didn't even flinch at the sight of Megan's face draining of all colors. "So, have you made your choice yet?" He just leaned back and asked like it was no big deal. 

Everyone always says I’m so mature and reasonable, such a stand-up woman. The day my CEO husband, Stefan Cole, brought his widowed younger sister-in-law and her little boy through our front door, her eyes were already glistening red from crying. "Olivia, Andrew just lost his dad. Can I borrow Stefan to be his daddy for just a few days? He cries himself to sleep every single night now. It breaks my heart..." I didn’t hesitate for a second. I turned and headed straight to our bedroom to pack Stefan's things. "We're family, why talk about 'borrowing'?" Later, at my son's birthday banquet, her little boy Andrew threw a fit demanding to go to the amusement park, and whined that he didn't want to share his daddy with anyone else. My son immediately stepped up to apologize to all our guests. "My dad, Stefan, has an urgent matter to handle, so that's all for today's banquet. Thank you all for coming." Once again, everyone raved about how thoughtful my son and I were. How we always knew how to be considerate of others. But only we knew the truth. My son and I had been reborn. In our last life, Stefan doted on his widowed younger sister-in-law Jillian exactly like this, and kept pushing me to step back and give way to her in every situation. When my patience finally frayed and snapped, I pushed for a divorce for good. But not long after we split, my son's heart condition flared up badly, and he urgently needed an artificial heart transplant to survive. Faced with the astronomical medical bill, I had no choice but to swallow my pride and grovel to Stefan for help. He just sneered at me, and threw me out of his house right in the middle of a blizzard. "You'll never be as understanding and sweet as Jillian. Just give up." Before long, my little boy’s heart stopped beating, right there in my arms. Now that I’d been given a second chance at life, I chose to let go willingly. All I cared about was that my boy would be safe and healthy.

I spent five long years scrubbing greasy dishes overseas, and I’d finally paid off every last cent of my husband’s debt. I was heading home to give him the surprise of a lifetime. But when I stepped up to our apartment door with my kid in tow, I found the whole place thick with dust, and a heavy padlock hanging on the latch. A neighbor walking by stopped short, gawking at me like I’d grown a second head. "Wait, didn’t you and Declan break up? What are you doing back in town?" My heart dropped into my stomach. I spun around and raced straight to the company where my husband worked, only for the receptionist to block my path at the door. "You’re here for President Declan Scott? He didn’t come in today. He’s hosting his baby’s first month celebration." Right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A news notification popped up, and the headline burned right into my retinas. "Declan Scott, CEO of the Scott Group, Spends a Million on his child’s First Birthday Celebration. The Happy Couple Looks More in Love Than Ever!" Right alongside that notification, a voice note from Declan popped through. He said, "Honey, I scored a few cheap outfits for our boy online. They only cost a couple dozen bucks. Make sure you pick them up when they arrive, okay?" And through the background static, a woman’s amused, teasing voice drifted clear as day, saying, "The bet’s done already. How much longer are you going to scam that Eunice Lopez with that fake marriage license? You’ve pretended to be broke for all these years. Don’t you get tired?” So that was the truth. I was the only one who'd actually been broke this whole time. After everything I'd been through, all the twists and turns, I'd somehow ended up as the actual other woman.

When I got back from my business trip and went to my husband’s office, I found he’d suddenly swapped the whole floor-to-ceiling window for a giant full-length wall mirror. Seeing that I was giving him a confused look, he ruffled my hair, a doting smile softening his eyes as he explained with a grin. "That way, whenever you come sit with me while I work overtime, you’ll always have a mirror to use whenever you want to touch up your makeup." I continued to look at him weirdly, but before I could say anything else, he added, "Don’t overthink it." He caressed my cheek next. "Oh, and I had our nutritionist simmer up some chicken soup to build your strength back. Drink it while it’s hot." I didn’t say a word. I just smiled and walked over to the mirror, then twisted open the lid of the insulated soup bucket. Thick, scorching steam billowed upward immediately, and two large, faint oval imprints slowly bloomed across the originally spotless mirror surface. Tucked into the corner of the mirror, there was even a smudged lipstick stain to top it all off. I subtly measured the height of the imprints with my hand and huffed a sharp, sarcastic laugh. Five-foot-three. D-cup. A woman pressed herself against this mirror right here in his office. I could only guess that it was a result of some wild, risqué hook-up. I pulled out a tissue, wiped the marks clean off the glass without a single change in my expression, then tapped my assistant’s number on my phone, deciding that I had an important call to make. "Arrange for a construction team to come tonight. Replace this full-length mirror in Vice President Harrison’s office with a two-way mirror." Then, thinking that wasn’t enough, I spoke again, "And, notify the media outlets that I'm holding a live-streamed press conference downstairs in three days."

Everyone in the city knew that Clara, the eldest daughter of the Hart family, had been a troublemaker since childhood. The only reason she was able to marry Gabe, the strict, by-the-book crown prince of the Sterling business empire, was because of a well-kept secret. He was physically allergic to women. But Clara never looked down on him for his condition. After ninety-nine grueling attempts at IVF, she finally, against all odds, successfully conceived his child. Yet, disaster struck before the umbilical cord was even cut. The baby was born underdeveloped and frail, and was rushed straight into the emergency room the exact second it entered the world. Clara collapsed to her knees right outside the operating room doors. Her entire body shook with terror as she begged every higher power she could think of to spare her baby's life. That was when the television in the corridor suddenly cut to live news broadcast. There on the screen was her husband, Gabe, crashing another woman’s wedding and raising absolute hell. And that woman was none other than Rose, his sister-in-law, who had been a widow for years.

It was the night we held a celebration party after finally setting a definite wedding date, after postponing my marriage to Ethan Crawford seven times.   Ethan’s assistant stumbled drunkenly toward us, barely able to stand straight.   She picked up a wine glass from the table and gave him a bitter smile. "This toast is for you. For six years, we’ve secretly been husband and wife. You even saved me from being forced into an arranged marriage with a man in a coma."   I froze for a moment, assuming she was just rambling nonsense while drunk. I had barely stepped forward to steady her when she tilted her head back and drained the entire glass in one gulp before suddenly bowing deeply to me.   "I’m sorry, Claire. It’s all because of me that Ethan blocked your return application six times. That’s why you were trapped suffering at that construction site in Alaska for so many years...   "...he didn’t even let you come back when your mother died because we were still legally married. He was afraid you’d discover the truth.”   My entire body went rigid. For a moment, I genuinely thought I must have misheard her.   Her voice sounded soft and harmless, but every word she spoke cut into me like a knife.   "It rained the day your mother was buried. Ethan knew I was afraid of thunder, so he stayed home with me the entire day. He’s such a thoughtful and attentive husband. Any woman would be lucky to marry a man like him. You should treasure him, Claire."   My mind exploded into chaos, as if a bomb had detonated inside my skull.   I looked around the room and realized everyone else was deliberately avoiding my gaze, too guilty to meet my eyes.   Finally, I turned toward the man seated in the center of the sofa.   My voice trembled uncontrollably as I spoke, "Ethan… is everything she said true?"

It had been three years since I got out of prison when my fiancé', Silas Thorne, dragged me out of an underground fighting ring.  He smashed a fist straight into my face, his eyes bulging with fury, veins popping on his neck. "Evelyn Cross! Who gave you the goddamn guts to stay away from home and let yourself turn into this ragged mess?" I swiped the blood off my split lip and grinned, a hollow, devil-may-care grin. "President Thorne, that punch is 100,000 bucks. If you're still not satisfied, hit me again. I just need the cash to cover this year's rent." His fist shook uncontrollably, but his voice softened, rough around the edges. "Come home with me… go apologize to Bianca. She's got a good heart. She already forgave you for smearing her name ages ago." His gaze raked over all the cuts and bruises crisscrossing my body, and his eyes darkened with a complicated, unreadable emotion. "Look at you, covered in blood like some rabid stray. What the hell difference is there between you and a mangy dog digging through the garbage?" My whole body went rigid with a jolt, then I spun on my heel and walked away. He would never get it. All this blood caked on my face, every scar on my skin… it was the only way I knew how to survive now. Prison taught me nothing else.  "Don't you dare walk away! I am still your fiancé, whether you like it or not!" he roared behind me.  I stopped dead in my tracks. How could I ever forget? How could I possibly let go? It was the night of our engagement three years ago. Bianca Cross drugged me unconscious and had me shipped straight to a black market auction, where my virginity was put up for sale like a commodity, with a price tag hung right on it. That night, I was humiliated beyond repair, and I became the talk of the entire city of Silverton. Every person in Silverton labeled me an insatiable slut. And the man who signed those auction papers to sell me off? That was none other than my own damn fiancé.

After Lucas Lowell cheated on me and returned home, I started posting online every single day. How thrilling is cheating, really? Do men become addicted to cheating? After a man cheats, does he feel guiltier toward his wife, or his mistress? Every post carried the hashtag of his university. Before long, the algorithm pushed them straight onto the feeds of his students, colleagues… even his mistress. Everyone told me not to make such an ugly spectacle of myself. They said I should act like a generous wife and preserve his dignity. Only Lucas stood up for me, shielding me from the criticism. "I was the one who made the mistake," he said.  "If Julianne wants to vent her anger, she has every right to." But by the time I reached my ninety-ninth post, Lucas finally snapped. He stormed into the house like a madman and smashed my computer to pieces. "Julianne, when are you going to stop this?" he roared. "I have already come back home, haven’t I? What more do you want from me? How much longer are you going to torture me before you’re satisfied?" I didn’t answer him. I simply folded the freshly washed underwear in my hands, looked up with a faint smile, and asked softly, "Do you have any more clothes you want me to wash?"

Half-asleep in the middle of the night, I suddenly felt someone pressing down on me. The moment icy tears splashed against my neck, I woke up completely. Just as I reached out to push him away, I heard Christopher’s hoarse voice, "She’s leaving. I just want to see her one last time before she leaves. I’ll come right back. I’m begging you, okay?" In seven years of marriage, this was only the second time he had ever spoken to me in such a pleading, apologetic tone. The first time was when I caught a young woman running out of his office with her clothes rumpled. Afraid I would make a scene, he grabbed my hand and begged me, "Darling, I promise I’ll cut ties with her. Please don’t divorce me. I'd die without you. Okay?" I gave him one more chance. And just as he had promised, he devoted himself fully to the family again, becoming the flawless husband everyone else admired and could never find fault with. Until today... I switched on the bedside lamp and looked into his eyes as I answered seriously, "Go ahead. Don’t leave yourself with any regrets." I no longer have any regrets left.  I hope you don’t either.

I’d been poisoned with a slow-acting toxin, and my husband, a top-tier toxicology expert, put off giving me the antidote nine whole times. The first time he left me screaming in agony, my entire body covered in painful herpes blisters, just to run off to his female student’s graduation ceremony. The second time, the poison had already spread through my limbs, my whole body locked up stiff, leaving me half-paralyzed. And what did he do? He accepted an invitation to his student’s birthday party without a second thought. This is what he said to me, "It’s just a slow poison. We can fix this any time. What’s the rush? It’s not like it’s killing you! Amira’s birthday only comes once a year! Stop being so unreasonable!" But every single time after that, Rogers Lake’s little student dreamed up a brand-new excuse to keep him occupied. I quit hoping. I listened to him. I stopped fighting. And I slipped quietly out of his life. But what I never got was, why did Rogers completely snap when I died from the poison?

On the day Nathan Leighton won the national all-title racing grand slam, I found a pair of lace underwear in his car. That same night, I brought reporters and burst into a five-star hotel, catching Nathan and his young protégé in the act of adultery in bed. This was the same man who, just because I said once I felt insecure, had my initials printed on his race car. Yet now he stood shielding the girl behind him and said, "It was my moment of weakness, she had nothing to do with this." After Vivian was cyberbullied and, in her insane rage, killed my unborn baby in the crash, I gave Nathan an ultimatum. Either send her to prison, or get a divorce. Nathan looked at my abdomen with red-rimmed eyes, and the very next day he turned over the evidence of Vivian's involvement in the crash. From that day on, he shifted his focus to working behind the scenes, and stayed by my side as I slowly recovered from depression. Later, when I found out I was pregnant, I was full of hope and wanted to surprise Nathan. As I walked past a maternity and baby store, I saw a heavily pregnant girl buy out the entire shop's stock. "My husband knows I'm terrible at making choices, so he told me to buy everything! You do delivery, right? Just send everything to the villa complex in the south of the city." The girl turned her head, and I froze on the spot when I saw her face. It was Vivian, the woman who was supposed to be in prison.

My twin sister was everything good in this world. Gentle, kind, and beloved by all. I, on the other hand, was born from a family's bad seed. When everyone despised me, avoided me, and treated me like a curse, she was the only one who stepped in front of me without hesitation, the only one who ever chose my side. On the night I turned eighteen, my parents had me sent away to a psychiatric hospital. Even after they died, they refused to let me attend their funerals. According to them, my presence brought misfortune wherever I went. Only my sister continued to visit. She would sit beside me and tell me about her life, her studies, her dreams, and later, the man she fell in love with. After inheriting our parents' estate, she used her share to help her fiancé rebuild his failing career. In time, they married and welcomed a beautiful son into the world. Every visit ended with the same promise. "Little sister," she would say with a smile, "when you finally get out, you'll have to hold your nephew." Seven years later, I was declared fully recovered. The other patients threw a small farewell party for me before I left. Even the head nurse, who had cared for me like family all those years, gently stroked my hair and said, "Go live your life. And don't ever come back here again." But on the day I was meant to walk free, someone else was admitted into my place... It was my sister. The husband she had sacrificed everything for had betrayed her. So had the child she loved more than her own life. The woman who had once been radiant and full of hope was now little more than a shadow of herself, gaunt, hollow-eyed, and broken beyond recognition. As I looked at her trembling body and the pain etched into every breath she took, something dark that I had buried deep inside for years finally awakened. I took her hand and held it tightly.  "Sis," I whispered, "you protected me for seven years."  A cold smile touched my lips. "Now it's my turn to protect you."

Layer by layer, her clothes were stripped away. Before Beatriz could even process what was happening, her husband, Lucas, used his tie to bind her hands to the headboard. The man's eyes burned with pure, unadulterated lust. He pinned her down under his weight, smothering her in a searing kiss. But right as they were both losing themselves in the heat of the moment, a wild, out-of-control scream shattered the air, immediately followed by a barrage of harsh insults. "Ahhh, you absolute bitch!" Before Beatriz could even blink, Lucas’s adopted sister, Hazel, rushed into the room and violently yanked him off her. Then, a pile of cold, foul-smelling, fishy slime was dumped right over her head.

Being the undisputed queen DJ of California Love Radio means my nightly call sheet is basically a roster of Cassian Sterling's latest mistresses. I deal with broadcast disasters the way other people deal with paperwork, but it keeps us at the top of the Sta. Barbara ratings, so who am I to complain?   But tonight, the devil himself decided to call. I knew the second I heard his breath on the line that Cassian Sterling was trying to push my buttons.   "Can you hear me clearly?" he asked, dripping with fake innocence. "Do me a favor and analyze this. If I called my wife right now, how do you think she'd feel?"   What followed was thirty seconds of pure, unadulterated trash audio blasted straight to the entire internet.   The station director's veins looked ready to pop. "This is a total catastrophic accident! You can actually hear... well, that noise at the end. Honestly? I think you're just addicted to being cheated on!"   Beyond the soundproof glass, the paparazzi were already swarming the entrance like vultures. "There isn't a single wife in all of California as pathetic as her," they mocked. "Her husband literally treats her like a prop."   They were all waiting for the breakdown. They wanted tears. They wanted a spectacle.   Instead, I calmly adjusted my headset, flipped the receiver back on, and initiated a callback with the whole world watching.   "Listener," I said, cool as ice. "I am officially notifying you right now that this version of Mrs. Sterling is signing off."

I died on the third anniversary of my relationship with Kael. He made an excuse to work overtime, but was actually in Switzerland skiing with his first love.   On the phone, his voice was cold, "Lira, stop using being sick as an excuse to ask for money!"   "You know perfectly well I have no money," I exclaimed.   "For money, you'd even risk your life? Then go ahead and try."   I looked at the diagnosis paper in my hand that said, 'Acute Leukemia' and smiled softly. Yes, I really was dying soon.   I swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills and sent him one last text. Lira: Kael, I don't want your money anymore, and I don't want you either.   When I opened my eyes again, my soul was floating in mid‑air. I watched that man who had pretended to be poor for three years, driving a luxury car worth tens of millions, rush back like a madman.   It turned out... he wasn't a poor guy at all. He was just testing me.

After I died saving Thomas Blackwell, he didn't drown in regret the way tragic heroes do in those heartbreaking romance novels.   Three days after my hastily arranged funeral, he walked straight into a courthouse and married my assistant.   Their wedding was extravagantly lavish, but the moment the ceremony ended, he tossed my memorial portrait into the trash without a second glance.    From that day forward, no one in The Blackwell Family dared to mention my name again.   My son rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Thomas's leg, only to be kicked away.   "Brittany is dead!" Thomas snapped coldly. "You'd better start calling Trisha Palmer 'Mom,' or there won't be a place for you in The Blackwell Family!"   He added impatiently, "And starting next month, you're going to boarding school. Don't interfere with Trisha's pregnancy."   My son ran away from home, clutching my portrait tightly against his chest.   He was struck by a car and died alone on the side of the road.   Thomas used the priceless collection of paintings I had brought into our marriage to rebuild his fortune. He rose to the top, became the wealthiest man in Westhaven, and lived to the age of ninety.   It turned out that all those stories about evil people getting what they deserve were nothing but lies.   When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Thomas fell into the ocean.   Only then did I finally understand that it had never been an accident.   My death in my previous life had been the result of a cruel bet.   This time, I chose to stand back and watch with complete indifference.

The summer I turned eighteen, I gave myself to Julian Sterling to save him from a laced drink at a high‑society gala.   The marriage that was supposed to belong to my adoptive older sister became mine instead. Heartbroken by the betrayal, she packed her bags and vanished from the city without a trace. Everyone in our social circle spat insults at me, branding me a shameless social climber who had stolen her sister's fiancé. Even my own parents cut me off completely and wrote me out of the family will.   But he married me in a massive, lavish estate wedding. He spoiled me rotten with designer gowns and diamonds, turning me into the envied trophy wife of every woman in the city.   Yet, in all the six years we were married, he never touched me again after that first night.   I constantly told myself his distance was just a lingering medical aftereffect from that toxic night, and I poured every bit of my energy into taking care of him and running his household flawlessly. No matter how I tried to entice him or dress up for him, he remained completely stone-cold.   That all changed today.   I stood outside his private office door, freezing as the sound of a woman's breathy moans grew louder and louder from inside.   "Julian, be gentle," she whimpered.   The raw, hungry lust thick in the man's voice that answered her was something I had never heard from him once in all our years together.   "Do you really think I would've ever even looked at that backwoods nobody, Clara, if I wasn't terrified that the laced drink would mess up your body and leave you infertile? How much longer do you expect me to hold back, Meredith?"   I slammed my hand over my mouth to bite back a scream, not daring to make a single peep, and before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my face.   My fingers shook violently as I dialed my foster brother, who had just wrapped up a high‑profile military tour overseas. I breathed into the phone, my voice cracking completely, "Gideon, I want to come home."

Connor had brought yet another girl along for the race, and as always, it was Ella’s job to map every turn and call out directions through every corner. When the run ended, the young woman glanced mockingly at Ella’s damaged leg and laughed brazenly.   "I hear you’ve been clinging to him since you were just a kid," she sneered. "But he only bothered to marry you after someone beat him half to death. Isn’t that the truth? I only mentioned offhand that I wanted to ride along," she went on, lifting her chin smugly. "And look what he did, made you drive that course three hundred times just to memorize every inch. That leg must be killing you by now, right?"   She held up her hand, and a massive diamond ring on her finger glittered brightly under the lights.   "Do yourself a favor. Have some self‑respect. Sign the divorce papers soon and get lost, so you can stop wasting his time and let me take my place."   Ella’s expression remained perfectly calm as she watched the girl pull Connor into a deep, heated kiss. This was nowhere near the first woman Connor had flaunted right in front of her. In the past, she had fought, shouted, even threatened to give wrong directions on purpose mid‑race just to make him crash or lose. But Connor would only tap her cheek lightly in that cold, taunting way and say, "You don’t have the guts to do it. And remember... if anything ever goes wrong with me, you won’t get off easy either. After all… you’re just someone I picked up off the streets when you had nothing at all, aren’t you?" He would chuckle lightly, sling an arm around the girl’s waist, and walk away without a second glance.   But this time? Ella did not argue, did not cry, did not threaten. She simply transferred another one hundred thousand dollars into her separate private savings account. Long ago she had sworn to herself. The moment her balance hit one million dollars, she would leave him for good.  And today… that exact amount had finally been reached.

My best friend's boyfriend is always so eager in bed. He's down to try anything and everything. But my fiancé? He's allergic to my bodily fluids. We practically never have sex.   Late one night, my friend sent me a video, bragging that she and her man had just unlocked a brand‑new position together. And me? I'd brushed my fiancé's hand by accident, and he'd given me the silent treatment ever since.   Right when my best friend was posting all her new goodies, a million‑dollar designer bags and sparkling new jewelry her boyfriend had bought her, I was burning up with a 102‑degree fever, desperate for my fiancé to take care of me, and he turned me down cold… without a second thought.   My friend treats all her steamy private exploits with her boyfriend like personal trophies, and she spills everything in our group chat every single day. I just sit there scrolling silently, my chest tight with a bitter ache, and so much envy I can barely stand it.   Then, right before my wedding day, she posted a cryptic update on social media that screamed: We just broke up.   Beneath it read: When dawn breaks, I'll watch you marry another.   I clicked the full‑size image on instinct.   Right there, below the man's collarbone, sat a tiny, perfectly heart‑shaped mole.   That tiny heart‑shaped mole matched exactly the one right below my fiancé's collarbone.

Three years after I got out of prison, I ran into my foster brother, Julian Lucas, at the hospital. I was heading to the psychiatry department while he was carrying a bag from Radiant Skin Dermatology, the exclusive clinic where his little sister, Brinley, always gets her favorite facial treatments. When his gaze landed on my gaunt frame, his dark brows pulled into a tight frown. "Why didn't you tell anyone you got out early?" I kept my face completely blank. "You changed your number. I couldn't reach you." He cleared his throat, trying to mask his awkwardness. "Now that you're out, come home with me." I stepped back, creating space between us. "No, thanks. It wouldn't be appropriate." Shock flickered across his eyes. "Chloe... do you still hate me?" I shook my head and said nothing. I had already found my biological brother. People who don't matter don't get space in my heart for love or hate anymore.

After I returned to the country, I started as an intern at a top firm—and my boyfriend was my boss. Seeing him every day should have been something to look forward to. But there was a woman at the company named Sienna Hart who called herself his "pure friend". Her behavior, however, was anything but. Even siblings weren't that close. When I greeted her, she gave me a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Wow, you sure know how to win people over. Drop the act—I've seen your type a thousand times." When I got my nails done with my best friend, she made sure to comment, "Dresses and manicures? Dead giveaway. You can always spot the ones who aren't serious." When I drove to work in the car my father gave me, she'd run straight to my boyfriend. "A G-Wagon and Hermès? Where does she get that kind of money? Probably from some man." I was furious. I called my best friend to vent. She was livid. "She's the scheming one. And she dares talk to you like that? Have you still not told them who you really are?"

The whole family was on vacation, yet Nora's husband was out riding a jet ski with his first love inside the restricted off‑limits zone.   Lillian had already drunk half a bottle of red wine. She pouted and insisted on taking the controls herself.   "Ethan, I’m going to circle that island ahead and trace a heart just for you."   Ethan Foster simply could never refuse her. Without hesitation, he traded places with her.   No one could have predicted what happened next. Lillian jammed the throttle wide open and crashed straight into Nora's younger brother's yacht as it rounded a sharp bend.   Ethan never even glanced toward the already sinking vessel. He spun the jet ski around at once.   Gripping Lillian's hand tightly, he did everything to calm her. "As long as you're safe, that's all that counts. He's the one who sailed his yacht into restricted waters to begin with."   Only after the yacht vanished entirely beneath the waves and everyone aboard was unaccounted for did he finally call Nora.   "Nora... your younger brother and your mother went down with the sea."   In that instant, overwhelming terror swallowed her whole.   She saw her mother just as she had been in childhood, slipping a piece of freshly cooked meat straight into her mouth.   Her brother bounded over with a grin, reaching to snatch it away. "Mom, you always favor big sister!"   They felt so close right beside her. Who, then, had truly been trapped inside that sunken yacht?

I caught the trend bug and bought a Merman online. The seller said he had an amazing service instinct, was super clingy, and even cried tiny little pearls during special moments. But it’s been two weeks since mine arrived. No pearls, not even that. Every time I go to feed him, he hides deep in the seaweed like he’s terrified of even being seen by me. I shot the seller a message about the issue, and their customer service hit me back right away. Customer Service: Hi there! We’re so sorry this happened to you. Would you like us to help you request an exchange? On a whim, I typed a question. Me: What do you usually do with the mermen that get returned? They answered promptly. Customer Service: No worries, sweetie! We never resell defective units. They usually get sent straight to high-end seafood markets. Well, it was a living creature after all. I figured I’d keep him a little longer and send him back only if things really didn’t work out. But that same night, I caught sight of the same merman who wouldn’t even look me in the eye wagging his tail so hard for another person that I swear it was this close to snapping clean off. Oh. So he wasn’t shy with everyone. He just didn’t want to cling to me. Fine then. Exchange it is. Who cares if one fish dies, right?

Right when Edward and I hit the peak of intimacy, a low, guttural growl rolled up his throat. A soft pet name slipped out, "Kenzie..." In that second, I knew it. His heart now belonged to that female student of his, Mackenzie James. So, when he was lying there afterward, mind blank and drifting, I decided to give him one last chance to prove his loyalty to me in some way. "Let's go get our marriage license tomorrow," I said. He turned me down flat. He said he was going abroad with Mackenzie for a closed-door research project. I stayed perfectly calm and gave him two options. Stay in the country and be with me, or go with his 'research partner' and break off our engagement. That night, even though he was allergic to alcohol, he drank himself silly. Then, when he woke up, I was surprised to see him caving to what I wanted. "Fine. Let's get married," he told me. However, from that day on, he snuck out to drink behind my back so many times that he ended up in the emergency room for stomach pumping more times than I can count. This all led to my wedding day, the exact moment the announcer called out, "Kiss the bride!" Suddenly, a handful of Edward's students shot to their feet, calling out to him. "Professor Smith! You broke Mackenzie's heart, and she's getting married tomorrow!" Edward's pupils snapped tight. He dropped the wedding ring as if it burned his hand and bolted off the stage like a man possessed. I snatched the host's microphone and snarled: "If you go after her right now, we're done for good!" His whole body jerked hard, but he still jumped in his car and peeled out of the parking lot. And I laughed. Edward, there's no such thing as having the best of both worlds. You wanted your true love? Then I'm taking your precious career.

Right on her wedding anniversary, the video Anne Brooks had been waiting for from her private detective hit her phone. One look at the background told her everything. They were in a hotel room. And there, her husband, Wayne Salvador, was kissing a woman in a pink nurse uniform like a man starved, wild and unrestrained. His Adam's apple bobbed roughly up and down, throaty, shuddering moans of utter bliss spilling from his lips. "Sasha... Sasha..." At first, Anne couldn't parse the name falling from his mouth. But the second the woman's face cleared into focus, every drop of blood in her body froze and rushed backward, leaving her cold all over. That woman was none other than Sasha Guevarra, Anne’s older half-sister, and the monster who tormented and bullied her nonstop for three full years back in high school.

Ever since my brother went to prison for financial fraud, I've been hunted nonstop by his enemies. I couldn't land a job anywhere, and constant threats against my life hung over me every single day. The first thing I'd see every time I stepped out my door was dog shit right on my doorstep. When I dragged myself home at night, I'd find my entire front gate doused with bright red paint. I completely broke and spiraled into crippling depression. Over five long years, I tried to kill myself three times. This last time, I'd swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills, and just laid there waiting for death to claim me, completely hollow and hopeless. But through the fog rolling over my mind, I heard my brother's frantic voice cut through the quiet. "I only wanted to punish Sara a little! Who told you to go this far?!" His adopted little sister shot back, voice thick with hurt and grievance, "So she hits me, and I'm just supposed to let that slide?" That was when the truth hit me. My brother, Henry, had never gone to prison. Our family had never gone bankrupt. Every single horrible thing I'd gone through these past five years... it was just punishment for the slap I'd given Zendaya five years ago. I closed my eyes, a bitter ache coiling in my chest. "Your punishment... it's far too light. I'll pay you back with my life."

On my wedding night, my husband got called over by his brother's widow, Elena Tides, to help her suck out the clogged milk. No sooner had he stepped out the door than I caught the sound of them flirting heatedly through the wall. "I won't let you touch her! Not now, not ever! If you have any contact with her, I'll take the kid and disappear from your life for good!" Bernard Uriel gazed at the voluptuous Elena, his voice soft as silk. "Relax. Trash like her? She could strip naked and stand right in front of me, and I wouldn't get hard even a little bit. I swear to God, if I so much as glance at her even once, you can twist my head off and kick it around like a soccer ball!" Elena burst into laughter through her tears, and curled her arms around his neck. They tangled together in a hungry, breathless kiss, and before they even made it into the bedroom, his pants were already unbuttoned and halfway down. Bernard never returned to the bedroom that whole night. And Elena next door moaned through every hour of it. Early the next morning, they were still passed out cold from having sex all night. I posted their full sex tape to a secondhand resale platform: Only 66 Cents to Unlock the Full Wedding Night Footage!

Henry has a thing for virgins. So when he brought his kept woman to me for another hymen repair, the girl didn't bother hiding her smirk. "I heard you two have been married five years, and he's never touched you?" Her voice dripped with smugness. "We've only known each other for ten days, and he was already losing his mind over me. He'd rather send me here to get fixed again than lay a finger on you." I didn't flinch. I just went through the motions, like always, asking about her symptoms. I sat there completely calm the whole time, letting them ramble on about how many different positions they'd tried in bed. What she didn't know was that, before her, I'd performed exactly ninety-nine of these exact same surgeries for Henry's kept women. There was a time I'd lost my cool over this. I'd screamed and cried and thrown a fit right in front of him. All I got in return was a cold, mocking laugh. "Be good, Amanda. Would your dad actually let you divorce me? "Just sit back and enjoy being a rich wife. When I'm done playing around, I'll come home. That's all you need to worry about." When they wheeled the girl into the operating room, Henry stepped in front of me to block my path. "Make it look nice. She cares a lot about how it looks." When I didn't answer, he smiled that easy, infuriating smile of his and tucked a bank card right into my scrubs against my chest. "Payment for your trouble." This time, I didn't blow up. I just tucked the card away neatly, no fuss, no fight. He'd forgotten, the deadline we'd written into our prenuptial agreement was already here. I didn't have to wait around anymore for a man who never came home.

Felix Cole walked through the doors of my postpartum care center, his little mistress clinging to his side, their brand-new third baby bundled in her arms. The mistress couldn't hold back a sneering laugh, "Aww, I've already popped out three kids, and you still haven't even managed to seduce Felix into touching you, huh? "How about you sit in next time we get intimate and pick up a few tricks? We're both women, I really do feel bad for you..." I ignored the smug triumph oozing from every word she said, and calmly went through the room arrangement process for them. Felix arched an eyebrow in surprise when he saw how compliant I was. He had every reason to be shocked. After all, when they'd come to book rooms for their first two babies, I'd thrown a screaming fit right in front of them. I'd screamed hysterically at Felix, demanding to know why he refused to touch me. I'd even gone so far that night, slipping on the most scandalous lingerie I owned, just trying to beg for a single crumb of his affection. Instead, he ordered his bodyguards to throw me, naked and humiliated, straight out the front gate. His voice had been thick with disgust, "If you've got an itch down there, go at it with steel wool. Don't come near me. "You love being a slut so much? Go slut it up for someone else!" It was right then and there that I finally accepted the truth. He really didn't remember me anymore. That same night, I printed out our divorce papers, then dialed my dad's number. "Dad, I want to come home."

Five years after I was kicked out of our family home, my brother, Jerome Lancel, and I crossed paths at a nightclub. He was the high-rolling VIP dropping a million bucks to celebrate his adopted little sister's birthday. I was just a party hostess working the floor to keep the mood going.  We didn't exchange a single word the whole night. Not until I chugged two bottles of imported hard liquor straight for a five hundred dollar tip, that is. His lips pressed into a thin, cold line when he saw how deathly pale my face had gone, and he snapped at me, "You'd rather degrade yourself doing this garbage job than come home and apologize? Angel Lancel, you've got some fucking guts, I'll give you that!" I just smiled like I didn't have a care in the world and held my hand out to him. "Five hundred dollars cash or bank transfer?" Time had smoothed over all the old wounds, and I didn't have any interest in dragging up the past anymore. But that five hundred dollars was exactly what I needed to pay off the final balance for an urn.

My husband has such severe social anxiety that he ran away at the last minute, even from our wedding. Later, when I was hemorrhaging while giving birth to our son, my own mother got down on her knees and begged him to come sign the paperwork. He never showed up. Our son grew up being called fatherless, and I’ve lived as a widow for eight whole years. Then one day, a crazed intruder burst into the house and drove a knife straight into my stomach. I cried out for help to Daniel Wade, standing right by the window. He only stared at me for two whole seconds before he looked away. His voice was ice-cold when he said, "Hold on a minute. I’ll call the cops for you." A deafening buzz roared through my head. In that second, every last bit of love I’d held for him died. And just when I was convinced I’d die right there, Daniel’s young secretary burst through the door. The lunatic immediately shifted his target to her. The second the lunatic reached for her, Daniel exploded into action like an enraged lion. He charged out and knocked the intruder flat to the ground with one brutal punch. Paramedics loaded me, covered head to toe in blood, into the ambulance and leaned down to ask, "Where’s your accompanying family member?" I dragged my gaze away from Daniel, who was already holding his secretary and whispering soothing words to her. I parted my lips softly, but my words were sharp and final, "I’m a widow. My husband is dead."

My husband and I both cheated on each other. The difference was that he was the one who initiated it, while I was forced into it. On the night his affair with the so-called innocent girl was exposed, he got me drunk, stripped me naked, and sent me to a stranger's bed, forcing me into humiliating poses just so he could take photos of my 'infidelity'. Our cheating photos were leaked one after another. This was used to divert and offset the public's criticism toward the so-called innocent girl. A massive wave of disgust pressed on my stomach until I violently retched. My entire body was covered in red marks. I had no idea how many times that stranger touched me or what he did to me... My husband, Linus Larkspur, seeing my devastated expression, and watching me mechanically scrub my skin until it was swollen, red, and bleeding, could only explain helplessly, "I had no other choice. Isabelle was raised strictly and couldn't handle being called a mistress. She would have broken down." The internet was flooded with curses and insults. My only family, my grandpa, was triggered into a heart attack and was rushed into emergency treatment in a hospital in New York. To protect myself, I had to protect his mistress. As he wished, I clarified everything under the media spotlight. "Neither of us is cheating. Mr. Larkspur and I broke up a long time ago."

The reckless heiress Natalie Mitchell married Cassian Stewart, the most powerful tycoon in the city. But on their fifth wedding anniversary, Cassian gave Natalie an unforgettable surprise. A lingering scent of intimacy filled the air. Natalie was held in the man's arms, her hair messy and clinging to the sweat-damp skin of her neck. Her cheeks were still flushed with desire. "Darling, do you like it?" "Shouldn't I be the one asking you? I specially bought this sleepwear..." Natalie flipped over and straddled his lap. She gathered the long strands of hair at her temples and was about to lower her head to kiss his lips when she suddenly caught a scent of perfume that did not belong to her. As a professional perfumer, she was extremely sensitive to fragrances. "Honey, did you change your perfume?" The words had just fallen when the bathroom door was suddenly pushed open. Cassian's personal secretary walked out cautiously, barefoot and wrapped in a bathrobe.

At my engagement banquet with Callum Voss, he never showed up. All I received instead was a premature newborn baby and a recorded video message.   "Liora is struggling with postpartum depression. I need to take her away for a change of scenery to help her recover. Just look after the child for now. I promise I'll explain everything properly when I return. You've never been in the best of health and can't have children anyway. I feel perfectly safe leaving this little one with you."   The screen went blank, and the entire grand hall fell into a deathly hush. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me, eager to watch me squirm. I was overwhelmed by a deep, burning sense of humiliation.   To make matters worse, even my own family pressed me to take the child and raise it.   "Liora is your younger sister. Her baby might as well be yours! But right now, she simply cannot bear to be apart from Callum. Can't you be generous and let her have her way?"   I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. That very same night, I packed my bags and left the country without a word.  ***** Five years later, I received an invitation to an exclusive high‑society gala. There, Callum suddenly appeared and grabbed my wrist tightly, his tone sharp and accusatory.   "Cerys! All I asked was for you to help care for a child for a little while. Was it really so unforgivable that you had to run off and vanish for nearly six whole years?!"   I wrenched my hand away instantly. Without a second thought, I raised my palm and slapped him hard across the face. If that jealous husband of mine ever found out that another man had touched me, I wouldn't be walking straight for a week.

I was struck in the head by a steel rebar at a construction site while saving my boyfriend, Ethan Cross, and the accident left me mentally impaired. ​ Meanwhile, Ethan threw himself into the business world and climbed all the way to the top, becoming the renowned CEO everyone admired. ​ To the public, he appeared successful and untouchable. Behind closed doors, however, he had spent six years cleaning up every mess I made. ​ At one grand gala, I threw another tantrum in front of everyone, insisting that I needed to use the bathroom immediately. ​ While Ethan's secretary, Laura Sullivan, tried to pull me away, I accidentally stumbled and slammed my head into a cabinet. ​ The sharp smell of urine instantly spread throughout Westbridge Manor. ​ One by one, the strange looks turned toward Ethan. ​ It was as if they were mocking him. No matter how successful he appeared in public, behind the scenes, he was little different from a caretaker. ​ After all the guests had finally left, he stood quietly and stared at me for a long time. ​ Without any warning, he suddenly said, "Charlotte, I cheated on you." ​ I looked at the satisfaction on his face, the kind that came after a long-awaited act of revenge, and found myself repeating his words. ​ "C-cheated?" I stammered. ​ Ethan let out a short laugh. ​ "Alright, what would an idiot like you know?" ​ "In simple terms, I've fallen in love with Laura." ​ "She's much better than you. She's understanding, considerate, and she can help me with my work." ​ Meanwhile, I was nothing more than a troublemaker who constantly embarrassed him and created problems. ​ "Life is long, Charlotte. I can't spend all of it taking care of an idiot." ​ At that moment, the truth was already on the tip of my tongue. ​ Yet before I could speak, all I tasted was the salt of my tears. ​ How could I possibly tell him that the impact from hitting that cabinet had restored my mind? That I was normal again?

The sixth time my husband Tucker Caldwell's intern accidentally deleted the remarriage application I had submitted, a flicker of irritation finally appeared on Tucker's face. ​ Meanwhile, I calmly pulled open the door and said, "She's just throwing a little tantrum. Go make it up to her tonight." ​ Instead of letting me leave, he suddenly braced my hand against the doorframe and stared at me intensely. ​ "Weren't you always the one who cared most about having the title of Mrs. Caldwell?"    Tucker pressed, his gaze intense as he leaned closer, searching my face for a reaction. "Why aren't you angry?" ​ For a moment, I was speechless. ​ The last time we divorced, he had signed the papers with an amused smile and said, "Whether a man cheats or not depends entirely on whether his wife finds out." ​ So this time, when we reconciled, I chose not to see the strip of lace hidden inside his coat. ​ Even when that young woman showed up at our doorstep demanding answers because he had failed to meet her monthly quota of sleeping together twelve times, I calmly explained things on his behalf. ​ "Don't misunderstand. We've been sleeping in separate bedrooms for a long time." ​ Tucker laughed and remarked that I had finally learned how to behave. ​ What he didn't know was that everything had changed the night before we reconciled, when his mother, Amelia Caldwell, came to see me carrying an old metal box. ​ Years ago, Tucker had rushed to dangerous disaster zones seven separate times. ​ Each time, he had left behind a farewell letter in case he never made it back alive. ​ Every word in every letter was about our daughter and me. ​ With tears filling her eyes, Amelia begged me to remarry him and give him seven more chances. ​ So, over the past few weeks, I became the perfect wife. ​ But now that I have finally burned the last letter, why is he suddenly the one unwilling to let go?

My husband's female best friend was far too involved in our lives. Every single thing I bought had to go through her for registration and bookkeeping. ​ She dragged my private matters into the open and turned them into entertainment for everyone else. ​ When I bought lingerie, she gasped dramatically, ​ "Bridget, you're only an A-cup? I always thought you were a C. You must use a lot of padding whenever you go out." ​ When I bought sanitary pads, she laughed, ​ "That's a lot. Buying this many at once is kind of wasteful. But the quality looks pretty good. I hardly ever hear you complain about leaks. You should recommend the brand." ​ Even when I bought a box of condoms, she tracked every detail. ​ "This brand isn't very good. They don't even make the right size for your husband." ​ The office buzzed with gossip. The strange looks from everyone around me forced me to lower my head in humiliation. ​ My husband, meanwhile, laughed along with them. ​ He said she was being ridiculous and had no sense of boundaries, but when his eyes met mine and saw how hurt and angry I was, he merely patted my shoulder. ​ "That's just how she is," he said casually. "She's carefree and doesn't think too much. She wants to learn household budgeting and expense management, so just let her have some fun with it." ​ This time, when they questioned a charge of more than 3,000 bucks and demanded to know what it was for, I calmly pulled out a medical receipt. ​ Then I waited for his female best friend to read it aloud, just as she always did. ​ "Hymen reconstruction surgery?" she read in surprise. "Bridget, are you and your husband playing some new game? I never would've guessed you were this adventurous in private." ​ Smiling, I first shook my head, then nodded. ​ "Yes," I replied. "Just not with my husband."

To help his childhood sweetheart win a limited-time promotional campaign, my fiancé pretended to be her boyfriend. They had agreed to break up after one week, but she kept pushing the boundaries. " Lachlan, don't tell me you're backing down. Do you dare make the stakes even higher?" she challenged. "We agreed to play this game for life. Whoever quits first is a coward!" Just when everyone thought Lachlan would give up the game for my sake, he stubbornly refused to lose. He even raised the stakes beyond their original agreement. What began as pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend became pretending to be husband and wife. For the next five Christmas holidays, Lachlan accompanied Linnea back to her hometown to celebrate with her family. And this year was no exception. I stared at the text message my mother had sent once again. Mother: Will Lachlan be coming home with you for the holidays again this year? I'm afraid I might not be here to see next year. I tightened my grip around my phone and looked up just in time to see Lachlan carrying bags full of holiday gifts. He then pulled out several custom-made suits and held them against himself, comparing them one by one. "What kind of clothes do you think Mrs. Everhart would like?" he asked. When I didn't respond, he let out a mocking laugh. "Forget it. Asking you is pointless. I might as well ask Linnea directly." Watching his retreating figure, completely immersed in the excitement of it all, I opened a chat window of someone I had not contacted in a very long time. I typed a sentence, deleted it, then typed it again. Elode: Does what you said back then still stand? This Christmas... come home with me.

"The little darling is throwing another tantrum again." To calm her down, Donovan Caldwell made me reveal private details on camera. "Three years ago, I was assaulted. Marrying Donovan was way beyond what I deserved." "Over the past three years, he has never once touched me. He thinks I am tainted, so I bathe in disinfectant every single day. You have absolutely nothing to worry about." "The day my mother was hit by a car, Donovan left me behind right away to go to you. He told me you were always the one who mattered most."  "Please, just forgive him." I finished reading the lines Donovan had fed me like a puppet.  Only then did the young woman on the other end of the call laugh in amusement. Donovan finally let out a long exhale, looking relieved. "Next time, put more feelings into it. It might work better," he said. The last words sounded like a warning more than a suggestion. "She has to be happy first, or she won't agree to donate her bone marrow to you." But what he did not know was that she had already torn up the donation consent form a long time ago. And for me, there would never be a next time.

The day I gave birth to our son, my husband was wiping away my postpartum discharge when suddenly a woman in a hospital gown burst in and said to me, "Elena Landers, can you get your husband under control? I can't handle how rough he is with me anymore. I've told him over and over to stop, but he wouldn't listen. It hurt so bad I ended up having to stay here in the same hospital as you." I'd just had a C-section, the anesthesia was still wearing off, and it was like I'd been struck by lightning. Panic flashed across Darren Peterson's face. He shoved her roughly toward the door while trying to hush her, "Stop making a scene, my wife just had our baby." That only made her angrier. She snapped back, "If you care so much about your wife, why did you sleep with me? You spent the whole night with me, I couldn't even get out of bed for days after! Since you love her so much, why don't you just go live happily with your little family and leave me alone?" Every inch of her reeked of the arrogant entitlement of someone who knew she was favored. She flicked her sleeve dramatically and stormed out. Flustered, Darren ran right after her. He didn't come back until late that night, and immediately started talking to me. "I'll be just like your father. I'll never neglect our family just because I have another woman on the side. Honey, you'll understand me just like you understood your father, right?" I couldn't believe he was using my dad's affair to pressure me. I asked him, "Then do you know how my dad died?"

The day I got my terminal gastric cancer diagnosis, my fiancé, Wilson, posted a photo to his Instagram feed. In the picture was his new intern, a girl who looked almost exactly like his first love; seven out of ten features matched. She was slurping quick-cook pasta in an oversized white lab coat that hung off her frame. His caption read: Clumsy little thing, managed to burn herself just by eating pasta. One of his friends teased in the comments:  A: [Whoa, old fossil, what gives? I had no idea you even used Instagram!] He deleted the post in the blink of an eye. But he never replied to the message I'd sent him telling him about my diagnosis. The next day, we were on our way to the marriage registry to get our license. I bit back waves of searing stomach pain the whole drive. "Wilson," I asked softly, "can we take a quick selfie together to post on Instagram to mark the day? Please?" He furrowed his brow, his face twisted into a sneer of disgust, and shoved my phone away. "You know I hate posting on Instagram. What's the point of this dumb performative crap anyway?" At that exact moment, I swallowed back the coppery tang of blood crawling up my throat. And along with it, I swallowed every last bit of love I'd ever held for him. "If that's how you feel," I said, "then forget about getting the marriage license. I don't have much time left anyway."

There’s an unwritten rule in Harbor City: if you catch Andy Ferrell cheating, you report it to Mrs. Ferrell first thing. I never lose my temper over it. In fact, I even pay them a massive amount of hush money for bringing me the news. That all changed when photos of his latest affair almost leaked to the public. Andy stormed through our front door, his face carved from ice. "We had a deal! You were supposed to block all this gossip before it gets out. Did I marry you just to have a useless ornament sitting around? "I'm up for election to be the President of the City Chamber of Commerce any day now! If the paparazzi get these shots, my whole shot at the position goes up in smoke!" Years ago, we struck a deal. I'd cover up 99 of his affairs. In exchange, he'd give me back all 99 of my private photos he'd been holding hostage. This was his 100th time. I'd finally had more than enough. My face stayed completely blank as I packaged every last one of his cheating videos into a single file. Then I let my finger hover, dead still, over the upload button. "Either I hit upload, or you agree to our divorce."

After seven years of a long-distance marriage with Rowan Mercer, I finally got pregnant. I quit my job on purpose, carrying the test report as I traveled thousands of miles, hiding downstairs outside his company building, preparing to give him a surprise. “Honey, where are you?” The moment I saw him come out, I excitedly started a video call. On the other end, there was the same gentle voice as always. “I just finished working overtime. What’s wrong, babe? " "Nothing. I just miss you a little. Do you miss me?” “Of course I do.” An unconscious smile of sweetness spread across my face. The thought of seeing his surprised expression made me unable to resist stepping toward him. “Really? Then turn around right...” My voice stopped abruptly. My steps froze in place as if nailed to the ground. I watched as he wrapped his arms around a heavily pregnant woman, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips while casually and vaguely replying to me. “If it’s nothing urgent, call me again when I’m free. I have something very important to do right now.” The call was hung up without hesitation. I stood in the cold wind and heard the woman’s soft, blissful voice. “Honey, what’s this very important thing?” The man who had accompanied me throughout my entire college life and spent seven years of marriage with me replied, “Of course it’s spending time with you.” Tears burst from my eyes. They crashed heavily onto the pregnancy report in my hands.  I looked at the blurred words “ Pregnant” on the page and let out a mocking laugh. Then what about me? So in your heart, I was the only someone to deal with “when you’re free.”

Right after I was rescued from the kidnapping, Ezekiel Whitmore voluntarily moved out of our bedroom and started sleeping separately from me. No matter how desperately I explained that I had never been sexually assaulted, he refused to believe a single word I said. Even when I tried to be intimate with him first, he shoved me out of the bedroom half-naked without the slightest bit of mercy. As time passed, the pity in the eyes of my relatives and friends only deepened. Everyone kept advising me the same way. "Ezekiel’s a good man. Stop putting him through this." Even my own son glared at me with anger and disgust as he shouted, "You’re filthy! Why do you keep forcing Dad?!" And just like that, I became permanently branded with labels like "rape victim" and "lunatic." I dragged out the rest of my days rotting in agony and despair, and when I was old, I walked into a lake and ended my miserable life for good. Only in my final moments did I finally uncover the horrifying truth. The kidnapping from years ago had been orchestrated by Ezekiel from the very beginning. He used my guilt and shame to keep me tied down, forcing me to spend my life taking care of our son and his mother. Meanwhile, he played the role of the loyal and devoted man, preserving himself for the woman he had truly loved all along while the two of them lived freely and happily, completely untouched by my suffering. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself transported back to the exact day I had just been rescued from the kidnapping.

It was the third year of my open marriage to Noah Evans. He had been fooling around recklessly with his sweet-faced mistress, and the two of them had gone too far, resulting in both of them being hospitalized.   I happened to be at the very same hospital for a prenatal check-up. Thinking to be kind, I decided to go and visit him. However, standing just outside the room with only a door separating us, I clearly heard sounds of mocking laughter and conversation drifting out.   "Noah, you really come up with every excuse imaginable just to mess around with other women! Open marriage? Really? Aren't you afraid this game of yours will eventually backfire? What if one day Ruby Finch actually decides to cheat on you and finds someone else?"   Noah lit a cigarette, ran his hand tenderly over the young woman’s face, and replied in a tone full of disdain.   "If she actually had the capability or the courage to do something like that, I might just start looking at her with a bit more respect. But the sad truth is, she simply can't manage without me...   "...she’s already gone so far as to have a baby just to tie my heart to her and keep me close. Tell me... do you honestly think a woman like that is ever capable of leaving me?"   The group inside burst into an uproar of laughter, each of them praising Noah for his clever methods and skill in managing his wife so perfectly.   Outside the door, I simply smiled a faint, cool smile, and gently ran my hand over my perfectly flat stomach.   It was true. There was indeed a child.   But... had I ever actually said that he was the father?

On the night of their wedding anniversary, Dorian Wrenford said that an emergency patient had arrived at the clinic and that he would be home late. Worried that he might go hungry, Arabella Corvelle brought a lunchbox she had personally prepared to the counseling clinic. But when she pushed open the office door, she saw him shirtless, pinning a woman beneath him as he kissed her frantically. His back was covered in scratches from fingernails, while the woman wrapped her legs around his waist, her face filled with intoxicated pleasure. "Evelina, don't be scared. If it hurts, bite me..." Arabella felt the blood in her body run cold. The lunchbox slipped from her hands and crashed onto the floor with a loud bang. The two people on the bed were startled and turned around. The moment their eyes met, Arabella recognized the woman beneath Dorian. It was actually Evelina Ardenne, the housekeeper she had fired a year ago!

I had never even given birth, yet somehow I developed a severe case of postpartum depression. ​ My husband was devastated for me. He stayed by my side day and night, caring for me without fail. ​ Then, after I unexpectedly became pregnant, I sought help from a clinical hypnotherapist in hopes of recovering from my condition. ​ During one therapy session, a buried memory suddenly broke through the fog in my mind. ​ In that memory, I was standing outside a doorway when I overheard Hunter speaking to our housekeeper, his voice low and strained. ​ "Heather got pregnant three times, and every time, you engineered some kind of ‘accident’ to make her miscarry. Those were my children, too!" ​ Aimee Vale pressed her lips together, tears shining in her eyes. ​ "You promised me your first child would be with me. I thought you would agree with what I did." ​ "I know I was wrong… I’ll repay those three children with my life." ​ Hunter pulled her tightly into his arms and let out a helpless sigh. ​ "How could I ever let you do that?" ​ "You can throw all the fits you want at me, but you are never allowed to hurt Heather again!" ​ "This is the last time. There will not be another." ​ I kicked the door open and lunged at them like I had lost my mind, attacking them and demanding a divorce. ​ But Hunter overpowered me, imprisoned me, and used advanced technology to forcibly erase my memories. ​ The next thing I knew, I snapped my eyes open with a jolt, my entire body drenched in cold sweat from head to toe. ​ Just then, Aimee walked into the room carrying a steaming bowl of pregnancy tonic. ​ "Ma’am, this is for your pregnancy. Hurry, drink it while it’s still hot."

Three years ago, Pia Sanders, the bright, free-spirited chairwoman of the International Dance Association, lost her leg in a car crash. Everyone said this bright sunflower had finally wilted for good. But Pia stayed exactly the same as she’d always been. She even fell in love with skydiving and mountain climbing. What made everyone even more envious was that her husband, Arkin, the cold, perfectionist CEO, still doted on her to the bone, adored the very ground she walked on. That all changed the day Pia got a call from Marco, Arkin’s best friend. "Pia! Arkin hit someone in a car crash on the south side of the city. The victim has Rh-negative blood, same as you. They’ve lost so much blood they’re minutes from death! You need to get to Central Hospital right now to donate!” Pia loved a certain dessert that was only sold on the south side of the city, and Arkin went there every single day to stand in line for hours just to buy it for her. There was no question about it, he’d only gone to the south side to get her dessert. When she got to the hospital, they drew 800cc of blood from her in the collection room. Her face drained of all color, and she nearly passed out right there. Pity flickered in Marco’s eyes as he pulled out a stack of documents. "Pia, these are Arkin’s medical bills. We just need your signature on them." Weak and wobbly, Pia grabbed the pen and signed her name without a second glance at the papers. Right after Marco left, Pia noticed Arkin had left his hospital card behind. She immediately wheeled herself after him as fast as she could. She got up to the stairwell landing and was just about to call out to him when she heard voices, "I got her to sign the divorce papers. If anyone finds out I tricked her into signing, I can kiss my law license goodbye." Pia froze. Before she could even wrap her head around what she’d just heard, Arkin’s cold, sharp voice cut through the air. "Ava's pregnant. I promised I'd marry her, so I have no choice but to divorce Pia for now. I couldn't bear to watch Pia get her blood drawn, that's why I needed you to handle this for me."

We’d been married for three years before my husband finally agreed to take our belated wedding photos.  We sat flipping through the sample shots when something froze my breath. There he was, wrapped around another woman, locked in a kiss. The date stamp read exactly five years ago, today. I smashed my mug against the floor with a loud crash, then ripped the photo out of the album and hurled it straight at his chest. I screamed at him, hysterical, demanding to know who she was. He didn’t even flinch. His face stayed completely blank, and his voice oozed with irritation, "I needed money to get my business off the ground. I did a gig modeling for sample wedding photos." He didn’t bother adding any more explanation. Why would he? I’d always talked myself down, always convinced myself everything was fine. But my phone still had that ugly text message saved, the one calling me a homewrecker. Yvonne Quinn: You’ve been married three years, but you’ve been his mistress for five. How does that feel, huh? I couldn’t lie to myself anymore, that text was the final straw. I lifted my chin, my decision had already been made. "We're not doing this wedding photo shoot anymore. I want a divorce."

The domestic skiing finals coincided with a massive avalanche, and the rescue chopper could only take one person per trip. My brother, the rescue team captain, took exactly one second to decide to save my rival first. He was literally one step away from me, yet he turned his back and walked the other way. Before lifting off, he tried to smooth things over. "Audrey, you're my flesh and blood, my own sister. To avoid looking biased, I can't rescue you first. Valerie has no family. She grew up completely alone. Just let her have this one." Later, as my body temperature plummeted to the point of severe hypothermia, the hallucinations kicked in, and a sudden memory flashed before my eyes. It was the year our parents both died in a horrific car crash, and my brother had knelt before the Goddess of Mercy, swearing a solemn oath. "Heaven above, I, David Vance, will protect my little sister with my very life."

My boyfriend, Stanley Lewis, and I had been long-distance for five years. And every single day, he'd call me to make himself satisfied. When he hit his peak, Stanley would always drawl, still hungry for more, "Ellie, I'm going crazy thinking about you..." So I booked a plane ticket and flew home that same night, hiding myself quietly in his closet to surprise him. But when the bedroom door swung open, Stanley carried my best friend, Zoey Adams, right onto our marital bed. Zoey flipped around and straddled him, unbuttoning his shirt one by one as she purred, "Stanley, honey, that idiot Ellie has no clue we've been together for five whole years. It's getting boring. She's proposed to you ninety-nine times already. Why don't we give her a nice little surprise at our wedding next week?" I clenched the engagement ring in my palm so tight my nails dug into my skin. My mind went completely blank. I watched as Stanley slid his hand under her skirt, his voice thick and lazy, "What's the rush? I had already shipped her off to the Nordics. Aren't you reassured yet?" Through the wooden planks of the closet door, every filthy, disgusting sound boomed loud and clear in my ears. Huddled in the dark, I clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle any sound, and my heart died right there.

Inside the Maybach, Sienna Moretti’s cheeks were flushed red. "Stop. Not...Not here…" Her slender waist was pinned firmly beneath Nikolai Lennox’s large hand as he deliberately brushed against her skin, teasing her with a lazy smirk. "No one outside can see us. What are you so shy about? No one would ever guess that the most proper and well-behaved young lady in high society could become this reckless inside her fiancé’s car." Sienna’s face burned even hotter. She was the cold and disciplined daughter of a prestigious family, elegant and well-mannered. From childhood to adulthood, she had never even held a man’s hand before. Yet she had been forced into an arranged marriage with Nikolai Lennox, the most notorious playboy in high society, a wealthy heir infamous for his endless affairs and for changing women as easily as changing clothes. She had fled from the wedding overnight, only to be unexpectedly kidnapped by her family’s enemies and pushed off a cliff.

Back when our love was still young and pure, I took forty-nine knife wounds meant for Ralph Pierce and fell into a vegetative state. Five years later, I finally woke up, only to discover that he had fallen in love with my best friend, Sophia Anderson. Even my own mother had taken Sophia in as her goddaughter. Heartbroken and lost, I poured my pain into an anonymous online post. I never expected it to go viral. Sophia was harassed and relentlessly cyberbullied. Unable to endure the humiliation, she took her own life. Ralph still honored his promise and married me, but he hated me with every fiber of his being. He hated that I had woken up at all, hated me for becoming the reason the woman he loved most was gone. My mother blamed me too, accusing me of destroying the happy life she and Sophia had built together as mother and daughter. The endless arguments between Ralph and me slowly wore away the last remnants of our love. Then came the earthquake. While trying to save me, he was trapped beneath a collapsing beam that crushed his neck. With his dying breath, he used the last of his strength to tell me to run. And all the while, he held Sophia’s urn tightly in his arms. "Claire… I’ve repaid the life I owed you. In my next life, please let Sophie and me be together…" After his death, my mother publicly disowned me. "If you hadn’t torn Ralph and Sophie apart, they could have lived happily together! I don’t have a selfish, cruel daughter like you!" Alone and buried beneath endless blame and hatred, I endured the rest of my life in misery and solitude. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day I first woke up from my coma.

The most famous fortune-teller in Chicago divined that I was cheating on my husband, Ethan Fairfax. Everyone, including Ethan himself, thought the claim was ridiculous and couldn't stop laughing. The whole city saw me as a long-suffering doormat of a Fairfax wife who's swallowed every insult for years. If I could ever cheat, pigs could fly. But that very same night, Ethan Fairfax bought out the entire Walt Disney World Resort for Vanessa Hart and our son, Andrew Fairfax. Their cozy happy family photo had already blown up to the top spot in trending searches. While that played out, I calmly tore my pajamas to shreds, rumpled the sheets, and knocked an open box of condoms all over the bedroom floor. The second Ethan Fairfax stepped through the front door, I unflinchingly slipped my wedding ring off my finger and said, "Ethan, I cheated on you. I'm done being your virtuous, dutiful Mrs. Fairfax."

Adrian Carter was determined to break Evelyn Hart of her jealous habit.  Every single time she got jealous, he’d buy his female assistant a brand-new gift. First there were sparkling jewels, then fancy luxury cars, and finally whole villas. At first, she’d fly into hysterics over every gift. Now? She was just completely numb. Finally, the moment came for Adrian's 99th gift to Sophia. He stared at Evelyn, who stood there shaking like a leaf, her face drained of every last bit of color, and his voice dripped with cold disdain. "Evelyn, I hate it when women get so jealous and catty over me. If you can never learn to be more generous, then I’ll just keep spoiling her, that’s on you." But this time, Evelyn didn’t snap at him like she always did, and she didn’t demand money from him to soothe her hurt either. Later that same day, she stopped by his company to pick up some of her things. What she walked in on was Adrian throwing Sophia a private birthday celebration right there in his office. His entire office was crammed full of gifts he’d bought for Sophia. There were so many they couldn’t fit, nowhere left to stack them inside. Just outside the doorway, a few movers were hauling in more crates while gossiping under their breath. "Easy, easy! These are all this season’s brand-new designer pieces Mr. Carter got for Secretary Sophia! If we scratch any of these, we can never pay for them!" "How many times is this month already? Mr. Carter blows millions on her every single time..."

The day I finished my overseas assignment, I secretly flew back home after a thirteen-hour flight without telling Caius Frostmere. Just a few days earlier, we had another argument. Caius wanted me to continue developing my career abroad, but I insisted on returning home so we could finally get married. Before I boarded the plane, he was still trying to persuade me over the phone. "Rosalie, don't give up your future for me. As long as we love each other, whether we get married or not doesn't really matter." The moment I heard those words, I finally made up my mind completely. As soon as I got off the plane, I headed straight to a jewelry store to buy a diamond ring while sharing my proposal plans with my best friend. On the other end of the call, a baby was crying nonstop. My friend tried to soothe the child while speaking in an irritated tone. "Rosalie, wake up! You've already been with him for ten years, and for the last five, he's kept you in a long-distance relationship while constantly delaying marriage. It's obvious he doesn't want to marry you! Marriage is the graveyard of love," she continued bitterly while trying to calm the wailing child. "I'm already losing my mind taking care of a baby every day. It's too late for regrets now!" I was just about to argue back when I suddenly saw my best friend walking out of a maternity store while carrying a child in her arms. "My husband is here to pick us up. Talk later." She hurriedly hung up the phone and waved toward the street ahead. A black Mercedes-Benz stopped in front of her. The car door opened, and the man gently took the baby from her arms and skillfully soothed the child as if he had done it thousands of times before. Sunlight fell across the side of his face, making my eyes sting with pain. The husband my best friend had secretly been married to for the past two years was actually Caius Frostmere, the boyfriend I had been in a long-distance relationship with for five years.

When I found out I was pregnant, Lucas Bennett, who had been desperate to marry me just days before, suddenly went dead silent. It wasn't until my family pressed him three times that he finally, nonchalantly confessed the truth. "My eldest brother passed away early, so my sister-in-law, Sophia, is my responsibility. I hope you can understand. Supporting both households is something I have no choice about." In my past life, Lucas knew exactly how much I valued my reputation. He purposely waited until I was pregnant to spring this trap on me. Caught between a rock and a hard place, I had no choice but to board his sinking ship. But in my fourth month of pregnancy, I fell down the stairs due to what Sophia claimed was an 'accident.' Not only did I lose my baby, but I was also permanently stripped of my chance to ever become a mother again. Driven mad by grief, I fled to Sophia to tear her apart, only for Lucas to slap me to the ground, pinning the entire blame on me. He claimed that I was so consumed by jealousy over his sister-in-law that I had caused the death of my own child. Overwhelmed by madness and fury, I lost my mind, got into a fatal car accident, and died with eyes full of hatred. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the exact day he tried to force my compromise.

After three years of marriage, Derek Lawson and I were finally expecting a child of our own. When the doctor told us it was twins, the joy felt almost unreal, like everything we had been hoping for had arrived all at once. Derek, especially, seemed transformed by the news. He cooked every day, slow-simmering soups and carefully planning every meal, hovering over me with a level of attentiveness so intense it sometimes felt unfamiliar. "If you need anything, even just a glass of water, you call me, okay?" he said one evening, already halfway to the kitchen before I could answer. "You're carrying something too important right now. We can't take any chances." My best friend, Vanessa Moore was just as excited as he was. She drove over every single day, bringing vitamins, organic snacks, and all kinds of prenatal supplements she insisted were the best money could buy. Watching her show up again and again, so invested in my pregnancy, I couldn't help but feel deeply moved. I settled into the quiet rhythm of waiting for my due date, letting myself believe in this fragile happiness, until one night when everything shattered without warning. "Don't worry, Vanessa. Our baby's doing just fine in there. And it's already taking nutrients from Joanne's son." For a moment, I couldn't even process the words. 'What did that mean? One of the babies... isn't mine? It's theirs?' Before I could even steady myself, another sound broke through the silence, not from outside the room, but from somewhere much closer. From inside me. "Mom, help me... I'm so hungry. That bad thing keeps bullying me..." "Pathetic. Just shut up and let me drain you. When we're born, Dad's only going to want me anyway."

In the fifth year of their marriage, Isaac Pinecroft hired a young secretary for Reina Morley. "Nina Irwin is my friend's daughter. She's young and a little hot tempered. Be patient with her and teach her slowly." When they first met, Reina had no idea that this girl would one day become a serious threat to her. It was not until three months after Nina joined the company that Reina saw that scene from the floor to ceiling window on the second floor. With her own eyes, she saw Nina tangled up with a man, pulling and struggling with him. That man was none other than Isaac, the husband she had been married to for five years. Reina waited for him downstairs, wanting him to give her a clear explanation. But he only said carelessly, "I'm just playing around with her. She insists on calling herself my mistress. How about this, we get divorced first. After three months, when I'm done having fun, we'll remarry." "Okay." Reina agreed without the slightest hesitation. 'But Isaac, there will never be any remarriage in my life. Since you choose someone else, then I'll grant your wish!'

I have a secret. Before I turn thirty, every thousand times I sleep with a man, I can shed a tear that turns into a pearl. And each pearl can grant one wish to a man. My husband is addicted to sex. He takes from me day and night. In just two years, he has drawn two pearls from me. With the first pearl, I wished for his health. With the second, I wished for him to become the richest man alive. Even after becoming the richest man, he is still addicted to me. He even takes me along on business trips. Then, the day before my thirtieth birthday, his secretary, Freya Wainwright, posted an update: The boss's wife moans so loudly every night. I'm jealous. I want to try it too. Noah Morrow was furious. He fired her on the spot. Then he pinned me beneath him, his voice low and seductive. "Honey, I want to do some fill-in-the-blanks. Right now." That night, he took me again and again, until a third pearl was finally formed. This time, I wished for us to have both sons and daughters, and to grow old together. The next day, Noah did not show up at my birthday party. At midnight, Freya posted on Instagram: I've tried it now. My waist is sore and my legs are weak, but I'm going to do the boss... until I die. Noah knelt in front of me, crying as he said, "Zoey, the doctor said your tearing is severe. For now, your body can't handle me anymore." "I have no feelings for her. She's just a substitute while you recover." A month later, Freya got pregnant. Noah coaxed me into divorcing him. "You know I made a wish. The only person truly meant to grow old with me is you." "Freya is very innocent. She cried and told me she's afraid people will call her a mistress, and even more afraid the child will be called a bastard." "Of course I don't want her and the baby to suffer." "Once she gives birth and the baby is registered, we can remarry. Okay?" I smiled and agreed. What he does not know is that I have endured all of this until now for one reason only. I have been waiting for him to divorce me first, and then marry someone else.

Three days after William Judson arranged for Freya Judson's mother to work as a nanny for his ex-wife, Greta Lennox, she was pushed from a high-rise and killed on the spot. Freya tore up the check and refused to let it go, determined to get justice for her mother. Instead, it cost her father his life. And all she could do was watch the man she had loved for six years step in to clean up Greta's mess and even destroy the evidence with his own hands. He said, "Your parents had lived long enough. But my son couldn't grow up without his mother. Don't blame me." Only then did Freya finally understand that William had never loved her. The one he had truly loved all along was that ruthless woman. So she drew up the divorce papers at once, erased her identity, and flew to Greybridge. The love William could never give her—she did not want it anymore.

My name is Scarlett Grey. After his ninety-ninth fight with his mistress, my husband, Ethan Chase, came to me again to vent. "Why don't you go kneel and apologize to her? If you hadn't paraded our daughter in front of her, she wouldn't be mad at me." He said it with a smile, as if joking. But I knew he meant every word. The last time I refused, he threw away my cat and cut off my mother's medical bills. So I swallowed everything, just to give my daughter a complete family. Until yesterday, when he deliberately fed my daughter an allergen, causing her to go into shock in my arms. In that moment, my heart turned to ashes. Seeing my silence, Ethan assumed I was unwilling. He was just about to scold me when I handed him the divorce papers. Softly, I said, "She's already tired of seeing me kneel. If we divorce to make her happy, she'll like that much more." Ethan raised an eyebrow, a trace of satisfaction in his eyes. "You're getting more sensible. Even learned how to please me." I didn't argue. I only smiled more gently. 'I simply didn't want him anymore.'  "Don't worry. Once Chloe forgives me, we'll remarry right away."

From the 99th floor, my husband hugged me as we stood by the floor-to-ceiling window.  Two months later, I found out I was pregnant... with quadruplets!  Clutching the report, both shocked and overjoyed, I couldn't wait to tell him this amazing news. Little did I expect to unintentionally hear War Field and his friend talking right then.

Father selected two potential spouses for my sister and me.  One was a medical professor returned from overseas—gentle, cultured, and possessed a grace as refined as polished jade. At my sister's birthday banquet, he clasped a pearl necklace around her neck, and everyone declared them a match made in heaven.  The other was a renowned opera performer from the Pyrus Garden, who was said to have ruined his voice in childhood, leaving him simple-minded and mute, avoiding the crowd whenever possible. My family considered him a curse, claiming he'd never amount to anything, yet I accepted him. After our marriage, I spent my days reviewing opera scripts with him and brewing throat-soothing tonics. He remained silent through it all, watching me with a gaze that seemed to be guarding a secret. One day, the opera troupe burned, the flames staining half the sky crimson. My sister and I lay trapped beneath the collapsed stage, our legs crushed by blazing beams. When he charged into the inferno, I stretched out my hand pleading: "Save me!" However, his gaze was locked on my sister. Without a moment's hesitation, he scooped her up and turned away. As the burning rafters crashed down upon me, "soldiers" flooded into the fire. One of them shouted, "Young Marshall!" In that moment, the truth was revealed. He was neither mute nor an actor. He was the Hodgson family's young marshal, commander of a formidable army. All those years, he had played the fool, hiding in the shadows to wait for my sister's betrothal to end. His voice rang clear through the roar of the flames: "Forgive me! I could only save one! Jennette must be kept safe!" He then added a final, cruel blow: "You destroyed my happiness! You will make it up with your life!" When I woke up, the heat was gone, and I realized I had returned to the very day Father selected our suitors.

My husband, Brandon Perry, went bankrupt overnight and rushed me and our son to a deserted island, claiming we needed to hide from his creditors. I was worried about him, so I turned back halfway—only to find him throwing a party at home, with a beautiful woman in his arms. His buddy teased him, "You dumped your wife and kid on that godforsaken island. How are they supposed to survive out there?" He answered like it was nothing. "Lily's dog food factory shut down, so I had all that leftover stock repackaged and shipped to the island. Enough to last them a few years." Lily Shaw nestled against him with a simpering smile. "Honey, you're so good to me and our baby." She rubbed her belly—still too early to show. He traced a finger down her nose, his voice dripping with indulgence. "You're so helpless, and way too soft. If I don't take care of you, who will? For your sake, I had no choice but to ship that tigress off to the middle of nowhere. If she found out you were pregnant, she'd eat you alive. Once you've had the baby and it's at least two, I'll bring them back. By then it'll be a done deal. She can throw all the tantrums she wants." I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. Cold sweat drenched my entire body. Three years later, he actually called. "Babe, how are you and our son doing? I'm coming to get you." I glanced at the man beside me and smiled to myself. "We're doing great, actually. My new husband's been wonderful—to me and to your son."

When Joy Quinn was four months pregnant, her husband Cedric Shaw brought home a woman who was seven months along. "JoJo, Wendy Nolan is the wife of a brother I owed my life to. He just passed away, leaving her and the baby with no one. I just couldn't turn them away. Don't worry—it's only for a little while, just until she finds her own place." Soft-hearted as she was, Joy agreed. She never expected that "a little while" would stretch into two full months. At first, she didn't think much of it. Until one night, when she got up and walked in on a scene that made her blood run cold. She stood outside that door for three hours. Inside, the two of them went at it three times. Watching Cedric's face twist with pleasure, again and again, Joy felt her heart being carved open with a knife. He hadn't laid a finger on her since she got pregnant—said he was afraid of hurting the baby. And yet Wendy was nine months pregnant, and they still managed to go three rounds. She wiped the tears from her eyes, picked up her phone, and made two calls. "I need to book a procedure. As soon as possible." "Mom, Cedric cheated on me. I'm getting a divorce and coming to you. Dad's been wanting to hand the company over to me, right? I'm on my way." She hung up and tore the 500-billion-dollar check in her hands to shreds. It was from her father—funds originally meant to back Cedric's new venture. From now on, she would never waste another cent on that man.

After three years of marriage, I was finally pregnant. When the doctor told us it was twins, my husband and I were over the moon. Derek became a completely different person. He cooked every meal, prepared soup every night, and doted on me so much I barely recognized him. "You want water? Just tell me! I'll get it! You're carrying precious cargo now — nothing can go wrong, you hear me?" Even my best friend, Vanessa, was thrilled for me. Every day, she drove over twenty miles to bring me supplements. I was genuinely touched. I waited quietly for my due date, until one night, I accidentally overheard a conversation between my husband and my best friend. "Don't worry, Nessa. Our baby is doing great inside her. It's already feeding off Joanne's son's nutrients." What did that mean? One of the babies inside me… belonged to my husband and Vanessa? Then I heard them — voices from inside my womb. Baby A: Mommy, help me! I'm so hungry! That thing keeps bullying me! Baby B: Shut up, weakling. Just lie there and let me drain you dry. Once we're born, Daddy will only have one son — me.

Seven years ago, I was the youngest chief forensic examiner in the city, about to uncover the truth behind the Red Dress killings. On the night I was about to crack the case, my fiancé Sean Shaw's first love conspired with the real killer to have me killed. She used my own scalpel to stage it as a guilt-driven suicide. By the time Sean stormed in with the police, she was drenched in blood, weeping as she claimed I killed myself to cover my tracks and tried to take her with me. All that remained was a perfectly staged body and an airtight alibi. Everyone believed her. Sean despised me. He publicly branded me a disgrace to the forensic field, the greatest shame of his life. The forensic center wiped my name from their records. My parents publicly disowned me. My college revoked my honors, and the mentor I once respected denied ever teaching me. My case became a cautionary tale, with colleagues condemning me for betraying the truth. Once a forensic prodigy, I became the police force's greatest disgrace. Seven years later, a nameless skeleton lay on the autopsy table. And from my own bones, they forced the truth buried for seven years back into the light.

Everyone knew Vincent King, the notorious crime lord, had a notorious allergy to women, except me, his fiancee. No other woman could lay a finger on him.  But then came that daredevil college student he casually saved, who refused to believe the rumors. She dogged his every step like a lovesick puppy, pushing her luck again and again.  Until the 99th time she sneaked into his bed. That was the last straw. Furious, Vincent ordered his men to toss her into the icy wasteland of the mountains.  No one expected an avalanche. The avalanche buried her alive, leaving her fate unknown. And Vincent? He snapped. He plunged into the blizzard after her, gone without a word.  Then came the live-streamed drone footage, the two of them, lost in a passionate kiss atop the mountain's summit.  Just like that, I was the joke of the entire elite. But that same night, Vincent collapsed, his allergies spiking to life-threatening levels.  Ghostly pale, he croaked at me, "She just wants a baby. Cut her some slack." A bitter laugh escaped me. Like I give a damn if she's baby-crazy? I 'd already picked a new husband the second he bolted into that storm.  But he 'd gotten one thing dead wrong. "He's the one bound to marry me, not me who's stuck with him."  

On the night before Timothy Callahan's aunt returned, he unusually took Brittany Oxford to a hotel.  That night, he made Brittany Oxford completely lose herself in a haze of overwhelming dizziness.  It was almost the most out of control Timothy had ever been.  "Timothy, what's wrong with you? You were too wild today."  When it was over, Brittany Oxford did not even have the strength to lift her eyes.  "Nothing. Get some rest first. I'm going to have a cigarette."  After saying that, he casually picked up the coat from the chair and walked onto the balcony to smoke.  Looking at his lonely back, Brittany Oxford wanted to go over and hug him. Just as she was about to step closer, she saw that he was making a video call.  And it was that very call that made Brittany Oxford realize that the person he had always loved was actually that woman who was ten years older than him! All these years, to him, she had been nothing more than a tool to vent his desire!

When I, Quinn Stout, found out my husband, Wyatt Gomez, was cheating, I wasn't surprised. What surprised me was who he was cheating with.

On my wedding day, my husband Ferdinand Wallace's secretary had the audacity to replace every single flower arrangement with cheap artificial ones. "Mrs. Wallace, I am allergic to pollen. Artificial flowers are so much better. They never wilt, after all." I fired her on the spot and paid three times the original price to have the entire venue completely redone with fresh blooms. Before long, Ferdinand stormed in with a dark scowl on his face and demanded an explanation. "Judith did not mean any harm. You publicly fired her and humiliated her in front of everyone. Now she is in the hospital with a severe pollen allergy. Was that really necessary?" I let out a bitter laugh and shot back, "Do you think it is normal for her to turn our wedding into something that looks like a funeral? There were so many relatives watching. Ferdinand, I did what I did to protect your family's reputation." Ferdinand fell silent for a moment. Then he said, "You are right. After all, today is our wedding day. I will give her a warning." That night, he was more passionate than ever before. When I woke up the next morning, however, my private photos were spreading like wildfire across social media. My phone screen was flooded with vile, harassing text messages. Ferdinand stood there with his arm around his secretary, Judith Pearson. He stared at me with cruel satisfaction in his eyes. "Does it feel bad to be called a whore? You embarrassed Judith, so I am returning the favor with a hundred times the humiliation. If you beg me, I might consider putting a stop to the rumors." A sharp pang of heartbreak and fury rose in my chest. Without hesitation, I grabbed my phone and dialed my ruthless, domineering stepbrother. "I want them all destroyed. Not a single one of them gets to walk away."

I once believed that meeting Damian Crawford was the last gentle mercy my dying life could offer. A man stripped of his sight, a woman already walking toward death—we held each other tight in the dark, drawing whatever warmth we could from the illusion of love. I abandoned chemotherapy without regret, swallowed the searing pain of cancer, and worked until my body screamed, all so I could scrape together one more scrap of security for him and the baby I carried. I even signed the cornea donation papers with steady hands, dreaming that after I was gone, he might open his eyes to the world again because of me. Then, in the hospital director's office, I saw the photograph: Damian riding the waves, his eyes bright as stars, his arm slung around a girl glittering with jewels worth millions. In that single frozen moment, the truth crashed over me. This love had never been real. It was only a rich boy's casual bet, and every beat of my honest heart had been nothing more than after-dinner entertainment for him and his friends. When my father's savings were ground beneath expensive heels, when my mother's final legacy was turned into fireworks to impress his new lover, something inside me finally snapped clean. I tore the donation agreement to shreds, walked into the induction room, and lay down on the table with a calm, genuine smile. If they wanted to play games, I would play the biggest, cruelest one of all—and I would win it on my own terms.

"Is the surgery doable?" The girl with delicate features caught me off guard. I tried to warn her, but she shut me down without a second thought. My face burned, yet I shook it off and set up the procedure. Then the door flew open with a loud bang, and a man barged in. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, she cried out. "Honey!" The girl flung herself into his arms and clung to him like he was her lifeline. As I watched them embrace, ice flooded my veins, and my blood ran cold. It hit me like a ton of bricks: the man she called her husband was my own, the same man I had married two years ago.

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband, Edmund Garrett, asked for the login details to all of my shopping apps. He told me he wanted to give me a gift I would remember for the rest of my life. "Over these ten years, I have remembered every single piece of clothing you bought and every meal you cooked," Edmund said with a warm smile. As a homemaker who had stayed home for an entire decade, I felt a rush of pure joy. After so many years of marriage, I was genuinely surprised that Edmund still had this thoughtful side to him. Yet on the actual anniversary day, he produced a divorce agreement along with a hundred-page Excel spreadsheet. "Delores, let's get a divorce. For the past ten years, we've been living on a 'go Dutch' basis—but I've kept a ledger of every penny you spent, the house you lived in, and the meals you ate. Now, you owe me ten million. You have two choices: pay up, or sign the divorce papers."

By the time Bella Chase had been stabbed eighty-eight times by the kidnappers, her husband, Xavier Donovan, was busy celebrating the birthday of yet another one of Sophia Lester's pet snakes, her hundred-and-eighth. Xavier's voice came through the phone, cold and impatient. "Bella, you've pulled this stunt one too many times. Next time, at least try something original. I told you I'd come see you after I finished celebrating with Sophia." Right before the line went dead, Bella heard Sophia's cheerful voice in the background. "Xavier, come blow out the candles." A tear slid down Bella's cheek, and she knew Xavier would not come to save her.

The day my father died, all seven of my uncles were brutally murdered before sunset.  Damian paid the price with his legs—carving his way through the gang in a crimson massacre to cement my power. "Don't be afraid, Raven. Those monsters are gone. You're safe now."  For years after his paralysis, I became obsessed. I hunted down ever experimental treatment, wore my knees raw praying at temples across the country, desperate for any miracle that might make him walk again. When Damian discovered what I was doing, he swallowed a bottle of pills one night, choosing to die rather than chain me to his broken body. They pumped his stomach just in time. When I rushed to his hospital bed, he lifted a shaking hand to wipe my tears. "Raven," he whispered, his cracked lips barely moving, "I won't let you waste your life on a cripple."  We held each other that night like drowning souls, vowing that not even death would tear us apart.  Then, seven years later, a girl with doe eyes and poison lips appeared at my door, clutching a stack of photos thick enough to choke on. "While you were praying in church," she purred, "Damian was busy trying every position in the Kama Sutra with me."  Her laugh was the sound of shattering glass. "Miss Gray, even beggars won't pick up damaged goods. No wonder Damian would rather play cripple than touch you. "After scrutinizing each damning photo one by one, I coldly ordered them dispatched to a notorious black-market auction pit.

Everyone knew Weston Cole was head over heels for me. He would have literally laid down his life in a heartbeat. When I was pregnant, he was paranoid about my rare blood type, and he even arranged for a live donor on standby just for me. After our baby arrived, he gave society the middle finger by letting our child take my last name. He did not want me to suffer through another pregnancy, so he got a vasectomy without any hesitation. Every socialite in our circle was green with envy. I bought into it too. I impulsively returned to our marital home one fateful day, only to have a security guard block my path. "This is private property," he barked. "I am his wife," I explained with a polite smile. The guard looked me up and down like I was trash. "Mr. Cole's wife is Ms. Blake," he said. "Who do you think you are? Try scamming someone who does not know better." My body went rigid. Hadley Blake was the walking blood bag Weston had procured for me.

In Stormvale, everyone knew that Violet Ainsley, a photographer still new to the industry, was the person Raymond Morrow, the hundred-billion-dollar tycoon, cherished most. She had only mentioned divorce once, and he had confined her to Evermont Estate, entangling with her in bed until they broke six beds. Looking at Violet's bruised body, a nearly crazed look had risen in his eyes. "Vivi, I can't live without you." And yet this same Raymond, who seemed so deeply in love, had long since gone behind Violet's back to finalize their divorce and had even registered his marriage to another woman, turning Violet into a complete joke. Violet submitted her application to become a wildlife photographer, then boarded a plane bound for the East African savanna. If someone could not be kept, she would stop wanting him.

"Mm." The night had settled into a deep, quiet embrace. The master bedroom lay in disarray, the air tinged with the lingering scent of passion's aftermath. For three years now, Michael Jackson had claimed her night after night, drawing her into an unyielding embrace on the opulent bed they shared. Riley Sullivan lay exposed, her slender form held firmly in his strong hands, feeling the warmth of his breath against her skin. Once the tempest of emotions had subsided, Michael slipped into his robe, disappearing into the bathroom without so much as a glance back. Dressed once more, Riley's sense of routine returned as the bodyguard wordlessly led her down to the basement. There, Edwin, the butler, stood in silence, the blood-drawing instruments ready. "Mrs. Jackson, the medical team has informed us that Ms. Stone isn't well and requires a transfusion today." The sharp needle pierced her vein, and she watched as her life force ebbed away. The marriage had been arranged since Michael's first love, Chloe Stone, had been battling a debilitating blood disorder, and Riley's rare Rh-negative blood matched Chloe's.

Cordelia Gomez had been dating her blind boyfriend, Adrian Faulkner, for five whole years. Yet she was the very last person in the entire city to find out he was suddenly getting married. And the worst part? The woman he planned to marry was Beatrice Watson—the mastermind behind the murder of her parents. Even after hearing the news, Cordelia didn't cry or throw a fit. All she wanted was to get back the only keepsake her mom and dad had left behind. But to celebrate Beatrice's pregnancy, Adrian casually handed that last memento over to her without a second thought. His face stayed blank as he told her, “Cordelia, this is what we owe Beatrice. You've got no right to call her a murderer. Got any proof?” When Cordelia finally laid the evidence right in front of him, Adrian dropped to his knees like a madman and begged her not to leave.

On Valentine's Day, everyone was living it up on the yacht until my boyfriend Dylan threw me a curveball by daring me to confess to his uncle. "Go ahead and pour your heart out to him," he jeered, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "If he actually falls for you, congrats. You have just scored a one-way ticket into the Grant family. I might even have to bow and call you Mrs. Stone the next time we meet." Beside him, Vivian Carter, his so-called ideal woman, smirked with her lips still sticky sweet from the caramel iced latte they had clinked glasses over just minutes earlier. My fingers tightened around the watch in my pocket, a peace offering I had saved two months of wages to buy. My heart was already in ruins. Then a glowing subtitle blazed across my vision. A: [Ugh, men like him are the worst. Hey heroine, why not go for his uncle instead? That man is the real deal. He has been crazy about you for years and even gave up everything overseas to return for you.] Staring at Dylan Grant's smug face, I drew a sharp breath, tossed my skirt hem aside with deliberate flair, and fired back at him. "Fine. Watch me. If I pull this off, I will be stuffing your Christmas cards with cash myself."

The night my husband was away on a business trip, I received a membership deduction alert from a pharmacy chain: 11:00 PM, one box of emergency contraceptives, $138. I shot up in bed, thunderstruck, and checked Nathan's entire itinerary for the trip. Finally, on a travel app, I saw the registered guests for a luxury family suite: "Nathan Leeds, Rachel Sutton." I had my assistant pull up all of Rachel’s information within a minute. Among her three pinned Instagram posts, visible only to strangers, one displayed a marriage certificate with Nathan, another showed a family photo with their newborn child, and the latest was a fresh tourist snapshot of the three riding across the grasslands, captioned: "My husband finally has time for me and our baby. When this trip ends, we’ll be moving into his 2,000-square-meter mansion in northern Belrun!" I threw my phone to the floor in a fit of rage, leaving it shattered. "Nathan, I built you up from a penniless boy to the business mogul you are today. Since you dared to betray me, I'll be the one to drag you down!"

The year we hit rock bottom after I eloped with my uncle, Ethan Hayes, fate dropped a bombshell—I was pregnant. Remembering how he'd always dreamed of having a child, I raced to him, my heart pounding with hope. But instead of sharing my joy, I stumbled upon him cozying up to relatives he'd supposedly disowned. "Ethan, enough playing house. Don't wreck your future over some random niece," one taunted. Ethan arched a brow, looking amused. "Do I look that stupid to you?" The room erupted into knowing chuckles. "We get it. Now that Vivian's back, of course you're done slumming it." "Just pay the girl off," another cut in, faux sympathy oozing like syrup, "before she gets knocked up and things get messy." Ethan shrugged, his smirk razor-sharp. "If she's pregnant, she'll deal with it. What's the fuss? She's just a kid." Their hyena-like cackles followed me as I fled, my heart a block of ice. Gritting my teeth, I hailed a cab straight to the clinic. Young? Sure. But I could play dirty too.

For three years, I'd been living a lie—married in secret to my so-called uncle, though we shared no blood ties. At yet another family gathering, the elders were back at it, shoving potential suitors my way. Elias Bennett joined the chorus, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips as he teased. "Rosalind, you're not getting any younger. Let me hook you up with a decent guy, huh?" He'd tossed those same words at me in my previous life. Back then, I'd recklessly exposed our relationship to the entire family. I became his wife in broad daylight—only to be met with his icy indifference. Even during my dystocia, he'd jetted off abroad to share a candlelit dinner atop some skyscraper with his precious junior. The truth hit me like a freight train. I was just his consolation prize. She'd always been the one he truly wanted. So this time, I met his jab with a sugar-coated smile. "Sorry, Uncle, but my heart's already taken. We're tying the knot next month."

Every time I fought with David Shepard, my husband, he'd take me to the clerk's office to file for divorce. Then he'd wait quietly during the divorce waiting period, watching me act like a lovesick fool. During the divorce waiting period, he watched fireworks on a yacht with Serena Moore, his close friend, in his arms, while I prepared fancy meals, waiting for his return. By the fortieth period, he was escorting Serena to high-end banquets, while I imported expensive wool from the north to hand-knit winter scarves. At the fifty-fifth period, he was accompanying Serena for endoscopies, learning to make nutritious food, and even moving into her place to take care of her daily needs. I was done. I stopped trying to win him over. Instead, I bought myself an island across the ocean and made up my mind to cut all ties with this relationship. When two days remained in our final period, David bombarded my phone. "Cecilia! Where are you?" With half our home already emptied, I was busy packing the remaining belongings for shipment. "David, see you at the clerk's office the day after tomorrow morning. We're making it official. Divorce."

To make that poor girl happy, my fiancé put my virginity up for auction. At the auction, he raised his hand and immediately offered the highest bid in the room, buying my first time on the spot. Everyone said he truly loved me. They said he was only doing it to show the whole world how much I meant to him. Only then did I finally breathe a sigh of relief, a faint sweetness just beginning to bloom in my heart. But the very next second, I heard him lean close to my ear and say in a voice that was gentle yet cold, "I spent five hundred million dollars to buy you back. Your first time will go to Eira's brother. Once you give him a child, I'll marry you." I stared at the man in front of me in disbelief. The word "No" had barely left my lips when his face darkened. "Eira only has this one brother. If the Norwood family can't have an heir, she refuses to get surgery for her nearsightedness. Her eyes are the most beautiful thing about her. I will never let her lose that beauty because of your selfishness." That night, I was sent straight to Eira's brother's bed. My fiancé even coaxed me softly, "Be good. He's healthy. He'll definitely get you pregnant on the first try." I looked at the two-hundred-pound fat man in front of me, and all I felt was despair.

Eight months pregnant and writhing with severe contractions, I begged Ryan Johnson, my husband, to take me to the hospital, but he ordered me to endure it all because Olivia Wallace, his widowed elder brother's wife, was delivering the same day. To prevent my child from becoming the Johnson family's heir, Ryan locked me in an industrial freezer at minus four degrees Fahrenheit. "The firstborn must belong to Olivia. She has nothing, while you have all my love. You will leave the inheritance to her child. This freezer will delay your labor. You can give birth when it's your turn." The pain of the contractions made me want to die. I lost all dignity, kneeling and begging him to take me to the hospital. Ryan responded by kicking me to the ground. "You think I don't know what game you're playing? You just want to deliver early so you can claim the property my father left behind. How can you be so vicious? Willing to force a premature birth to compete with Olivia? Show some decency for yourself and your child!" My explanation was weak and fragmented. "My due date is any day now. The baby could come at any moment. I swear the child will never fight for the inheritance. I'll write a blood oath if I have to—I just want my baby to be safe!" Ryan pulled away the hem of his pants that I had desperately grabbed and let out a cold snort. "You're so calculating. Who knows if you're trying to trick me again? I'm the child's father, and I want the baby safe more than anyone. After Olivia gives birth, I'll come back for you." Later, when he saw the wailing newborn in Olivia's arms, he finally remembered me and sent James Davis, his secretary, to bring me to the hospital. But James's teeth chattered as he spoke. "Madam and the baby... They're both... gone...."

I was the apple of my parents' eye, and I had been the baby sister my two brothers had protected since the day I was born. On my eighteenth birthday, I pushed them out of harm's way just as a wooden beam came crashing down and knocked me out cold. When I came to, my body no longer belonged to me because a girl named Sussie Hayes had taken over, and she called herself a system invader. At first, my family lost their minds trying to kick this intruder out. Then one day, Sussie showed up with red-rimmed eyes and whispered her demand in a shaky voice. She said, "I hate to impose, but Nina Ellis can only return if you love me to bits." So they tried hard, and they bent over backward to treat her like family. My parents went from giving stiff, disgusted replies to asking about her favorite foods, and eventually they started bringing home little treats she loved without even thinking about it. My brothers stopped calling her the invader, and they began cooing her name, Sussie, as if she had always been their sister. After a year, Sussie completed her mission, and I finally got my body back. But when I opened my eyes and grinned like an idiot, all I saw was disappointment that they could not quite mask. They threw a welcome party for show, but behind closed doors they hurt me time and again while hoping to bring their precious Sussie back. After the ninety-ninth accident, I caught them murmuring where they thought I could not hear them. One of them said, "Three more days. If Sussie doesn't come back, we'll just have to put up with Nina." Little did they know that I had my own system waiting for me, and I had only three days left with them.

For fifteen years, I'd been trapped like a pampered prisoner by my obsessive vampire boyfriend, yet we'd never had a child. In his family, the firstborn always turned into a bottom-feeding vampire by their first birthday. He couldn't stomach the thought of our child becoming a mindless, bloodthirsty monster. But on our sixteenth anniversary, Soren Ash pinned me down, relentless, his voice a dark promise, thirteen times in a single night, begging for a child. Foolishly, I obeyed, enduring seven soul-crushing losses in three months without a word of protest. When our eighth child finally held on, I dared to hope, until I caught him whispering to a human girl. "Soren, thank you for making Elara lose seven babies just to give me the girl I wanted." "Sweetheart," he purred, his voice dripping with indulgence. "You've got me wrapped around your finger. Anything you want." "But I'm scared!" Her voice trembled. "I'm eight months pregnant. If our baby comes first and turns into a monster, what then?" After a heavy pause, he stroked her hair. "Relax. I've got the drugs to induce her. Elara's kid will be born before yours." The realization tore through me like a blade: my child was nothing but a disposable shield. Even its gender had been orchestrated by her! Clenching my shaking hands, I let go of every foolish dream of forever with him.

By the fifth year of caring for my paralyzed boyfriend, his legs had finally started to recover. Just as Elijah Ainsley and I were preparing for our wedding, the first love who had caused his paralysis suddenly came back with a child. To look after her and the child, he postponed the wedding again and again. Holding the wedding plans in my hands, I wanted to ask for his opinion one more time. But before I could say a word, I heard one of his friends trying to persuade him. “If she finds out you’ve already registered Yvette Latham’s child under your name, Stacie Quarles might really leave you. You should tell her the truth sooner rather than later.” I froze. The boyfriend who was supposed to be paralyzed and unable to stand was now standing by the window, looking completely unconcerned. He said, “I’ve been paralyzed for so many years, and she still couldn’t bear to leave me. Now it’s only the wedding that’s been postponed a few times. She’s not going to give up on me that easily. My father abandoned me and my mother when I was little. All I want now is to give my own child a little more fatherly love. What’s wrong with that?” I lowered my head and slowly slipped off the ring on my finger, the one that had never even fit properly. 'Elijah, this time, I'm really letting you go.'

For five grueling years, I hauled caskets to scrimp and save every penny for my son's treatment. Bursting with excitement to surprise my husband, Joel Chase, and my son, Lucian Chase, I raced home after traveling for a day and a night. That was when I caught the hospital director groveling before my husband. "Ms. Reed claims she will have the medical fees ready soon," the director said in an obsequious tone. "Should we keep cooking up fake treatment bills?" Joel rolled up his sleeve and flashed a watch that could buy this hospital ten times over. "Let her be," he said. "She has been through hell these years. She did not even tell us when she broke her leg months ago." My so-called best friend, Tessa Wilde, cut in, her voice dripping with doubt. "Joel, what if she is playing us? The Chase family could buy anything in the world." She added, "And let us be real. Lucian might not handle living with Sylvia Reed well." Lucian clung to her neck like a lifeline. "I would never want her as my mom!" he declared. He buried his face in Tessa's shoulder and added, "Living with her is a curse." Then, with a sugar-coated whine, he looked up at her. "Miss Wilde, I wish you were my mom instead." Joel paused, and his eyes softened as he looked at them. "Fine," he said. "Let us string her along for another six months." Without a word, I hurled the gifts into the trash can. The can produced a loud clang, and my heart made the same sound. So much for surprises. They would not need to keep testing me. I would walk away for good.

“Gloria Morley, the pink Birkin you had your eye on last time is finally here! It was the exact color your husband specifically asked for, so you can come pick it up anytime!” The Hermès sales associate sounded excited, with a hint of urgency in her voice.   I was sitting on the couch, clutching the remote in my hand, my fingertips turning cold.   Last time?   I had clearly pointed at the striking orange red one in the display window and begged Warren Morley for it for half a month.   “Are you sure... it’s pink?” My throat tightened.   “Of course, Mrs. Morley,” the sales associate said with certainty. “Mr. Morley specifically emphasized that he wanted the softest shade, a cherry blossom pink.”   After the call ended, I stood up, ready to call Warren Morley and ask whether he had remembered it wrong.   But after only two steps, I kicked an unopened delivery box under the desk.   The logo printed on it was instantly familiar. It was the luxury lingerie brand he often bought for me.   For some reason, I bent down and picked it up.   After untying the ribbon, I found a black lace bustier inside, with the tags still attached.   Instinctively, I checked the size.   75B.   In that instant, my whole body went cold.   I wore a 70C.   I had been wearing that size for ten years.

Once again, Eric Jones, my husband, ranked first globally as the photographer that female models most wanted to spend the night with. Yet he had never taken a single photo of me, his wife. When reporters asked, he couldn't hide the adoration in his eyes. "Only I get to admire my wife. No one else gets to see her." On my birthday, I excitedly changed into a lace nightgown and, for the first time, asked him to take a photo. Minutes passed without the shutter sounding. Behind the camera, only Eric's stiff expression remained. "Never mind," he said. My excitement vanished, replaced by confusion. "What's wrong?" "Well..." He gave a dry chuckle. "Photography is work, after all. I don't want to mix work with you." With that, he put the camera away and headed into the bathroom. The darkroom door was slightly ajar, casting a red glow. I went in. On the workstation lay a photo album titled "Hailey Roberts' Private Diary." I flipped through it. Photos of every kind—different levels of intimacy, every imaginable pose—filled the album.

After the IVF finally worked, I flew back to Minton with the baby I had fought so hard to conceive, planning to surprise Adrian Ford. A friend had tried to warn me. Said that while I was overseas these past few years, Adrian had picked up a clingy, drama-loving female secretary. At first, I didn't think much of it. Back then, all it took was a slight frown from me, and Adrian would immediately get rid of anyone who annoyed me. Until I got home and realized the passcode to the villa had been changed. When I entered our wedding anniversary again, the door suddenly opened. A woman wearing my pajamas leaned lazily against the doorframe, all curves and attitude, brows raised like she owned the place. "Where did this beggar come from? You seriously came all the way to the Ford family's place to ask for handouts? Get lost. If you don't leave, I'm letting the dog out." Looking at how arrogant she was, I was so mad I almost laughed. "Call Adrian out here. I'd love to ask him how he ended up bringing just anyone off the street into this house. And I also wanted to ask him whether he still wanted the child in my belly, the only heir the Ford family had been waiting generations for."

It all started when, days before our wedding, I refused Damian's outrageous demand to let his sacred first love replace me as the bride for a month. Devastated, she fled to the highway and died in a gruesome crash. That same night, Damian pinned me against the wall, his fingers digging into my throat. "I already agreed to marry you. Was her one damn wish too much for you?" To avenge her, he hired a stand-in to torture me relentlessly. He killed my unborn child with a single kick. He framed my father for fraud, leaving him to die behind bars. The shock sent my mother into cardiac arrest, straight to the ICU. Then, when I begged him to sign the hospital forms, I found him moaning into that fake's neck, their bodies glued together. "Damian, I'm carrying your child now. How long must I keep playing dead?" Damian's breath was ragged. "Not yet. Let her bleed a little longer, or she'll never learn. That half-dead mother of hers still dangles by my money." His sacred first love was alive. My "atonement"? Just their twisted game. My child. My parents. Pawns in their cruelty. I waited until dawn, stumbling to the hospital with the unsigned forms, only to learn my mother had slit her wrists hours earlier. Her last words shattered me. "Kate... I refuse to be your chains." The morgue's sterile stench choked me as I touched her, lifeless and waxen. I clawed at her hand, once so warm, now frozen.

In the fifth year of our marriage, Ricardo Latham and I started trying for a baby. That day, I had just placed a pillow under my hips and adjusted into position when Ricardo's phone suddenly rang. He did not hesitate for even a second. He got out of bed immediately and started getting dressed. "A friend asked me to go play golf. I'll make it up to you tomorrow." This was already the ninety-ninth time our attempt to conceive had been interrupted. I looked at him and suddenly said, "Ricardo, let's get divorced." His hand paused as he fastened his watch, as if he found it ridiculous. "You want a divorce just because I'm going to play golf?" I picked up his phone, unlocked it, and pointed to the message on the screen: Tomorrow I want to try a hole in one with you. Ricardo frowned. "Just because of that?" I nodded calmly. "Yes. Just because of that."

At the awards ceremony, my boyfriend Owen, the fire brigade captain, disappeared backstage after taking a call. There I stood alone in my evening gown, accepting his "Firefighter of the Year" medal for him. "Looks like Captain Parker's got priorities higher than awards tonight!" the host quipped. The audience roared with laughter while I stood frozen, my limbs numb with embarrassment. When I returned home, no hero's embrace awaited me, just the choking reek of gas. Then boom! The world shattered. As neighbors dug me from the wreckage, a message flashed from Owen's trainee: a photo of him shirtless, dead asleep in his dorm bed. Her caption stabbed at me. Claire: Just so you know, the captain's too wiped to come home. Says with you there, the place could never blow up.

Adrian showed up at my birthday party again, with Lila by his side. His arm was wrapped around her waist as he introduced her to the guests. "This is Serena's best friend, and Vale Corporation's newest partner." My fingers tightened around my champagne glass, turning pale. Just last week, Lila had stolen the project I had spent three years securing. Adrian leaned in close, his voice low against my ear. "You should thank me, babe. I helped you preserve such a precious friendship." After that, Lila wore my jewelry to charity galas. She used my personal makeup artist. She even attended Hawthorne Group's shareholders' meeting in my place. On the family hunting day, Adrian let her ride my horse. He adjusted her stirrups himself, then said to me without even looking up, "Your riding is poor. Don't slow everyone down." I stood at the edge of the field, watching them clear obstacles side by side. The elders of the Hawthorne family smiled in approval. "Lila and Adrian make a perfect match." On the way back, a storm poured down. No one remembered that I had no car. Adrian sent me a message. Adrian: Figure it out yourself. Don't ruin the mood. I slipped off my engagement ring and replied with a single word. Serena: Alright. My phone lit up again. It was a message from Victor. Victor: Serena, did you ever receive that letter back then?

Mark Wood and I were both facing divorce agreements. He received the twins and ancestral properties, whereas I got 20% of the assets and a villa. I quickly reviewed and calmly signed it.

The day my husband, Robert Harding, was kidnapped and shot in the head by his enemies, I completely broke down. I jumped off a cliff and sank into the sea. After they pulled me up from the deep sea, I felt like every bone in my body was broken. As I drifted back to consciousness, I heard him joking with his new lover, Loretta Flood. Loretta laughed, light and carefree, her voice teasing. "Monica almost died for you—more loyal than a dog—and you're still willing to trick her again?" Monica Gordon—that was my name. "Not anymore," Robert said flatly. "It was just a blood bag I set up. Now I know where her heart lies. Just keep your mouths shut, okay?" The people around him burst into laughter and whispered promises that I'd never find out. I lay in the ICU, crying until my heart went cold. He had cruelly crushed and torn apart every genuine feeling I had for him. Robert didn't know that this was the last time I would ever love him. My love turned to ashes, never to return.

After three years, I finally found Mark Davis, my husband, who had disappeared during our honeymoon. Yet no matter how heartbroken or hysterical I became, the amnesiac man standing before me remained cold and unruffled. "The heir of the Davis Family you're talking about—that's not me. Stop looking for me. Iris will make me sleep on the couch again if you keep this up." The undisguised affection for Iris Perry, another woman, in his words tore my heart to shreds. Just as I was about to give up, I accidentally overheard Daniel Parker, his friend, confronting him. "Three years ago, you faked your death during your honeymoon with Addison to be with Iris. Now you want to reclaim your comfortable life as the young master of the Davis Family while pretending to have amnesia in front of her! Don't you think you've wronged her too much?" Mark drained his glass. "Iris is already pregnant with my child. I must bring her into the family." My heart died completely. Turning away, I intercepted Mark's parents, who were rushing over. "Mom, Dad, I've seen him myself. He isn't Mark."

A few days ago, my husband Everett Gordon's mistress burst into tears once more because of me. This time, his punishment was to send me straight to the pet hospital so I could donate blood for the injured vicious dog that belonged to his mistress, Zaria Clayton. He did not care about the scratches covering my body. He did not care about the chunks of flesh torn away by bites. He did not even care that the dog had ripped open my lower abdomen, leaving a bloody wound and causing me to lose our child. He simply launched into another lecture. "Men keeping women on the side is the most ordinary thing in the world. Loving you and staying faithful to only you for a lifetime are two completely separate matters. When exactly will you learn to be sensible? You injured the dog so badly that it lost too much blood, and you made Zaria cry again. This blood donation counts as your apology to her." After I woke from the shock of the blood donation, Everett brought both the woman and the dog back home and once again tossed my luggage outside. "Zaria has not recovered these past few days. I will stay with her for a while. She gets scared whenever you are around." This time, I did not cry or make a scene. I calmly picked up my luggage and handed him a divorce agreement. He took it with a scoff and signed his name without a second thought. "Alyssa, next time, come up with a new trick. I am tired of this fake-divorce-papers game." It was true that in the past I had tried dozens of times to win back his heart by suggesting divorce, but he had always seen through the bluffs. Yet today he failed to notice that this document was real.

All my life, I was the picture of compliance. Tell me to walk east, and not once would the west cross my mind. When my affluent biological parents brought me back, my foster sister, Hailey Johnson, whispered smugly, "I'm going to be the rightful Miss Johnson. You'd better get out of here!" I nodded meekly and, without any hesitation, dashed into the chaotic highway traffic. My parents raced after me, yanking me back into the car, their faces ghostly pale with shock. My brother, Sam Johnson, cast a shadowed look in my direction, murmuring, "Stir up trouble again, and you'll be back in that doghouse before you know it." That evening found me obediently curled up in a dog cage. Sam was flabbergasted, pulling me out with gritted teeth, his face a mask of disbelief. Later, when Hailey feigned sickness and Sam pressured me to donate blood, I took a blade and, without a second thought, cut open my wrist. My parents burst in just as the blood began to flow. Panicked, they clamped down on the wound, shouting, "Doctor! We need a doctor!" Sam's face mirrored their dread. It took him a while to stammer, "I only asked for a little blood for Hailey, not for her to do this." I blinked in acknowledgment. Sam was right. He never actually taught me that. It was the human traffickers, during those five grueling years after my parents had given me away, who drilled the rules into me.

My name was Liliana Cortes, and with a single sentence, I could make Wall Street shake. I had three of the most powerful men in the world protecting me. My husband, Levi Alvarez, was the most feared shark in cross-border finance. If someone so much as made a joke at my expense, he could wipe out their entire circle before the week was over. My closest friend, Zachary Burgess, headed investigations at the IRS. With a flick of his wrist, he could send an entire family to prison. My younger brother, Dylan Cortes, had launched his own quant fund at seventeen. He had turned our family into one of the richest and most powerful names in the world, and not just anyone even got the chance to curry favor with him. On my thirtieth birthday, I sat in a rooftop restaurant, pregnancy test results in hand, and waited for twelve hours. Instead, I got a cold notification saying Dylan was dead, that his fund had imploded amid allegations of regulatory violations, and that he had jumped to his death. And there was Levi, standing with the police, making sure Dylan's death was officially ruled a suicide. I snapped and demanded answers. Zachary grabbed my hand and pressed my thumb down on the cremation authorization form. "Your brother is already dead. The least he can do now is take the blame for someone who still has a future. Willow wasn't born with what you had. She wasn't born a Cortes. The least you can do is give her this one thing."

At six years old, I played a game called "Red Light, Green Light" with my brother, Leo Fields. That game made you freeze when the leader turned around. But I turned into an actual wooden statue. My mind stayed stuck at six years old, and Grandma was devastated by it. Overnight, Leo became a different person. He scraped by on scholarships and collected scrap metal to keep us alive. The once proud boy did not even flinch when classmates called him a beggar. But if a stranger dared to call me "slow," he would fly into a rage defending me. That night, he held me tight while his tears fell in silence. He whispered, "Our Mae isn't a fool. You're just still growing up. Promise me, okay? Never leave my side, not even half a step away." I nodded like the clueless child I was and dogged his heels like a lost puppy for three long years. Everything changed when Molly Wells appeared. All it took was one touch of my grubby, mud-caked fingers smearing her pristine white skirt. Leo finally cracked. He shoved me out the door with a raw and breaking voice. "Mae Fields, you've ruined my life already. Must you ruin Molly's too? Why can't you ever just stop being such a goddamn burden?" In that moment, my muddled mind finally sharpened with a brutal, cutting clarity. I finally understood that to him, I was his greatest misfortune. I slipped into the custom-built coffin Grandma kept in the backyard. I clenched my eyes shut and started counting under my breath. The game began.

My name is Amber Summers. Damien Blackwell and I grew up together in a psychiatric ward—childhood sweethearts, if you could call it that. In our circles, people said the Blackwell family had produced a king and queen of the underworld. No one dared cross either of us. "Amber, we're demons who crawled out of hell. We should hold each other close and keep each other warm. Neither of us gets to leave." On Damien's birthday, I delivered the final piece of his empire—the deal that completed everything he'd been building toward. What I got in return was the news that our twin sons had been killed in a car accident. The driver had been drunk. He fled the scene. On the eve of the trial, Damien set off fireworks across the entire city to celebrate his "recovery." He stood before me, holding the hand of a pregnant girl. "Joy is the only light in my life. She's the one who saved me. This matter ends here. Stop making a scene." My eyes were bloodshot. "Damien—they were your sons too." His voice was flat, almost bored. "The boys are dead. But you still have me. You're still Mrs. Blackwell. We can have more children. But Joy—her father is the only family she has left in this world."

Elijah Jagger only liked women with pure, untouched bodies. I had thought it was just a joke. It was not until I found out I was pregnant that I realized the housekeeper was changing one bloodstained sheet after another every night, and the hallway outside the operating room for virginity restoration was always crowded. For the sake of the baby, I kept giving in. I endured it until I was seven months pregnant. When no new women appeared in the house anymore, I finally realized Elijah had developed real feelings for his latest lover. I did not cry, and I did not make a scene. I simply asked him to sign the consent form for my abortion. Not only did he refuse to sign it, he tore it to pieces and stared at me coldly as he said, "I told you long ago, they were just women for amusement. Any woman in Everest City understands that rule. As my wife, you should understand even better that tolerance and virtue are a woman's best dowry. If you insist on being this willful, it only proves you are not fit to stay in the Jagger family." Watching the torn scraps whirl through the air, I gave up arguing with him any further. As I bent down to pick up the pieces, I thought of the envelope Molly Jagger had given me before she died, and of something she had once said, "If you want to leave, you can do so anytime."

My wife had a violent allergic reaction to men. Even the slightest touch would send her skin erupting in painful red welts. Three years of marriage passed without a single moment of intimacy between us. We had even resorted to IVF just to have our child. Then came the hospital incident. During a routine checkup, we got caught in the middle of a vicious brawl. I took three stab wounds while shielding her, and I bled out on the linoleum floor. Only the image of her face and our unborn child kept me from slipping away. The day I left the hospital, my phone buzzed with an anonymous video. There she was, passionate and breathless, tangled up with some faceless man. Her skin glowed without a single flaw except for the purple hickeys scattered across her chest. Not one welt in sight. I looked up to see her standing right beside me, carefully peeling an apple. A mask was clamped over her face, her collar was buttoned to her chin, and gloves swallowed her hands. She looked wrapped up like a damn biohazard. The video was shot yesterday. My hand shook as I reached for her collar. A sharp smack stung my fingers. She slapped them away hard enough to hurt. "Don't touch me!" she hissed as she scrambled back. "Stay the hell away from me!" Her eyes raked over me like I was something rotten. That was when the knife twisted in my gut. She wasn't allergic to men. Just me. The second she vanished into the bathroom, I grabbed my phone and punched in the number I hadn't dialed in five years. The phone barely vibrated before his voice crackled through, sharp with urgency. "Send me your damn location. I'm coming right now."

My husband, Zane Forrest, was supposed to be the best bomb disposal expert in the state. He cut the wrong wire during our daughter's hostage crisis anyway. The look on his face didn't change, not even when the timer flickered and started climbing faster. That was when he called Yara Wells for backup—his childhood friend who had never defused a real bomb in her life. She showed up with a pair of craft scissors and a coffee thermos that smelled like burnt coffee. I watched her snip something inside the panel, and the countdown jumped from ten minutes to forty-five seconds. "Zane, what is she doing?" I screamed. He just clicked his tool case shut and stood up. Yara grinned at me like we were all sharing some private joke at a backyard barbecue. My knees hit the concrete floor, and I begged him to save our daughter before the explosion turned her into smoke. "Serena Hayes, quit the theatrics," he said. "Yara specializes in delaying explosions. If she pulls off a last-second rescue, she'll earn the Best Rookie Award at the annual convention." I couldn't breathe. I scrambled for my phone and called every other expert within two hundred miles, but none of them would take the job. They all said the same thing: nobody competes with Zane Forrest on his own turf. Desperation made my voice crack as I accused Yara of operating without a license. Zane didn't argue. He just pulled a spare vest from his bag and strapped a small bomb to my ribs. The adhesive felt cold through my shirt. "Lodge your complaint, or I press the detonator," he said. "Your call." His thumb rested on the switch like he was holding a coffee mug. "Twenty-five hours from now, I'll bring our daughter home myself. Happy ending for all, right?" I stared at the timer on my chest. "Zane, we're down to the last twenty-four hours before that bomb goes off."

When enemies came for revenge, I had my leg shattered saving Damian Black.   He dropped to his knees before me, eyes bloodshot with fury and grief, and swore through gritted teeth, "Victoria Blake, I'll claw my way to the top. No one will ever hurt you again, not while I live."   Seven years later, he hurled me from my wheelchair, for some gold-digging tramp, all because I'd splashed wine on her.   "Victoria." His voice was a blade against my throat. "I warned you. Don't you dare touch her."   The next words shattered what was left of my heart. "Get the hell out of that seat. It's hers now."   He flung the divorce papers at me like trash.   "Twenty million dollars." His laugh was colder than winter steel. "Consider it payment for that useless leg of yours. Try hurting her again, and I'll bury you."   I tore the damn papers to confetti and flung them straight at his smug face. "Damian," I hissed, venom and fire in every syllable, "That leg? Just the start of what you'll repay in blood. Wanna wash your hands of me? Then you and your little tramp better be ready to pay with your lives!"

I loved Charles Anderson for ten years, yet he hated me to the bone. He resented me for occupying the position of Mrs. Anderson, making Freya Scott, his first love, suffer endlessly. It wasn't until I was diagnosed with ALS that he finally sat by my bedside, feeding me my favorite strawberries in my final moments. With red-rimmed eyes, he said, "Ava, let's not meet in our next life." Yet after my death, he shot himself before my grave. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn at the critical moment when the Scott family went bankrupt, and someone had to take the blame and go to prison. In my past life, my younger sister, Freya Scott, took our father's place in prison and died miserably within a year. This made Charles hate me forever. This time, I stepped forward. "Dad, I'll go to prison. Let Charles marry Freya." I took on all the guilt, wishing that he and his first love would finally be together.

In Javilia, I, Ava Jones, the most pathetic heiress, and my stepsister, Karina Jones, the most domineering heiress, happened to be from the same family. When Karina Jones forced my head into the toilet bowl, Jeffery Shepard, the Shepard Family's young master, who was on the run, blew two holes through both her hands. "She's the future lady of this city! Let me see who dares lay a finger on her!" Burning with resentment, Karina tormented me even more viciously while sabotaging Jeffery's rise to power. After ten grueling years, Jeffery finally became head of the Shepard Family. That very night, he booked a hotel suite to propose. But when I opened the door, I found him and Karina tangled naked beneath the wedding quilt. The room erupted in shock. Everyone knew Karina was our mutual archenemy. Karina scoffed, flaunting the red marks covering her body. "Jeffery, don't tell me you'll claim you mistook me for Ava again? You're sober tonight. You threw that East District project to me on purpose, didn't you? How long will you keep lying to yourself? You've always liked a worthy rival—someone like me. You never had any use for a weakling like Ava." Jeffery maintained his faint smile but offered no rebuttal. As the crowd gasped, he casually took the ring and slid it onto my finger. I held firm. "You promised," I said, "that once you took power, I could do whatever I wanted in Javilia. Does that promise still stand?" He hesitated, thinking I'd yield as I had for ten years, then nodded with a smile. "Of course." I smiled back.

For ten years, I'd been with Rowan Laurent—a ruthless underworld kingpin with an insatiable lust—and endured twelve heartbreaking miscarriages. All because he claimed his countless enemies would use our child against us. When I got pregnant for the thirteenth time, against all odds, he let me keep it. After the pregnancy stabilized, he went straight, leaving his criminal past behind.   Then, at the seventh month of my pregnancy, I discovered his secret: a mistress. She was also pregnant, two months ahead of me. Tears burned my eyes as I confronted him. Rowan barely reacted, just a slight twitch of his brow.   "Lilith's different from you. She's just a simple girl and needs a child's warmth." "You know she won't compete with you even though she has a baby. You'll always be the official Mrs. Laurent." His icy stare made my nails dig into my palms. I took a shuddering breath. "We're done."

The night Steve Reed returned from his business trip, he and Claire Lynch had sex for a full two hours. He asked breathlessly, "Did you miss me?" Claire moaned softly, but before she could gasp "yes," she heard him say, "Honey, why does your waist feel thicker?" That casual remark made Claire smell the scent of his infidelity. Later, without making a sound, she carefully peeled back the layers and finally found evidence that Steve was cheating. That night, he said there was a company event, and he'd return late. When she arrived at the Dusk Bar, she saw familiar faces—mid-level and senior employees from Steve's firm. But Steve was missing, along with Irene Scott, his new secretary, who had been hired less than a month ago. Claire had been Steve's secretary until a month prior, when he declared that being a secretary was too tough for Mrs. Reed and persuaded her to become a full-time wife. That was when Irene took over as his new secretary. At first, Claire didn't overthink it. But when she saw them hooked up on the sofa in the private room, her heart finally turned cold.

I thought marrying Leo Hayes was the luckiest break of my life. He was sophisticated and polished, a respected editor by day and the perfect husband in my eyes. Then he dropped the bomb: we would have a Dutch-treat marriage. That was the moment I saw the truth—our relationship rotting from the inside out. He bought his mistress imported organic eggs while hounding me for my share down to the last dollar and twenty-five cents for the local ones. He got on his knees and swore he had only donated sperm, but I found their steamy margin notes scribbled in his proofread manuscripts. When my mother's life hung by a thread, he pulled the plug on her medical payments. I once burned with fever and faced his icy demand: figure out your exact share of the fever pills. Then I uncovered everything—how he had funneled company funds to buy his side fling an apartment and traded publishing licenses under the table. That smug mask of his finally shattered. But this time I would show no mercy. If he wanted to play accountant, fine. I would drag every receipt into the light, from love to career, right down to the cushy life he thought he could escape without a scratch.

In our seventh year of marriage, my husband dug up my parents' urn and set it right in front of me. Then he gave me two choices. "Either you hand over your design to Fiona for the competition, or I scatter your parents' ashes into the ocean." I clutched the design I had just finished, tears blurring my vision, and gave in. The next day, a photo of Fiona Johnson sitting on a yacht, scattering ashes into the sea, went viral. Under the photo, Zane Hayes commented. Zane: I'd give you everything I have. My eyes fell on the corner of the image, where the urn sat quietly. My blood ran cold. Me and my dead parents, we were nothing more than props he used to please Fiona. A man like that is not worth keeping.

"I want a divorce! My husband doesn't love me anymore!"  At the City Hall office, I overheard a young woman filing for divorce, crying about her husband, Simon Hall, the wealthiest man in Riverfield. Coincidentally, my husband shared the same name, but he was just an ordinary person. I handed my water-soaked marriage certificate to the staff, requesting a new one. The staff member gave me an odd look and said, "Ma'am, your marital status shows as single. This marriage certificate is fake."  Stunned, I glanced at the young woman next to me and saw her phone wallpaper. The man in her wedding photo was the same person I thought I had been married to for three years.

That year we were scraping by on chaff and weeds, two big shots from the capital swept into the orphanage.   After locating the General's long-lost daughter, they tossed out a fortune in gold and handed pastries to every kid.   As I reached for my pastry, a barrage of comments occurred in my vision:  A: [Girl, hurry up—take out your family heirloom pendant! They're here for YOU! ] B:[Expose that fake heiress snatching your birthright, and you'll finally have a home!] They declared the General was my elder brother, the Prime Minister was my future husband.  Yet I just took a shaky bite of the pastry, ducking my head like a scared rabbit.   Because the truth was crystal clear—those two had come for the impostor.  Whether I take the jade pendant or not. They wouldn't even look at me.

Eight years earlier, Nora Collins lost a child while trying to save Liam Bennett, and for her, Liam gave up his old life. He had once said, "Everyone sees me as the flawless, high-minded CEO. Only you have seen the dirtiest, ugliest side of me." Eight years later, in order to protect his pregnant lover, Olivia Brooks, Liam handed over the company's power to her. Nora's younger sister, Isla Collins, had her private photos taken by Olivia's brother. Yet Olivia refused to give her any company resources or support, driving Isla to jump to her death. When Nora handed Liam the divorce papers, he only brushed them off. "Unless one of us dies, we are never getting divorced." Looking at her own bloodstained hands, Nora finally gave up on him completely. But when news came that Nora had fallen into the sea, the ever-composed and impeccably controlled Mr. Bennett went mad.

On my return day, David Moore, my husband, who'd promised to meet me at the airport, suddenly had something come up and sent someone else in his place. But instead, that person blocked me at the airport and said arrogantly, "So you're David's close friend." "Maplewood Road Estates. Get me there now," I demanded urgently. Leo Miller, the butler, had called that morning, saying my grandfather had collapsed, so I'd taken the first flight back. But they didn't budge, standing there like a wall at the arrivals gate and glaring at me with menace. "You bitch! I'll kill you today!" A slap dazed me before more blows rained down. Fortunately, I had some combat skills and flipped attackers onto the ground. "Have you lost your mind? Is this my husband's idea of a welcome?"

I spent three lonely years in a nursing home, nearing death. My estranged daughter-in-law was my only visitor.  "When I became a parent, you generously gifted me $3,000. Today, I'm putting that money towards your funeral. Here's hoping you embrace kindness in your next life." At my funeral, neighbors scorned me as a toxic influence on the Scott family, saying I drove my mother-in-law to misery and nearly caused my son's divorce. Abandoned and neglected, I died with a tarnished reputation. I realized too late that the true culprits were the Scott father and son, who manipulated and exploited familial relationships for gain. Filled with resentment, I died misunderstood. Miraculously, I awoke on the day my daughter-in-law gave birth, given a second chance.

After my mother was in a car accident, I asked my fiancé, a talented surgeon, to perform her operation. Despite his promise, he prioritized another surgery, a heart transplant for his female student's son, using my mother as the donor. I spent the night praying for her, only to find her body with an unexplainable incision, revealing the heartbreaking truth...

During a dinner with my boyfriend's buddies, I accidentally noticed that Robin Wright, his female friend, wasn't wearing a bra—her nipples clearly visible. As I was hesitating whether to remind her of that, Jason Walker, my boyfriend, snatched my bag with a dark look and hauled her outside. When they returned after some arguing, she'd already put on pasties. "So what if I forgot? I'm just liberating my natural state and giving my little boobs some freedom. You're so old-fashioned, Jason!" Robin grabbed Jason's hand and shoved it against her chest. "They're practically inverted and not even as big as yours. Why would I need pasties?" Jason scowled. "Shut up and keep them on." I checked my bag. Sure enough, my spare pasties were gone. Jason realized something. "Let Robin use yours. I'll buy you new ones." I smiled, then ripped off my own pasties. "No. I want them now."

At Ethan Carter's birthday party, a death notice suddenly blew up the class group chat. "No way, Faye Robbins is dead?" "That's gotta be fake. People like her don't die easy. Didn't she screw Ethan over back then…" At the head of the table, Ethan was on his phone, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Fake. I just got a call from her this morning. She said she was coming to my party." Someone hesitated, then raised their phone. "If I'm not mistaken, this is Faye, right? The memorial's at the funeral home in the next city. Should we go check it out?" It was a photo of a memorial hall. And there I was, lying peacefully in the center. Ethan's expression flickered. He stood up and strode toward the door, but the moment he pulled it open, he froze. The "dead" me was standing right there. I looked into those familiar eyes and smiled. "Ethan, long time no see. I came to wish you a happy birthday."

Three months into my pregnancy, I realized the one contact Owen Simmons had pinned to the top of his phone was his female student. So that explained the cute little emojis he'd been sending lately. I didn't spiral. I gave him two choices. "Either I get an abortion and we divorce, or you cut her off." Owen didn't say a word. He locked himself in the study all night. When he finally came out, his eyes were red. He dropped to his knees at my feet. "She doesn't know anything. It was me. I crossed the line. It won't happen again." Six years together. It felt ridiculous to blow it all up over something like this. I just couldn't bring myself to go that far. Until the day I went into labor. Right in the middle of it, Owen picked up a call. "Owen, my parents are forcing me to marry someone. Please, you have to come save me." His hand slipped out of mine. He turned and ran for the door. A sharp pain tore through me. I gritted my teeth and screamed, "Owen, if you walk out of this operating room today, we're done." Owen paused for a second. Then he still left. The baby started crying. Owen never looked back. In that moment, I knew it was over. Our three-year marriage should've ended a long time ago.

When I lost my sight at six, I picked up a boy who was on the verge of freezing to death. His name was Zane Shaw. I lied and said I wanted someone to guide me, begging my mother to save him. Later, I leaned close to his ear and whispered a promise. "I don't need you to be my guide dog. Just live well. Go wherever you want." But Zane stayed. After my mother remarried, he became the only person I could rely on. He watched over me as I grew up, becoming my white cane year after year. For the sake of my eyes, he even gave up his extraordinary talent for painting and chose to study medicine instead. And yet, even after he became a top ophthalmologist, I still could not see. Everything changed on my twenty-fifth birthday. Zane's former confidante won a major art award. He locked himself in the study. The faint rustle of paper carried through the door. When I asked, he suppressed his emotions and said he was writing me a birthday message. Smiling, I stepped forward, wanting to kiss him. Then, across the darkness in front of me, lines of text suddenly began to scroll. [Wake up. He tore up all his paintings. On the back of every piece, he wrote "Yvonne should die".] [Don't go forward. He placed a live wire ahead. Step on it and you're dead.] I froze for a moment. Then I smiled and kept walking. "Zane," I said softly, "your wishes will all come true." I moved carefully, afraid I might miss the wire.

I sacrificed everything to save my infant daughter from human traffickers, only to be left mentally shattered. Afterward, the doctors diagnosed me with the cognitive ability of a three-year-old. I once wet myself in fear during the company's IPO celebration and caused a scene at my daughter Lila Cole's first birthday party. My husband Adrian Cole had spent five years patiently cleaning up every mess I made. Until the day I secretly followed him, wanting to attend Lila's kindergarten graduation ceremony together. I had heard there would be many children to play with. But instead, someone pointed at me and said I was Lila's mother. Those strange looks, those harsh whispers, everything came crashing in. No matter how desperately I waved my hands to deny it, no one believed me. Adrian, barely containing his anger, shoved me back into the car. He raised his hand at me, his face full of disgust and hatred. "Do you really want everyone to laugh at me and Lila like this?" In that instant, his face overlapped with the traffickers from my past. The pain buried deep in my memory surged back through time and into my body. Terrified, I curled up and covered my head, repeating over and over, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… please don't hit me…" Seeing my panic, he finally lowered his hand. But with red eyes, he blurted out, "I honestly wish you had died at their hands back then." And just then, my lost memories came flooding back.

Every woman in Harbor City said Randy Hall was the ultimate romantic, the kind of man who turned me into the most envied Mrs. Hall anyone had ever seen. Only I knew what it actually cost me to live that life. Day after day, I watched him bring home woman after woman like it was nothing. At some point, he even fell for a so-called top-tier house manager and let her run the entire household like she owned the place. She canceled all my credit cards, threw out my clothes and bags, and put me on a ten-dollar-a-day grocery budget. I wasn't even allowed to step outside after 8 p.m. Even when I got a critical notice from the hospital at 8:01, she still had the bodyguards block me at the door. I tried to stay calm. "My mom had a heart attack. I need to get to the hospital right now." Jade Allen didn't even blink. "House rules, ma'am. No one leaves after 8. Even if your mom dies, it doesn't change anything." My whole body was shaking with anger. I turned and went straight to Randy, begging him to let me go. He looked at me like I meant nothing. "As long as you're still Mrs. Hall, you don't get to break Jade's rules." I stared at the man I had loved for ten years, and he felt like a complete stranger. Fine. If that's the case, I don't need to be Mrs. Hall anymore.

After announcing my engagement, I was attacked by my fiancé’s childhood sweetheart, Lily Scott, with shit, ruining my wedding dress. I confronted Jacob Lawson, asking if he would call the police or if I should, as this was the 9th incident linked to our relationship. Despite his previous pleas for patience, I called 911. Jacob, uncharacteristically grim, smashed my phone, dismissing the incident. But I calmly told him, "If that's the case, Jacob, I'm not going through with this wedding."  

I had been married to Louis Wood for three years. To everyone else, he was the perfect husband. Attentive, thoughtful, the kind of man people envied. That illusion lasted right up until his sister-in-law, Kylie Sanders, came back to the country and lost a game at his birthday party. Kylie smiled like she owned the room and dropped a bomb without hesitation. "The boldest thing I've ever done? Probably sneaking into Louis's bed the night before my wedding." Louis didn't get mad. Not even a little. He just looked at her, soft and almost… fond. And his own brother, Mark Wood, who also happened to be Kylie's husband, was the first to start clapping.

Three years ago, everyone in Eldermere City knew the same truth. The noble heir Adrian Vale, a man of elegance and untouchable grace, had married an orchard laborer and made her his duchess consort. Three years later, everyone in Eldermere City knew it still. The same Adrian, who once cherished his duchess consort above all else, now intended to take a lotus picker as his secondary consort. Elaine Hart's gaze fell on the hand Adrian had draped around Lydia Marlowe's waist. "Adrian, I do not consent to this marriage." Adrian sighed, his expression laced with restrained impatience. "Elaine, Lydia is a fragile girl. She has lost her memory, and now that spring has come, there are no lotus blooms to harvest. She has no means to survive. You once made your living picking leaves yourself; how can you show so little compassion?" Elaine lowered her eyes, her voice quiet, steeped in sorrow. "If you only wish to help her, there are other ways. You could grant her a residence, provide her with coins, or find her a suitable husband…" At the words "a suitable husband," Adrian's expression darkened abruptly. "Elaine!" His voice turned sharp. "I am informing you, not asking for your approval. In three days, Lydia will enter this household." "Then… please grant me a decree of dissolution." Elaine spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, yet to Adrian, it struck like thunder.

During a field expedition in the mountains, Adrian brought back a woman he claimed had saved their lives. He said they would never have made it out without her, and Serena believed him. Later, Adrian gave her a name, Elara. He praised her for her resilience and diligence, then gradually entrusted her with more and more of his resources and authority. Until the day Serena's mother lay critically ill, and Elara withheld the very medical resources that could have saved her…

A week before her wedding, Anya received an anonymous email. The moment she opened the link, the blinding images made her forget how to breathe. It led to a website called Eden Room, filled with explicit videos of men and women in intimate encounters. Every person on screen wore an animal mask. Against a pitch-black backdrop, their entwined bodies were exposed in shocking detail, so explicit it was almost hard to believe. She shut it down in panic, but the afterimage burned itself into her vision, leaving her whole body frozen. At the top of the trending page, a video showed a man in a fox mask. His jawline, his build, even the rhythm of his breathing were identical to Adrian's.

A leaked video of Henry Grant's "one who got away" and his boss caught in a steamy affair in the operating room flooded the internet. The web went nuclear. Outraged netizens demanded the hospital crack down on the scandal. To shield his beloved, Henry went live, bold-faced lying and pinning it on me as the woman in that video. The world branded me a cheating wife. Men catcalled and spat at me in broad daylight. When my mother confronted him at the hospital, he snarled vile curses at her. Then, to prove my innocence, she jumped from the 18th-floor rooftop. Her lifeless form hit the pavement with a sickening crunch right before my eyes. Gasping through tears, I roared at him, "Why?!" "Vivian's fragile. The cyberbullying would destroy her," he dismissed me with an arctic smirk, "but you're strong; this won't break you." Seven years of love. Three years of marriage. Gone in a breath, like smoke. My heart turned to stone.

Five years after my death, my body remained unclaimed at the funeral home. My best friend, Wendy Brown, could only afford a week's storage. Without a burial plot purchased, my body would be cremated. Wendy had to call my brother, Caleb Sullivan.   "Caleb, are you really going to forsake your own sister's remains for your god-sister?"   Caleb coldly replied, "Are you sure this isn't just a story? If she's dead, she should stay dead. Don't come back after a few days."   With no other choice, Wendy authorized the cremation and headed to Caleb's house with my death certificate.

The ceremony had reached its climax—the exchange of rings—when chaos erupted. A wild-eyed woman burst through the crowd, her blade flashing straight for Foster Granger's heart. Without thinking, Linh Snowdon spun around and threw herself in front of him. The knife sank deep. A gasp escaped her lips as she collapsed against Foster, her body going limp. Security wrestled the attacker away, but not before she let out a shriek that sounded straight from hell. "Foster! You still owe me blood! How dare you stand here and marry?" Linh's breath hitched. This was Sienna Hale—the woman who had sworn vengeance against Foster six years ago. Before anyone could react, Sienna twisted free and pressed the knife to her own throat, her voice raw. "I'm done, Foster. This ends now—with my life or yours." Foster's eyes went wild. He dropped Linh like a broken doll, lunging to catch the blade barehanded as it arced downward. Linh slammed onto the marble floor, the impact rattling her teeth. Through blurring vision, she watched her blood seep across the white satin, a macabre stain spreading relentlessly. She watched him crush Sienna against his chest, his hands shaking as he shielded her. She watched him scoop up the unconscious woman—then stride past his bleeding bride without so much as a glance, leaving her to die alone on the altar. From the first scream to the final sob, his eyes never once met hers.

The year I turned eighteen, a gang of thugs jumped my brother. After stabbing one of them, he took off, abandoning me to them. When they couldn't catch him, those bastards made me their punching bag. They severed my ankle tendons and took turns torturing me for hours. By the time my parents arrived with the police, I was half-dead, my lower body broken and bleeding. Each gang member got twenty years behind bars. Two months later, I discovered I was carrying one of their children. My mother took me to the hospital for a forced abortion. The doctor's verdict was clear: I'd never conceive again. My parents wept day and night. Everything changed when my brother showed up with a girl my age and a DNA report—proof I was just a country girl's child, swapped at birth. It was like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. On the day their precious real daughter, Sierra, got into a famous university, my old wounds flared up again. Alone at home with no painkillers left, white-hot agony shot through me. As I dragged myself toward the door, begging my brother to get me medicine, I overheard his conversation with his friend Zachary. "Harrison, are you really going to keep that fake paternity test from your parents forever?" Harrison's voice oozed irritation, "I forged Sierra's DNA results so Mother and Father wouldn't spend their lives drowning in guilt over Maisie." "If they believe she's not theirs, they'll let go of the past," he continued, "they'll stop blaming themselves... and me for what happened." Ice flooded my veins as the truth hit me.

After the ninth time I tried to settle the wedding finances with my boyfriend, his childhood sweetheart showed up again and asked him for money. The amount was always the same, exactly 88,000. He had lent it to her nine times, and our wedding had been postponed nine times. This time, I did not back down. I looked him in the eye and asked, "Are we getting married or not?" Victor fell silent for a long while, then went to get the money back. I chose to forgive him again. That lasted until the eve of our wedding, when his childhood sweetheart posted on social media. Chloe: I love this 88,000-diamond ring. My childhood love spoils me the most. I froze. I took out the money Victor had brought back and checked it carefully. The bills slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. They were counterfeit. In that moment, I knew our relationship had come to an end.

Everyone said Warren Kaiser loved his wife, Sabrina Lambert, more than his own life. He had taken a knife for her and even wept for her. But Sabrina learned the truth when her mother, Patricia Lambert, was deliberately run over and sent to intensive care, and when her brother, Sheldon Lambert, was framed for assault. The real culprit, Rachel Jewett, was being hidden and pampered by Warren in his suburban villa. He couldn't bear to hurt Rachel, so he held back for her. To keep Rachel out of prison, he forced Sabrina to drop her appeal. Patricia then died a miserable death in the hospital; Sheldon was locked up and sentenced. Warren let Rachel invade their home, causing the loss of their unborn baby, and stood by as she had Sabrina beaten until her bones were shattered. He planted a sea of roses for Rachel, erasing every trace of the love he once shared with Sabrina. When others told him he'd gone too far, he just smirked, certain she could never leave him. Later, Sabrina gave up on him completely. She walked away, leaving nothing but a divorce certificate. Warren panicked. He searched all of Juniper City, desperate to find her. When they met again, she held another man's hand. There was no love left in her eyes when she looked at him. For every hurt he'd caused her, she would pay back double; everything he owned, she would take and destroy piece by piece. With red-rimmed, desperate eyes, he offered her everything he had, begging for just one glance from her. But all she wanted was to end things between them—once and for all.