I was the Hayes family's heir, and I had never been allowed to have a life of my own. Every time I failed a project, a two-foot-long discipline ruler would strike my body again and again. Father, Ethan Hayes, said that was how he showed his love. "Who else would bother raising and training you like this, if not me?" he asked. That was how it was, until Vera Lane showed up. The way my father looked at her was so gentle that it was completely unfamiliar to me. He said she was the daughter of his late old friend. "Vera Lane will be your assistant from now on. You need to take good care of her," he added. That very night, my entire bedroom was cleared out. Vera shrank behind my father's back and said, "Wouldn't it be wrong to turn my older sister's room into my closet? That seems unfair!" My father jumped in right away, insisting, "What's wrong with that? You suffered so much when you were little. It's only right for her to give way to you." Later, she botched a project and lost five million dollars. During the meeting, my father patted her head and smiled easily. "So what if we lost the money? You're young. This is just tuition for learning the ropes," he said. But no sooner had he said that than he spun around, jabbed a finger right in my face, and roared, "Didn't I tell you to teach her properly? Look at the huge mess you made! You're not the project lead anymore!" And there I stood, staring at the paternity test results for Vera and my father on my phone, lost in thought. Oh, so that was it. I was just the fake heiress of this rich family...

At my engagement party, I knew the champagne my fake-heiress sister, Luna Lawson, handed me had been drugged. Still, I smiled and drank every last drop.   I let her lead me to the lounge. I let her lock the door behind me. Then I waited for my fiancé, Julian Sterling, heir to the most powerful family in the Crown Circle, to burst in and catch me in a carefully staged scandal.   In my previous life, I had fought desperately to explain myself. Julian never listened. He threw me to the floor, publicly called off our engagement, and left me utterly ruined.   Disowned by my family, I became the laughingstock of high society overnight.   Meanwhile, Luna played the innocent victim to perfection. Julian shielded her with painstaking tenderness, and before long, she stepped into my place as the future Mrs. Sterling.   Three years later, I was dying of terminal stomach cancer in a hospital bed when they arrived with their newborn son.   Julian stood over me, his gaze cold and contemptuous.   "If I hadn't wanted your family's company, do you really think I would've ever looked at you?" he said. "You almost ruined Luna back then. Now that your father's bankrupt, it's time you paid your debt."   Luna gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, smiling with soft, poisonous sweetness.   "Evelyn, thanks to you, my son will inherit everything from both families fair and square," she whispered. "You can die peacefully now."   I died drowning in hatred and regret.   But when I opened my eyes again, I was back at the engagement party.

My husband, the director of the orphanage institute, who had always been indifferent to children, suddenly became very kind and took special care of the new orphan. He had time to get up at dawn to boil eggs for the other child, but he had no time to take his own son to the hospital, who had a 107-degree-Fahrenheit fever. I finally couldn't stand it anymore and filed for divorce on the day my son was discharged from the ICU ward. Relatives and friends thought I was crazy. My husband threw the fruit basket at me, his eyes red with anger, and shouted, "It's just going to the ICU, what's the big deal? A child with a fever won't die!! You just can't stand seeing me being good to other people's kids, deliberately picking a fight. How can you be so cruel!" I looked at his messy shirt collar and the glaring red marks on his body, and said resolutely, "Since you love this child so much, why don't you bring him back to be your son after we divorce? That way, the three of you, you and that woman, can be reunited."

My ex-boyfriend's kid is a little demon who constantly vandalizes our building's facilities. Living right next door, I've been the one bearing the brunt of his behavior. When I found foreign objects jammed into my door lock for the sixth time, I finally snapped. "Can't you control your child?" Instead of apologizing, he threw himself onto the floor and began to wail dramatically. "He's just a kid! He's just playing around, so why do you have to make such a big deal out of it? Are you picking on me just because I'm a single dad? Is there no justice left in this world?" The other neighbors overheard the commotion and tried to smooth things over with me. "They don't have it easy. You're young, so don't be so petty." So, the next time they pulled a stunt, I just smiled and told them to go right ahead. But later, he was the one crying and begging me, "I've truly learned my lesson, and I'll discipline him properly from now on. Can you please just let us off the hook this time?"

Just a week after our breakup, Dominic Sterling married my best friend. I didn't make a scene or try to cling to him. Everyone was waiting to see me make a fool of myself, refusing to believe I would actually let him go. After all, I had spent seven years willingly acting as Dominic's lovesick fool, cutting ties with my family and giving up everything I owned for him. Yet, he had never returned even a fraction of my affection. Now, I was reduced to risking my life in underground fighting just to earn a living. As my opponent pinned me to the canvas, beating me until blood poured from my nose and mouth, someone suddenly rushed out from the crowd and pulled me into a frantic embrace. I wiped the blood from my lips and asked with a smile, "Thanks for the help, Boss. Are you here to pay to book me for a match?"

On the first day Iris Mercer returned home from abroad, I dragged Elliot Hale along to see her. While Iris and I laughed and jostled around, Elliot sat scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention. I pouted and complained that he was being boring, and he just ruffled my hair with a helpless smile. "She's your best friend," he said. "I'm just the drafted errand boy you pulled in at the last minute." The warmth in his eyes made something bloom in my chest. Then he turned to pour drinks, and I absently picked up his phone. The Wi-Fi status bar caught my eye immediately: Auto-connected to "Iris' Place." But Elliot had told me he'd never been here before.

While I was leading my team during out-of-town business negotiations, my fiancé's assistant, Simon, deliberately spiked my working lunch with Inferno Chili Oil, even though he knew full well that I had a severe heart condition. After only two bites, a tearing pain seized my chest. I scrambled to pull the CardioRevive from my pocket and swallowed it, but the agony in my chest only intensified. Panic set in, I looked down at the bottle and realized my medication had been replaced with ordinary sugar pills. Seeing my face turn pale, Simon smirked and said, "I swapped them because I was worried your blood sugar would drop, Ms. Shaw. No need to thank me." Gasping for air, I turned to my fiancé. "Damian, give me my backup nitroglycerin, quick! Otherwise, I'm going to go into shock from the angina!" But Damian remained completely unfazed. "Are you not tired of acting, Evelyn? I've never heard of anyone getting a heart attack just from eating spicy food. Simon is right, and you're just faking this to stall the negotiations." I didn't bother arguing. Instead, I pressed the emergency call button on my phone.

My fiancé was the definition of a perfect man. He gave me everything I could ever ask for. When I mentioned that men who could cook were attractive, he immediately signed up for culinary classes and promised that, after we got married, the kitchen would belong to him alone. When I complained about the summer heat, he dropped all his work without hesitation and whisked me away to Glaciera for a vacation. When I told him that my parents were gone and that there was no need for betrothal gifts, he disagreed with me for the first time. He insisted on preparing an extravagant set of betrothal gifts, saying he wanted me to feel completely secure. To everyone around us, Julian Graves was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of man. Then, one hour before our wedding, he disappeared. When he finally returned, he proudly showed off his newly sculpted physique. "Luna, I had liposuction and lost ten pounds. A perfect body like this is the only way to do justice to the suit you made for me with your own hands." Everyone praised him for being the ideal fiancé. I was the only one who looked at him and said coldly, "I'm calling off the wedding." Julian's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're breaking up with me because I lost ten pounds?" "That's right." I met his gaze without hesitation. "I'm leaving you because you lost ten pounds."

Out of consideration for my fiancé's family's modest circumstances, my parents volunteered to cover all the expenses for the wedding venue, transportation, and decorating our new home, saying he shouldn't worry about a thing. But Julian dragged his feet until the night before the wedding, when he finally transferred a measly 2,800 to me. He said it was his parents' idea. We'd been together eight years and our feelings were deep, so there was no need to be stingy about money. I was in love with Julian, so I didn't say much at the time. But who could have guessed that five minutes before the ceremony was to start the next day, he sent a message. "Gracie, have your parents drive you over. Remember to take the stretch limo; it'll look better for the occasion." A bad feeling gripped me instantly, and I called him back immediately. "Julian, what the hell is this supposed to mean?" He seemed prepared, rattling off excuses without a pause. "Gracie, listen. Your family cares about face. Renting a stretch limo like that costs at least 50,000. I've spent every cent I have on all the other wedding-related stuff. I really can't afford this expense. Besides, we're about to become family. Whose car we use shouldn't matter, right? When we're better off in the future, I'll make it up to you with 50,000. You can spend it however you want. That's way better than just wasting money on renting a car to show off. I've got to go greet guests now. You guys come over soon to help out, okay? Be good." He hung up in a rush before I could even get a word in to argue. Looking around the room at my friends and relatives holding exquisite wedding favors and still bustling about, then at the mountain of wedding supplies piled far beyond the agreed quantity, I suddenly felt pathetic and ridiculous. I took out my phone and typed back. "Fine. Then forget about having this wedding." Julian replied instantly. "Alright, alright, my little miss, I'm really scared of you, okay? I'll come pick you up myself, how's that?" In less than ten minutes, there was a thunderous crash outside the door. But it wasn't Julian who arrived. Instead, four burly men showed up.

On a high-stakes truth-or-dare game show with a ten-million-dollar grand prize, my fiancé, Lachlan Frost, sat beneath a brainwave lie detector. The host asked the question that changed everything. "What's the worst thing you've ever done to your fiancée?" After a brief hesitation, Lachlan looked straight at me and answered, "The day I proposed to her, I slept with her best friend." I stared at him in disbelief. "Wasn't that the day we went wedding dress shopping?" Lachlan casually ran a hand through his hair. "Exactly. In the fitting room." A smug smile tugged at his lips. "She was wearing the wedding dress I'd bought for you. You have no idea how big the skirt was. It hid both of us perfectly." The audience erupted. The livestream chat exploded instantly. I sat frozen in my seat, staring at the man I had loved for seven years. For telling the truth, he would walk away with a ten-million-dollar prize. And for ten million dollars, he had finally stopped pretending. Lachlan leaned close and lowered his voice. "Don't blame me. Everyone loves money. I've been sick of you for a long time. The only reason I joined this show was for the prize money. Once I get it, I'm dumping you." I laughed in spite of myself. Not because anything about the situation was funny, but because Lachlan had no idea the ground beneath his feet was already beginning to crumble.

The whole airline was buzzing with the rumor that I'd ordered a truckload of vibrators worth tens of thousands of bucks. It happened because Chloe Laine, the new pilot my husband Chase had just hired, carelessly picked the wrong shipping address while shopping online, and the whole shipment got delivered to the Flight Operations Division. To protect Chloe, Chase signed the absurd order in front of everyone and announced that I was the one who'd bought it. Overnight, I became the company pervert and the laughingstock of the entire airline. Furious, I confronted him, wanting an explanation. He just looked annoyed. "Chloe just started here, and she's got a bright future. She can't afford this kind of gossip. You're a top-ranked captain. Are you really going to let a little talk get to you?" Watching him say it like it was the most natural thing in the world, I dropped the divorce papers right in front of him. Then I sent a message to a number I hadn't contacted in a long time. "Grayson, want to go get the papers signed?"

When I realized I was the villainess in this story, I was literally seconds away from aborting the male lead's baby. Then suddenly, the plot hit me. In the original storyline, Louis Clark would be acknowledged by the country's richest billionaire exactly one month later. I ripped out my IV without hesitation and ran straight out of the operating room under the doctor's horrified stare. 'Are you kidding me? This baby was the future billionaire heir. My VIP ticket into high society! There was absolutely no way I'd get rid of him.' Outside the operating room, Louis was kneeling on the floor, eyes bloodshot with pain, and desperation was written all over his face. I didn't waste a single second. Before the anesthesia fully kicked in, I threw myself at him and grabbed his leg. "Louis, I'm not going to abort the baby!"

Hilbert Ford took me out of an orphanage after my brutal fight with his first love. Back then, I was filthy, bruised, and unwanted. He bought me designer clothes, paid for the best schools, and patiently taught me everything he would never do for the woman he truly loved. Everyone said I was the luckiest orphan alive, the girl who became Mr. Ford's obsession. And like an idiot, I believed I'd get to stay by his side forever. Until the day his first love was forced into an arranged marriage. Hilbert casually handed me a box of birth control pills and said, "You're going to marry him instead. Once it's over, I'll bring you back. "She's only willing to forgive me if I send you into another man's bed."

Two days before the wedding, Larry Turner took time off work to go shopping with me for our new home stuff. We were standing outside the mall when Larry suddenly let go of my hand. "I need to tell you something. Your sister and I… we've been seeing each other for almost a year." The happiness I'd been holding onto shattered in an instant, and for a moment, I had no idea how to react. I just stood there, frozen, my brain completely blank. Seeing the look on my face, Larry hesitated for a moment, guilt flashing across his eyes. But he still kept going. "There were a few times when we almost got caught sneaking around behind your back. Last night, she was shaking under the blanket because she was scared you'd find out. Seeing her like that killed me. I don't want her suffering anymore. I thought about it for a long time before telling you. Whether we still get married or not, that's your choice." Back when we got engaged before Christmas, Larry had been so excited he couldn't even sleep. He spent the entire night picking a wedding date, finally choosing the day after my birthday. He told me it symbolized "happiness after happiness." But now, it was like he'd forgotten all of it. The Larry who once loved me more than anything was gone. I forced back the tears burning behind my eyes. "Then let's do what you want. We're calling off the engagement."

Noah Cross trained me to haul bodies down the snowy mountains—a paid service for wealthy families who'd lost someone to the peaks. He proposed three years ago. Canceled our wedding seventeen times. His excuse was always the same. "Elena, you've just finished a run. Let the bad luck clear. Then we'll do it." But before the wedding ever came, there was always another corpse waiting. The eighteenth time, he swore the ceremony was finally happening. Instead, he sent me into a blizzard to find a pet, Chloe Wren's lost dog. While I was up there freezing, he was down at the church—walking her up the aisle. "We can't rehearse without a bride," he said. "You'll have to fill in. Just this once. For Elena." Chloe lowered her eyes, shy as a schoolgirl. "But Noah... won't Elena be mad? This was supposed to be her wedding." His answer came easily. "Once she gets back, that's when the real wedding starts. She won't be mad." What he didn't know— This time, I truly wasn't coming back.

The night before my engagement banquet, my fiancé skipped our scheduled suit fitting. In the dead of night, he sent a long voice note . "Talia's pregnant, and her ex skipped town on her. She's showing clear signs of depression right now. "I need to marry her first to help her pull through this rough patch. "We'll push all our plans back for the time being; go move back in with your folks. "Tell the relatives you screwed everything up, and make sure Talia never catches wind of any harsh gossip." I typed slowly and sent back just one word: Fine. Mom always sighed and said I was slow-witted, a silly girl. But dim as I was, I could see the truth plain and clear: one bed can't fit three people, and one heart can't hold two loves. 'I'm calling off this engagement for good.'

My company had just secured a hundred-billion-dollar project and urgently needed liquid capital to keep operations moving.   I rushed to my private bank, intending to withdraw several hundred million from my personal account.   But the moment I gave them the account name, the client manager slammed her hand against the desk.   "So now you're trying to scam my husband? Do you have a death wish?"   I froze for a second before calmly explaining that the account belonged to me.   To my surprise, she stormed out from behind the counter and pointed straight at my face.   "You bitch. This account belongs to my fiancé, Rex Cresswell. Who the hell do you think you are? You picked the wrong person to mess with today. Anyone who dares touch our family's money won't get away with it."   Rex Cresswell? Wasn't he the marriage candidate my father personally chose for me?   And since when had my money become his? Realizing something was very wrong, I immediately called Rex.   "You have five minutes," I said coldly. "Get over here. Now."

After Steven Moore, my boyfriend, got the Golden Melody Award once again with my help, we went back to the honeymoon phase overnight. The way he looked at me was charged with way more possessiveness. "Don't manage any more male artists from now on." He held me from behind, his voice muffled. "I'm jealous." I laughed and called him childish, but sweetness welled up in my heart.  Back then, I truly believed he said this because he loved me too much. One day, I found the diamond ring advertised as "only one can be custom-made in a lifetime" in the pocket of his coat. Tears welled up in my eyes instantly. After an eight-year marathon of love, he was finally ready to reach the finish line with me. I even started picturing him getting down on one knee. But the very next day, that exact ring appeared on the finger of Hailey Wilson, a rising rookie. She looked at me, provocation in her eyes. I froze in place, replaying all Steven's unprovoked jealousy and wariness from those past days on loop in my head. So it was never deep affection. It was a projection. Steven had crossed that line a long time ago. In his eyes, everything I did was just proof that I was no different from him.

After a severe postoperative hemorrhage, the doctor told me to contact my family. I dialed my husband's number for the first time in a long while. "Dylan, the doctor says…" Before I could get out more than a few words, Dylan Jones, my husband, cut me off impatiently. "What terminal illness is it this time? Jane, can't you just give it a rest? Serena and I were just getting in the mood. Can't you stop being this petty?" The line went dead, leaving only the hollow beep of the dial tone. Tears spilled from my eyes before I could stop them. I shook my head at the doctor and said, "I don't have any other family. I'll sign the consent form myself." "The surgery may endanger your life. If something goes wrong, we will prioritize protecting your life." I gently rubbed my belly, swallowing the bitterness in my throat, and smiled. "No. Please save my baby first."

At the department's annual dinner, fueled by the warm buzz of wine, the group kicked off a playful The Best Husband game. The aim was simple: phone your husband, ask for $10,000 to splurge on a designer purse, and see who would fork over the cash first.   My partner of seven years, Mark Green, didn't just help me win. He blew everyone away by wiring not only the requested amount but an extra $50,000 on top.   "Claire, you're living the dream! You've got the cash and a boyfriend who dotes on you." My coworkers showered me with compliments tinged with envy, all the while sidestepping my past misfortunes.   For instance, after seven years, Mark still hadn't proposed to me. Or the awkwardness of discovering his relocation to an international branch through Facebook.   On the way to confront him at the airport, a rogue truck crashed into me. Not only did I suffer a devastating miscarriage, but I also lost the ability to become a mother. During those dark days, my closest confidante, Yvonne Stone, was my only source of comfort.   Lost in thought, I took another swig of my drink.   When Yvonne's turn arrived, she hesitated, clinging to her phone. "I'll skip. He works late and is probably out cold." It was common knowledge that Yvonne had been secretly married for three years and was raising a 2-year-old daughter. Yet, her husband's identity remained an enigma to us all. Amid friendly ribbing, Yvonne fumbled her phone, accidentally hitting the dial. Silence blanketed the room. To everyone's astonishment, the call picked up instantly. And the voice that spoke was unmistakably Mark’s, "Honey, I'm just bathing our little one. When will you be home?"

Beyond the therapy room's half-closed curtain, I caught sight of my ex-boyfriend after a seven-year gap. He was wrestling with a child who was kicking and flailing in his arms. A nearby intern turned to me and asked, "Ms. Moore, is he someone you recognize?" I casually looked away, keeping a composed smile as I shuffled my papers. "No, I don't know him," I responded. For me, Jacob Jackson at 30 was nothing more than a stranger.

My husband's family went bankrupt. A loved one of his passed away, leaving behind nothing but ten million in crippling debt. Seven years into scraping by on construction sites with him, I got diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer. Desperate for that 100,000, I signed up for an illegal clinical trial run by a private pharma company. This payout would wipe out all of my husband's debt and let him start over with a normal life. I could leave this world with nothing weighing on my mind. What I never expected was to walk in on my husband chatting in my hospital ward with his younger sister, the same sister who'd supposedly died ages ago. "It's been so long since you had that prophetic dream," my husband said. "Sophia never did a single thing to betray me." "She's held up her end really well all these years. The test is over. It's time to end it." I froze solid right where I stood. My knuckles burned white as I squeezed the crumpled bottle of cheap painkillers so tight in my hand. All those years of scraping by, running from debt, and bouncing from one dump to the next… it was all just because of a stupid prophetic dream Zoe had. Standing frozen in the doorway, all I could think was that none of this is worth the trouble anymore. After all, I've only got three damn days left to live.

Jasper Brooks and I were what you'd call a pure hate couple. We brawled three times a day, right on schedule like clockwork. If we could throw hands, we never wasted breath on yelling. The worst fight we ever had? We burned our whole damn villa to the ground. Every single one of our friends was convinced we loathed each other down to our bones. That all changed when we got caught in an avalanche while mountain climbing. In that life-or-death moment, we threw ourselves in front of each other without a second thought, and we both ended up in the ICU fighting for our lives when the dust settled. After that, everyone just wrote off all our screaming and brawling as our messed-up version of couple's foreplay. But then came the last fight. Blinded by rage, Jasper spat words he could never take back. "You were never anything more than Clara's stand-in. She's back now, so get the hell out, now." I replied, "Fine. You get what you want." This time, I didn't snap back at him. I had amnesia, so I would forget him and scrub him completely clean out of my memory soon enough.

After I fired my younger sister, my fiancé threw the engagement ring right in the middle of our engagement party. "How am I supposed to marry you when you can't even tolerate your own flesh and blood sister?" he snarled. "We can talk about getting married again when you learn how to treat your family right," he added. My unfair, biased parents immediately jumped in to back him up. "That's right. We're all family. You went way too far with this," they said. I laughed in bitter anger. "Fine by me. If you don't want to marry me, there are plenty of other guys lined up waiting to take your place," I said. Every single person in the room gaped at me in stunned silence, and I let out a soft laugh into the phone held to my ear. "Honey, you can go public with our news now. Don't be late to our engagement party next month," I said.

Julian Hayes was the type of man who lived for chasing thrills. That was why, after we tied the knot, he kept sneaking around with women I was close to. He got off on the dirty, forbidden rush of being with the people closest to me, and he loved it even more when we were just one wall apart, making them scream loud enough for me to hear. Then I caught him yet again. I had finally had enough, and I asked him for a divorce. Without rushing, he slowly buttoned his shirt back up one by one, cool as a cucumber. "Cut the drama, Ivy," he said. "Do you really want our kid to grow up without a dad, just like you did?" "After all," he added, "you know better than anyone how terrible it feels when everyone calls you a bastard, right?" He fully expected me to act just like I always did, breaking down completely, then caving in and compromising anyway. What he did not expect was how unshakable I was this time. That child he mentioned was already dead.

My childhood sweetheart had been missing for three days, so I headed down to the police station to file a missing person report. But there, on Christmas's Eve, flashing on the giant outdoor screen in the town square, was his happy announcement. There he stood, arm wrapped tightly around another woman, his eyes glowing with pure adoration, and he said into the camera, "Vera and I have been together for three years, and we've decided to get engaged today. Here's to hoping everyone gets what they wish for in the new year and ends up with the person they love." The biting cold wind tangled with my tears as they rolled down my cheeks. Today was the tenth anniversary of our love, yet it had become the day he got engaged to another woman. I pulled up our text thread, and it was just one message after another from me—one long, one-sided monologue—with nothing back from him. I sent my childhood sweetheart the last message. Jasmine: Happy wedding. We're done.

Three years into my marriage to Ethan Wright, he brought a woman home with him. She was just a kid, young and skittish, when she timidly said hello to me. Ethan laced his fingers through mine, his expression deadly serious as he explained, "Mia, don't get the wrong idea. I just felt bad for Aria, that's all, so I'm letting her stay and work as our maid." Back then, I still believed he loved me, so I took him at his word. One day, I finished a surgery early and headed home ahead of schedule. I stepped into our pitch-black living room, and there they were, locked in a fierce, passionate kiss. In that exact second, I didn't cry. I didn't scream or throw a fit. I just stared at Ethan, who was fumbling to pull himself away from her in a panic, and let out a cold sneer. What Ethan never realized was that this young maid he'd personally brought into our home was the last AIDS patient I had rescued before I returned home from abroad.

With the new year approaching, I suddenly started building an underground bunker. My parents' adopted daughter mocked me, saying I'd lost my mind. "An outbreak of the Infected? Who's going to believe that crap?" I ignored her and kept hauling supplies down into the basement. No one knew that three days from now, on New Year's Eve, the collapse would begin. In my past life, I watched helplessly as my family was torn apart by the Infected. So after I was reborn, I built this bunker, one big enough for the whole family. After checking all the supplies and systems, I nodded in satisfaction. Then, the next second, I heard the crisp click of a lock behind me.

On New Year's Eve, my husband tossed a year-end review in front of me. Inside, it listed in detail every contribution I had made to the family over the past year, as well as every mistake. I skimmed through the document, only to see a bolded line on the final page: The spouse has consistently failed to meet multiple key metrics. Overall score: below the passing line. Therefore, the spouse will be subject to rank-and-yank. I snapped my head up. "Damian, what is this supposed to mean?" His expression remained perfectly calm. "Exactly what it says. Sylvia, I think it's time we seriously considered terminating this marriage contract and getting a divorce."

I was the most well-known good girl in high society. Yet on the day we were supposed to register our marriage, my fiancé publicly called off the engagement.   "You are a good girl," Jace said coldly. "But you're too boring. I prefer someone like Mia. She knows how to make life exciting."   When Jace insisted on abandoning me to spend time with his so-called buddy girl, I turned around and registered my marriage with Arthur instead.   After all, I had been raised to obey my parents and respect arranged marriages.   Since the only requirement was to marry a man from the Blake family, then marrying Jace's father should count too, shouldn't it?

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband gave me a $9.9 phone mount with free shipping. I was just about to force a smile when he posted a new update on Facebook. It was a photo of a luxury handbag worth fifty thousand dollars, with the caption: For my dear lady friend. Congratulations on your new car. Best friends for life. A crowd of people liked the post, praising him for being "generous" and calling it "a friendship blessed by the gods." When he saw the look on my face, my husband frowned and pulled me into his arms. "Don't overthink it. She's alone in a big city, trying to make it on her own. I was just encouraging her. "Besides, we've been married for years. Why bother with all that meaningless ceremony? Since when did you become so materialistic?" The moment he said that, I was shaking with anger. So spending fifty thousand dollars on his "female confidante" was encouragement. It was friendship. But I, the wife who had given up a high-paying job for him, given birth to his children, and raised our family, was supposed to be grateful for a $9.9 phone mount. Otherwise, I was "materialistic." Fine. Since he valued loyalty and friendship so much, I had no right to keep holding him back. That very night, I transferred every cent out of our joint account—the money I had personally grown from five hundred thousand dollars into five million through investments. Then I placed the divorce papers and that brand-new phone mount together on his nightstand. At daybreak, I used the money to buy the Porsche he had been eyeing for the past six months, paid in full. Then I stepped on the gas and drove straight back to my parents' home.

I was born a hopelessly literal legal nerd. I simply couldn't understand flirty sarcasm, suggestive jokes, or playful double meanings. When my mom once said my dad had made her so angry she wanted to die, I immediately called 911 and reported my father for attempted murder. When my desk mate confessed that he was willing to give me his heart, I bought a rib spreader on the spot, pressed it against his chest, and asked him when he planned to fulfill the gift contract. Over time, no one dared to misuse figurative language in front of me anymore. Whenever I was around, everyone obeyed the law and chose their words carefully. Until the day of my engagement party, when my fiancé brought along an adopted sister who had no blood relation to him. They thought this was the most important day of my life, so no matter how literal-minded I was, I would never dare ruin my own event. She gave me a provocative smile. "Lydia, you know, he's such a bad boy behind closed doors. He 'had his way with me' all last night in his room. That's why my voice is gone. With that flat little body of yours, I doubt you could even last three minutes." The whole room burst into laughter. Only my gaze turned cold. The next second, I slammed Caden down onto the coffee table. Then I pulled out my pepper spray and pressed it right against his eye. "Hands on your head! Don't move! I've already called the police! You just publicly admitted to unlawful detention, violence, and sexual assault. That's at least ten years! No one leaves before the police arrive!"

The Rolls-Royce dealership called to ask how satisfied I was with my new Phantom. I was completely baffled.   I had been overseas for the past month and had not even had time to pick the car up. What driving experience were they talking about?   I immediately called my husband.   Marcus Hale sounded perfectly calm. "Honey, you've been under too much pressure lately. You're starting to hallucinate."   He even chuckled softly. "A Rolls-Royce Phantom costs millions. Forget buying one. Even if someone gave us one for free, we couldn't afford to keep it on the road. Stop fantasizing and focus on work. Once your project bonus comes through, I'll buy you a practical used car for twenty or thirty grand."   I had no interest in arguing with him. Instead, I called my father's personal secretary.   "Edward," I said coolly, "find out which shameless woman picked up my Rolls-Royce Phantom."   The car had been a birthday gift from my father, one of only five in the world. Even the custom paint had been done in my favorite shade of lucky pink.   Because of the overseas time difference, I had temporarily left Marcus's number with the dealership as the primary contact. Apparently, someone had gotten bold enough to touch what belonged to me. Whoever she was, she was going to pay for it.   Back when I first wanted the car, Marcus had done everything possible to discourage me.   "Driving is miserable," he used to say. "Traffic jams. Hunting for parking. It's torture. The subway is cheaper and more reliable."   Cheaper and more reliable? The numbers sitting in my bank account were probably large enough to make his small-minded ass pass out on the spot.

I was born with a human lie detector. Whenever someone lied to me, they paid the price.   My parents always claimed they treated sons and daughters equally. Soon after, they both lost the ability to have children altogether.   Desperate for a grandson, my grandmother adopted a little boy. To help him "grow up strong and healthy," she tricked me into letting her stick needles into my head. In the end, every single needle wound up piercing her precious grandson instead.   Years later, my boyfriend proposed to me. He swore he would love me forever, or else be struck by lightning. He died in a thunderstorm three days later.   That was when a wealthy heiress discovered my ability. She offered me three million dollars to test her boyfriend's loyalty.   Not long after that, I became famous throughout the Crown Circle. The rich and powerful lined up one after another, all wanting me to expose lies for them.   As I stared at the endless string of numbers in my bank account, I found myself wishing for the first time in my life that this world contained a few more liars.

During a high-altitude rescue mission, my apprentice cut my safety line. This causes me to fall and suffer multiple fractures, and directly leads to an immediate miscarriage.  When I wake up, my husband has already signed a letter of absolution on my behalf and released a public statement: "Upon investigation, this accident was caused by my wife's improper operation. I speak for the family and voluntarily waive all claims for accountability." I lay in that bed, paralyzed, begging him to restart the investigation. But right in front of me, Melissa Roberts posts on Twitter: Without Brian Jenkins, there would be no Team Leader Melissa today. Brian likes it instantly, and leaves his comment below: Well deserved. Red-eyed, I hand him my medical records. The doctor has said I might never stand again. He doesn't even glance at them, and just frowns and tears them apart. "The moment you wake up, you start talking about divorce. Are you trying to use public opinion to push that young girl to her death? I know how hard she's worked to get where she is." "You always say you don't have time for kids. Now that you're back to family life, don't you have plenty of time to take care of yourself and have another child? You always said you didn't have time for kids. Well, now you're back to family life, and you've got plenty of time to take care of yourself and have another child, isn't it?" I look down and force a bitter smile.  At thirty-two, Brian has long since forgotten that at his twenty-five, he had willingly signed a divorce agreement that gave up everything, just to offer me some fragile, uncertain sense of security. As long as I want to, I can walk away at any time.

The day my parents came to take me home, I let out a quiet sigh. "Let's be honest. You prefer her. If I come back, I'll just be a burden. Might as well leave me out here to fend for myself." Mom and Dad exchanged an awkward smile. "Don't be ridiculous. You're our real daughter." I climbed into the car and pulled out my notebook. For the entire drive, I wrote. Mom leaned over, curious. "What are you working on, sweetheart?" "Mapping out how the fake heiress is going to come after me." Entry one: She'll hurt herself and blame me. Entry two: She'll accuse me of stealing. Entry three: — My parents swore none of it would happen. Then she threw herself down the stairs and lied and said I pushed her. Dad spun around, hand already raised. Mom's face was white with fury. I didn't flinch. I opened my notebook and placed a calm, deliberate check mark next to entry one. They saw it. They remembered. Dad's hand dropped to his side. Mom swallowed hard. "Let's check the footage first. If she really did push you, we'll handle it."

After the dinner party ended, I sat in the car, trying to sober up, when I heard voices just outside the window. "Is it normal that I'm really jealous of my own sister?" someone asked. "Sure, it's normal," the other replied. "All you have to do is make everyone hate her." That person went on to describe in detail how she had lied, pretended to be hurt, and even hired someone to ruin her sister's reputation. In the end, it worked—everyone turned against her sister. Then she said, "Now I'm the one the whole family adores. As for her? She got kicked out a long time ago. She's probably all alone now, living like a rat in my shadow for the rest of her life." All the color drained from my face. Because I was that "sister."

I work as a server carrying food and drink trays in an upscale hotel. A clumsy misstep sends wine sloshing out of the glass and all over my uncle Evander Thorne, someone I have not crossed paths with for three whole years. "Sylvia, what are you doing here?" His voice brims with raw excitement. Firm fingers close around my wrist, and his eyes grow bloodshot, a flood of unspoken words clearly lingering on his tongue. I offer no reply. My gaze drifts upward to the large digital screen on the wall, where a photograph plays on loop. In the picture, he drapes an arm around a young woman, a warm, vivid smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Why do you never come back home? I search for you everywhere, every single day. Do you still blame me for what happened all those years ago? Let me explain everything to you, please," he says, urgency thick in his tone. Sharp irritation wells up inside me. I yank my wrist free from his hold and shuffle forward with slow, difficult steps. Every movement feels strained, and I do my utmost to hide the limp in my troublesome right leg from view. "There is no need for explanations. We have no future left between us."

My mother kept score. Every time she smiled at me, it cost fifty dollars. Every month, she charged me another thousand for what she called my genetic licensing fee. Her ledger kept getting thicker. By second grade, I was already two hundred thousand dollars in debt. She would run her hand over that swollen ledger and say, "The day you were born was the day I stopped living for myself. Every cent I've made since then has gone to you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a child alone? My entire life got rearranged around yours. When I was young, all I wanted was to dance... And now look at me." She said, "I don't even recognize myself anymore. I don't have any time for myself. I gave all of that up to raise you." So I started saving every cent I could. I kept thinking that if I could pay my mother back for everything, maybe she could go back to dancing. Then one day, I overheard some adults talking. They said there was a place that paid kids cash under the table. I showed up and asked for a job without a second thought.

For three years, I lived because of the kidney I received from Anne Gosling, Miles Gosling's younger sister. To repay that debt, I married him. But the woman he chose to protect was never me. The day his assistant, Carey Williams, smashed the silver locket Anne had left for me, the sharp crack echoed through the entire room. "You're just an outsider living off Anne's organ!" Carey screamed at me. And through all of it, Miles stood right there beside her. I knelt to pick up the shattered pieces. My fingers shook so badly that the metal cut into my palm. "This was Anne's gift," I said as I looked up at him. "Can't you see what this meant to me?" Instead of answering, he grabbed my wrist and forced my hand open. "Stop clinging to the past," he said coldly. "Carrie didn't do it on purpose." Something inside me finally snapped. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and slammed them onto the table. Beneath them lay another document. It was Anne's death report.

My sister was in the final stages of kidney failure, and my entire family had cornered me, demanding I be the one to save her. My mother dropped to her knees, sobbing. "She is your sister! If she hadn't saved you all those years ago, you'd already be dead!" My father slammed his fist onto the dining table. "You are her younger sister! It's just a kidney, for God's sake. What is the big deal?" I didn't flinch. I just reached down and slowly pulled up the hem of my shirt, exposing the jagged surgical scar slicing across my waist. "Three years ago, when I was in that horrific car crash... Didn't you take the hospital's only available donor kidney and give it to her boyfriend instead?" The screaming stopped. The entire room fell into a deafening, suffocating silence. "I only have one kidney left now. So tell me... Are you asking me to trade my life for hers?"

My sister, Phoebe James, and I spent eight years chasing after the school heartthrob, Vincent Joseph. In the first life, I actually got him. Everyone said he was obsessed with me. And he gave me a fairytale wedding and a ten-million-dollar ring. Then came the graduation day. I tripped and cut the corner of my eye, and he pushed me off the roof with his own hands. He said, "The one I love was never you. I got with you because your eyes and brows look a little like hers." In the second life, I gave Vincent's love letter to Phoebe instead, thinking things would finally go right. But three years later, on a rainy night, Phoebe was rushed to the ER. Her body was covered in bruises, and both hands were broken. Only her face was untouched. She sobbed in pain. "He said he didn't love me, that I just looked like the girl he really wanted when I smiled." That night, Phoebe slit her wrists. Her eyes stayed open even after she died. Then I opened my eyes again. We were back to the day the letter arrived. Phoebe and I stared at each other for a long moment. Then we both asked at once, "Who was the real girl he couldn't forget?"

The day I found out my husband was cheating, I was standing at the ironing board, pressing the shirt he was supposed to wear to his big board meeting tomorrow. My phone buzzed. I got a photo from an unknown number. There he was, holding a young woman by the waist, flashing a brilliant smile with the Eiffel Tower glowing in the background. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just kept ironing, pressing the fabric until the collar was perfectly crisp. Then, I walked into his closet and, right in front of him, took a pair of heavy fabric shears and shredded every single one of his suits. I packed up his bags, and everything his mistress had left, and threw them straight out the front door. "Get out. And may you both be very happy together." Three years later, I was cutting the ribbon at the grand opening of an art museum I had designed and overseen.  My ex-husband was downstairs, kneeling on the sidewalk outside my firm with a pathetic cardboard sign begging me to take him back. His fling had bled him dry and taken everything he had. I just had security hand him a business card. "You want to talk about our feelings? Talk to my lawyer first. We still need to settle the marital assets you embezzled behind my back." 'You tried to leave me penniless back then. Now? I'm going to make sure you have absolutely nothing.'

It was the first year after Mom became a star in the sky that I learned we're supposed to give Dad presents on Father's Day. But I had no present. All I had was the letter Mom had left for Dad. In my memory, Mom was always on the phone with Dad on the balcony. When I was three, I heard her yell into the receiver. "Five million dollars? That's chump change. I spent it ages ago. I need more money, now!" When I was four, she cried into the phone, her voice cracking. "You're rolling in money now. Just toss me a crumb. Treat me like a beggar on the street, for all I care." When I turned five, those calls stopped forever. And then Mom was put in a box. The lawyer told me Mom hadn't touched a single penny of that money. She'd left every last cent for me. But I didn't want money. I just wanted my mom back. This year, my first-grade teacher told us we should say "thank you" to our dads on Father's Day. I made the prettiest glitter card I could, then followed the address on the envelope until I stood in front of a fancy iron gate. But the security guard shook his head. "Little one, Mr. Thorne doesn't have any children. You must have the wrong address."

I'd been with my boyfriend for three years. Yet there was always this so-called gal pal hanging around him. She'd drink late into the night with him, hand-knit sweaters for him, and he'd even come home wrapped in her coat. Every time I brought it up, he'd fire back with the same lines. "She's all alone out here, what's wrong with me helping her out? "Elora Sayer, can you stop being so paranoid for once? "Sloane and I are just friends. Quit making a big deal out of nothing, alright?" I'd finally lost my patience and set out to track the girl down, only to uncover that this supposed gal pal didn't exist at all.

I was the head pastry chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant, and my husband, Felix Reed, was obsessed with the cakes I baked from scratch. We had been married three years, and every year on his birthday, I rolled up my sleeves and made him one myself. But every single time, he packed the whole cake up to take out with him, saying he wanted to let his 'baby' have a taste too. I just assumed he was talking about his pet. That all changed the day a coworker sent me a video, with that knowing, suggestive look on her face when she pressed send. I tapped it open, and what did I see? My husband crouched low on the floor, feeding spoonful after spoonful of my cake straight to another woman. She was dressed in a dog costume, a metal chain collar locked around her neck, sprawled on all fours on the floor, lapping at the spoon. "Her name is Mia. She's my little bitch. I've had her for three years now." Felix grinned right into the camera. Someone dropped a question in the comment section: [Does your wife know about this?] He typed back a reply: [Of course she does! I told her I would keep a pet at home. She still thinks it's a real dog.] I untied my apron and tossed it aside, then dialed the number I'd turned down again and again until now. "Mr. Harrison, that cooking variety show you offered me last time, I'm in. "I'm baking a cake to give to my ex-husband and his dog live on the reality show."

My boyfriend, Ethan Brooks, had a sworn brother—the kind he'd die for. He took our savings to buy that guy a wedding house and gave away my jewelry to help him get by. I was upset, but Ethan said it was payback for saving his life. Then one day, he took from me a pair of emerald earrings. They were a gift from a suitor—I was about to return them to turn him down. But before I could explain, Ethan had already given them away. I rushed to his buddy's place without a second thought. Surprisingly, a woman opened the door. She looked me right in the face and smiled. "My husband? He died a long time ago."

I wore the ditsy floral silk scarf my husband gave me around my neck every single day. I wouldn't even take it off when I was cooking. We'd been married for seven years. Mike Carter was the kind of man who was rough around the edges and completely clueless when it came to romance. So when he gave me that scarf, it felt like the first truly thoughtful thing he'd ever done. He'd seen me working myself to exhaustion at the shop, coughing constantly in the cold wind, and bought it so I could keep my neck warm. My eyes burned and my nose tingled whenever I thought about it. I was genuinely touched. That belief lasted until six months later. I was going through our accounts when I found a crumpled receipt tucked between some papers. It was the receipt for that very scarf, the one I treasured so much that I wouldn't even take it off to cook. The scarf hadn't been bought for me at all. It was a free gift that came with a gold bracelet worth 20,000 dollars.

After ten years with Hugo Evert, he finally agreed to make it official, so I carefully got everything ready. But then all I got to do was watch him put a ring on the finger of his supporting actress, right there in front of the cameras. And just like that, I became nothing more than the side piece who isn't even fit to be seen in public. With all that crushing me down, I ended up slitting my wrist in anguish. Right before I died, I scrolled through our old messages from when we were still deeply in love and happy together, and I couldn't help sending a text to my own old account. I wrote: Hugo, I just don't have it in me to love you anymore. Then the next second, my phone buzzed out of nowhere with a message that read: [Who is this? Do you know Hugo?]

Five years after our breakup, Nathan Halls still had not gotten over me. He dated one girl after another, and every one of them looked a little like me. His friends always sighed over it. "Lyla Collins is the one he never got over. Those girls are just distractions." Then one day, a girl who was nothing like me appeared at his side. Nathan announced in public that he was going to marry her. I rushed back to the country and went straight to the wedding venue. Everyone grew excited, certain that I had come to make a dramatic scene and steal the groom. But I walked past them and entered the banquet hall next door. As it turned out, the timing was perfect. I had come back to get married, too.

For seven long years, Felix Scott occupied my heart. A devastating car accident, which cost me a limb, ultimately led him to marry me, making me Mrs. Scott. We embarked on our journey with mutual respect, and over time, he began to murmur sweet words meant just for me. Gradually, I managed to thaw Felix's frosty exterior. I believed we were destined to spend our lives intertwined in this manner. Yet, on my birthday, I accidentally overheard him, intoxicated, speaking to his friends: "Vivi's back. But Nina ended up like this because of me. She should've just died that night." It dawned on me that the love I borrowed for three years would inevitably have to be returned. Because my love for him was profound, I felt an irresistible urge to fulfill his wish.

"Baby, marry me!" The video landed on my phone while I was sitting in my wheelchair, bent over my husband's race car, troubleshooting a brake issue. Today was our third wedding anniversary. But the racing legend I'd been secretly married to for three years was slipping a diamond the size of a robin's egg onto another woman's finger. "I'm proposing to the greatest mechanic in the world," Damian Black said. "From now on, I'll hold your hand and take on every racetrack across the globe with you." How ironic. Three years after we got married, he still refused to wear a wedding ring. He never announced our marriage publicly. He said sponsors wouldn't accept a disabled wife and promised he'd go public once he became world champion. I believed him. I endured being mocked online as a pathetic crippled groupie and spent every day at the team garage tuning engines for him. And tonight, he finally won the world championship. He was finally ready to go public. Just not with me. Ten minutes earlier, he'd still been sweet-talking me on WhatsApp. "This victory party is driving me crazy. It's packed with investors who don't know a damn thing but love hearing themselves talk. I can't wait to get home and hold you." I looked down at my legs, withered and ruined after the accident that left me disabled for him, and nausea surged straight up my throat. That was it. I grabbed every piece of core data from his races over the past three years and made the call. "Hello, I'd like to report a driver suspected of using Formula One racing to launder money and engaging in corruption-related sexual misconduct."

I'd just gotten home from a business trip, grabbing my car to head out, when I noticed Lucas Cooper had updated the smart voice system in his Bentley. The original generic AI voice was gone, replaced by a soft, coquettish feminine voice that hummed from the speakers. That voice was soft as butter, sweet as sugar, and it felt naggingly familiar. I pulled up right at the curb outside Lucas's entertainment company, and that was when I spotted him: a young and bubbly girl with charming eyes trailing right at his side. When Lucas caught sight of me waiting for him, there wasn't a spark of the surprise I'd half expected to see on his face. "Our company's putting together a new talent show right now. I've been swamped. Thanks for coming all the way out to pick me up," he said. I hadn't even gotten a word out yet before the girl beside him piped up, drawing out her words in a sweet, cutesy farewell. "Thank you so much for all your guidance today, Mr. Cooper! I'm heading back now!" The second that voice hit my ears, I froze solid. It was the same voice. Exactly the one that had just come from the car's AI.

This was my sixth year keeping Jacob Davis. He was standing on the podium of the Golden Award for Best Actor. I, on the other hand, sat in a corner of the audience. My phone screen displayed photos taken last night of him going in and out of a hotel with Jessie Cooper, a rising female star. I knew those love-filled eyes. They were the way he used to look at me—back when we first met. I clenched my wine glass and smiled up at the man glowing bright under the stage lights. Maybe these six years had gone too smoothly for him. It made him forget that I was the one who lifted him all the way to A-list stardom, and I could just as easily drag him right back down and replace him with someone else. Or maybe it was my fault for being too self-effacing these past six years. I'd actually forgotten—Jacob was nothing more than a stand-in I picked out to replace my first love.

I saw someone ask for a favor in our apartment group chat. Clara: [Does anyone have a spare piece of ginger? I just need a little for soup, and I don't want to run all the way back to the supermarket.] Clara: [I just moved in here, and my kid keeps begging for pork rib soup.] Clara: [I can pay for it, please!] I glanced at the bag of ginger I'd just bought sitting beside me and thought neighbors ought to help each other out. So I washed two pieces, went downstairs, and brought them to her door. When the door opened, I saw a young woman holding a baby. She took the ginger, looking quite embarrassed. "Thank you so much, you're such a kind person. My boyfriend is just so busy. I really didn't want to bother him with an errand. He has already done more than enough for this family. He even bought this place for the baby and me." She looked at me warmly and added, "Why don't you stay and have dinner with us?" I was just about to answer when I heard footsteps behind me. The woman looked up in delight, and her eyes lit up right away. "Honey, you're home!" I turned around, and my eyes met the man's. The smile froze on his face the moment he recognized me. It was Jason Miller, my husband and the man I'd loved for seven years.

After a rushed, half-hearted hookup in the car, James Brown, my husband, said offhand, "Honestly? In a car, it was way better with my intern than with you." The air froze solid in the cramped cabin. Before I could react, James rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and chuckled. "She's young, after all. Her body's as soft as water, game for any position. Not stiff and dull like you." At that moment, the lingering fondness in his voice pierced straight through my heart. I stared at him, shaking all over, and asked, "How long have you been cheating on me? Why are you telling me this now?" James blew out a smoke ring. "You eat my food, spend my money. What does it matter if I tell you? You think you can leave me?" He forgot that to help him secure that investment all those years ago, I drank with clients until I hemorrhaged, three months pregnant at the time. The baby was gone, and with it, my chance to ever be a mother. I caught my haggard reflection in the car window. Outside, the wind chill plunged below freezing. Our ten years of love suddenly felt like nothing but a joke.

At my cousin’s art exhibition, I froze mid-step in front of a nude male oil painting titled Fallen. "Ethan, the back in this painting has so much raw tension and power. It looks just like you. Let’s buy it to support her, okay?" Right beside me, Ethan suddenly slipped an arm around my waist, his tone thick with playful teasing. "Why bother buying it? Haven’t you had enough of looking at me every single day?" I didn’t catch his hidden meaning, so I just laughed and shot back. "Your body’s nowhere near as good as the guy in this painting." To my shock, he pointed straight at the red mole on the painted man’s waist and said in all seriousness: "That man in the painting is me." "Remember that day you went to pitch to investors for me and drank until you ended up with a gastric hemorrhage? I spent the whole night with Blair in her studio. She had me pose every which way for her." I froze solid on the spot, absolutely stunned, as if I’d just been struck by lightning. It took me an eternity to find my voice again. "But… we just had our wedding last week…" Ethan gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face. "Don’t worry. She’s nothing more than a bed partner to me. You’ll always be Mrs. Miller. That spot’s reserved for you forever." Then he paused. He snickered viciously. "Blair has always competed with you ever since she was little. She’s always been convinced everything you have is better than hers. Even losing her virginity had to be with your man."

A: What do you think of a husband who's changed his ways after staying? I had just signed a ten-million-dollar contract when I saw the question pop up on my screen. I let out a sharp, bitter laugh and typed out a single line of answer. Emma: Ten years ago, I was framed and stuck with a two-million-dollar debt. The debt collectors swore they'd break my leg. It was my husband, penniless as we were back then, who charged straight into the crowd and took that knife for me. Emma: One of his legs has been permanently crippled ever since. The doctors said it would never heal. Emma: I swore an oath to heaven right there outside the operating room. If James wanted my life, I'd give it to him without a second thought. I would always give him one chance to earn my forgiveness. Someone replied right away: Your husband is literally the best man ever! I tugged the corner of my mouth bitterly and kept typing. Emma: But I'd barely finished paying off that debt, heavy with our child, when he used up that very chance. He fucked his first love right in the wedding home I bought for us, and even stole five hundred thousand dollars from me to buy that woman her own apartment. When I brought up divorce, he dropped to his knees hard right in front of me and started slapping himself across the face over and over. "Don't you remember how I got this crippled leg? If you dare leave me, I'll jump right off this building and pay my debt to you with my life!" That useless crippled leg of his chained me down for ten whole years. For a decade, he gave in to my every demand, earning himself a well-known reputation as a total henpecked husband in our circle. On our tenth wedding anniversary, I told him I had to go out of town for work, then secretly picked up a million-dollar luxury car I'd bought for him as a surprise. I clutched the car keys in my hand, buzzing with excitement and glee as I unlocked our front door. Instead, what hit my ears was that familiar, sickening moaning pouring out of our master bedroom. The woman under him? It was still the same old first love he'd been seeing for five years. Turns out, that ruined disabled leg of his let him cheat on me his entire life, and he never felt a single ounce of guilt about it.

I was eight months pregnant. The doctor broke the devastating news to me: the baby growing inside me was stillborn. I squeezed my eyes shut, and scalding hot tears came crashing down my cheeks. That's when my husband, Alexander Carter, suddenly spoke up. "Don't be sad. Isabella's already three months pregnant. Once she has the baby, you can raise it as your own." I froze completely, my mind going totally blank. I had no idea what he was even talking about. "I'm sorry, Amelia. She's nothing like you. "You lived with Leo for five years. He already trained you well. "She was mine from the very first time. She's not as bold as you, but she's pure. Way purer than you." Alexander smiled, a faint, nostalgic glint softening his features. "Our first time was right on the living room couch. You called me to ask what I wanted for dinner, and she was right there under me while she took your call. Not gonna lie, it was a total turn-on. "And after that, we didn't stop at the couch. We did it on the dining table, in the bathroom, even on that yoga mat you bought. "I'm telling you this so you don't take it too hard. Anyway, she's your best friend. "The baby she's carrying, the two of you will raise it together."

To keep my comatose husband alive, I forced myself to pawn the ring my mother left me before she died. But the second I walked into the jewelry store, I saw a familiar figure. Cedric Harris, the man who was supposed to be lying unconscious in a hospital bed was standing there perfectly healthy, one arm wrapped around my best friend Gina Stone. Without even blinking, he swiped his card for a necklace worth over a million dollars. Gina laughed happily in his arms. "Lynna's still out there working herself to death to pay your medical bills and loans. She's probably washing dishes in some restaurant kitchen right now." Cedric lowered his head and kissed her forehead casually. "She's too stubborn and arrogant. Someone like her needs to be humbled a little. If she wants to become Mrs. Harris someday, it won't come easy." Then he looked at Gina with fake tenderness. "I've really put you through a lot these past few years, keeping you hidden like this. Besides the necklace, what else do you want as compensation?" I stood frozen at the entrance, my chest hurting so badly I could barely breathe. Three years of selling my blood, my dignity, my entire life for him. And in the end, it was all just some twisted game to train me like a dog. I turned around and walked out of the jewelry store without making a sound. Then I pulled out my phone and called a number I hadn't dialed in three years. The call connected quickly. I closed my eyes and whispered softly, "I lost the bet. Come take me home in half a month."

Three days before the wedding, I came across an anonymous post online. Poster: [I've been sleeping with my fiancée's best friend for two years. Should I tell her?] Poster: [Every time I said I was working late, I was actually at a hotel with her bestie. We've tried just about everything. Last week, during her safe period, she tried to initiate something and I turned her down. She thought I was just exhausted from work and even bought me a Porsche to cheer me up. Truth is, I'd already slept with her friend two days earlier.] I read the top comments. A: [No pics, no proof. Post a photo together.] B: [Bro, you're absolute trash… but damn, this is entertaining.] Then the poster uploaded a screenshot of their chat history. In the photo the girl had sent, part of a butterfly necklace rested against her collarbone. I recognized it instantly. It was the birthday gift I'd given my best friend last week. The necklace engraved with the name Tracy. And the hand beside her... My fingers trembled as I zoomed in on the picture. I wasn't mistaken. It belonged to my boyfriend. Brian Scott.

People always said Jeffrey Vance treated me well. After all, I was the kept woman who had stayed by his side the longest. Until Beryl Halls came back to the country. He immediately started preparing a ring to propose to her. Someone once asked him, half-jokingly, "What about Joyce? Are you letting her go?" Jeffrey glanced at me briefly and said in a careless tone, "I've kept her for years. She's convenient. I'll keep her." Everyone around him understood what that meant. They helped him keep it from Beryl, watching me carefully, afraid I would cause trouble. None of them knew the truth. The agreement between me and Jeffrey's mother only lasted four years. When the time was up, I would take the money and disappear completely. As if I had never been there at all.

After seven years together, my boyfriend was finally about to propose to me. Just when I was starting to believe in our future, photos of him kissing his childhood sweetheart exploded across the internet. I swallowed the pain and went to him for an explanation, only to find him instinctively shielding her behind him, looking at me with guilt written all over his face. "Stella just got out of a relationship, and she’s pregnant. She didn’t want people talking, so she asked me to help her." I stared at him in disbelief. "So your solution was to kiss her and trend all over the internet?" My eyes burned red as I listened to his ridiculous excuse. Seeing that I was about to cry, his tone softened immediately. "Baby, be reasonable. Stella’s a public figure. The child needs a name. Just wait a little longer. Once this blows over, I’ll propose to you properly in front of everyone." What he didn’t know was that this time, I wasn’t going to wait for him anymore. Every time he chose her over me, every time he asked me to swallow my hurt for her sake, he chipped away at my love for him piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

After seven years of loving each other, my boyfriend finally won his family's approval to marry me. That night, he pressed me beneath him with lingering tenderness. But halfway through our intimacy, he suddenly stopped. "Why doesn't it feel as good as it did with your best friend?" My eyes flew open, and I stared at him blankly. He let out a soft breath, then smiled with reckless ease. "The day before yesterday, right here on this bed, she wore the wedding robe you prepared for our marriage and slept with me. At first, I didn't plan for anything to happen. She only said she wanted to help you 'bless the marriage bed.' But then, for a moment, we lost control. From the day before yesterday all the way through yesterday, we did it more than ten times. The last time was during your lunch break. I covered her mouth and did it with her while we hid inside the closet." In that moment, my mind went completely blank. He kissed my bloodless face. "Baby, I'm being honest with you because I don't want to hide anything. If you're still willing to marry me, then everything can go on as planned. I'll do whatever you say."

In the eighth year of our relationship, at my best friend’s wedding. The guests in the reception hall started cheering, urging Cole to take advantage of the atmosphere and propose to me. He held the bride’s bouquet and walked toward me. My palms grew damp with sweat, and I took half a step forward to meet him. Cole stopped in front of me, glanced at me, and gave a careless little smile. Then he walked past me and went to Renee, the new intern standing behind me, before handing her the bouquet. “It’s not easy for a young girl to come here and make it on her own. Take it for good luck. Let me lend you a little blessing.” Renee accepted the bouquet with a blush, then gave me a timid glance. The cheers died instantly. The entire room fell into dead silence. Cole turned back around and patted me on the shoulder. “We’re practically an old married couple already. You’re not seriously getting jealous over a bouquet, are you?” I looked at him, then took off the three-inch heels I had bought specifically to match his height. Barefoot, I stepped onto the hotel carpet. “I’m not jealous.” I slipped the plain matching ring off my ring finger and tossed it into the side plate beside me. “I just think this is all pretty pointless now. These eight years, I’ll just consider them wasted on a dog.”

"After loving you for ten more years, I'll still only be twenty-eight." When I saw this trending topic online, my lips trembled. From an eighteen-year-old high school dropout working as a hostess to a twenty-eight-year-old rich man's wife, I had been Allen Kent's kept woman for ten years, and still, death was inescapable. In my past life, I used my body to please him. But after he was done enjoying it, he would just lift the covers and go to his well-read widowed sister-in-law. Blinded by jealousy, I got my entire body surgically reconstructed into the perfect shape, just to make him look back at me. Just when I thought he had finally settled down, on our fifth wedding anniversary, news suddenly came that his sister-in-law had suffered a miscarriage—both mother and child dead. In her tightly clenched palm was clearly written the word "Lucy"! "I thought you were just a bimbo, but I never imagined you'd be so jealous that you'd kill someone. Every single time I slept with you makes me sick to my stomach now." To avenge his sister-in-law, Allen had me thrown into a psychiatric hospital and tortured me night after night. Until I couldn't bear the pain anymore and swallowed a nail to kill myself. Now I woke up again, one hour before his sister-in-law's miscarriage. Before the nightmare could repeat itself, my fingers trembling, I sent a message to someone, begging for help. Lucy: I lost the bet. Will you come back and save me?

At a girls' night out, everyone was playing a game: put your husband on speakerphone and catch him in a lie.   When it was my turn, the room felt the most relaxed it had been all evening.   Everyone in our circle knew Ryan Shaw, the devoted husband who handed over his entire paycheck without a second thought.   I had sold my parents' house to fund his startup from scratch. I worked myself into the ground and miscarried as a result. He knelt at my hospital bed and struck himself across the face, again and again, weeping, swearing on everything he had that he would never betray me.   That was also when my best friend Ava Webb moved in. She said she wanted to look after me in his place.   Then the phone rang, and I hit answer.   "Hello, Mr. Shaw. This is the Amber Crystal Hotel following up on your recent king bed suite booking. How was your stay?   "Also, Mrs. Shaw left some personal garments in the room. Shall we post them to you?"   The whole room exploded.   My friends thought it was adorable: an old married couple, still sneaking off to hotels.   I pressed my hand against the slight curve of my belly, and suddenly remembered the look on Ryan's face the night before: bone-tired, distracted, telling me he'd be stuck at a client dinner all evening.   Turns out when the "good, reliable husband" decided to cheat, it was devastating all the same. Well, since they had both found their new flames, I was done with this broken marriage.

"Chloe, Jocelyn's pregnant. It's a boy." Zachary Larson tossed a brand-new ultrasound report onto the desk in front of me. "I swear to you, your position as Mrs. Larson will always remain yours. Once the baby is born, he'll be raised as your own and registered under your name. He'll become the sole heir of the Larson family, and the three of us will live a peaceful, happy life together." I lifted my head and looked calmly at the man I had loved for seven years and married for three. He was the sitting CEO of Larson Corporation, publicly hailed as a devoted husband and one of the youngest, most promising elites in the business world. He wanted his mistress, Jocelyn Shaw, to give birth to his son, yet still needed me — the daughter-in-law personally handpicked by his father, Victor Larson — to solidify his inheritance rights. On top of that, he expected me to be a free nanny and a human shield for his illegitimate child. Once upon a time, I lived and breathed for this man. The old me would be breaking down in tears right now, kneeling and begging him to stay. Yet not the slightest emotion stirred in my heart. 'This really is good news.'

Three years after the divorce, I showed up at my ex-husband's wedding.   Jesse stood at the altar with Serena in his arms.   His gaze swept the room and landed straight on me.   For one frozen second, he went still.   I was already turning to leave when he came after me.   "Penny, did you actually come here for me? Does that mean you still can't let go?   "We both had our reasons back then. If you're willing, I'll run away from my own wedding with you right now."   A small smile pulled at the corner of my lips.   What Jesse didn't know was that his wife had been the one to invite me.   After all, three years ago, I had been the one to hand him over to Serena myself.

On the day my son, Noah Gray, won the Youth Olympiad Math Gold Award, my husband, Evan Gray, said he was going to throw him a huge celebration party. But less than half an hour later, a video of Noah crying for help inside an escape room spread like wildfire through his classmates' group chat. In the video, Noah was strapped to an Electro-Shock Chair, foaming at the mouth and convulsing violently. His newly hired tutor, Natalie Brooks, a graduate from a top university, stood beside him coldly recording data. She kept muttering, "Under the influence of fear, human brain capacity is about to break through its limits." I rushed to the scene like a madwoman, but by the time I smashed the door open, my son had already been electrocuted to death... With reddened eyes, Evan pulled me into his arms tightly. "Lili, don't worry. I will never let that psychopath get away with this!" But on the day of the trial, Evan, acting as the attorney on the case, suddenly withdrew the prosecution. He looked around the courtroom with a solemn expression. "This wasn't murder. It was merely an Immersive Teaching Experiment that ended in an accident..." I hysterically tried to rush toward the witness stand and expose the truth. But Evan presented my Bipolar Disorder diagnosis in court and applied for mandatory psychiatric treatment on my behalf. Overnight, every piece of video evidence online was erased through technical manipulation. I was tied to a bed in Serenity Hills and subjected to endless abuse and humiliation. Three days later, Evan and Natalie came to see me together. "Lillian, as long as you keep your mouth shut and stop appealing the case, you will still be Mrs. Gray. Otherwise, you can rot here and fend for yourself." I silently closed my eyes, refusing to let my tears fall. I never imagined that the man I had loved with all my heart was actually a demon wearing human skin...

My husband liked to "back up" everything he did. He bought an extra wedding band. He prepared one more gift. He even kept a blank marriage certificate on hand. At first, I just thought he was being thorough. Then, on our way to a cruise trip, I got a call. "Ms. Lindsay, your three lunches are ready. Just come to the dining hall whenever." I gave my husband, who was driving, a cold look. "Honey, are you that hungry today?" He laughed and gently ruffled my hair. "Honey. My stomach was acting up. I'd be lucky to get an extra bite down." After I found out he had booked two rooms, I immediately called the front desk. "Hello, please cancel the extra room my husband booked." I couldn't wait to see the scene when those two got kicked out with their pants down.

My husband Tristan Blackwood and I were both professional equestrians.   On the eve of a major competition, his horse suddenly panicked. Ignoring the risk of being kicked, I managed to drag the terrified animal back into the stable and secure the reins. The instant I finished, the stable door slammed shut behind me.   A window crashed open. Someone tossed in a pot and a butcher knife. Outside, my husband's adopted sister, Camille Langford, laughed brightly.   "Tristan, I can't wait to eat it while it's still sizzling."   At the same time, several of Tristan's men began pumping poison gas through the vents, clearly intending to suffocate me inside.   I pounded on the door and screamed his name.   "Tristan, this horse won championships with you. You can't do this!"   Tristan's voice came coldly from outside.   "Last week, Camille asked to ride your horse with her dog, and you refused. She cried herself into a panic attack and ended up in the hospital. Someone needs to teach you a lesson. You have thirty minutes to kill the horse and make stew for Camille. Otherwise, the gas will kill you instead. Your choice."   Camille nestled against his chest, her voice soft with satisfaction.   "Tristan, you always spoil me."   The poison thickened in the air, burning my lungs with every breath. Nearby, the horse stomped the ground in panic, its restless whinnies echoing through the stable.   Desperate, I shouted one last time. "Tristan, have you forgotten? This horse once saved your life!"

The wealthiest man in the capital was an ancient dragon who had lived for thousands of years. Countless women had shared his bed, yet not one of them had ever conceived his child.   I was the first.   During my prenatal exam, the doctor stared at the ultrasound screen in horror before telling me the fetus was covered in scales, with horns growing from its head and shriveled limbs twisted beneath its body.   The Langford family's real daughter laughed in my face. "Only filthy blood could give birth to something that disgusting. You've completely humiliated this family."   Terrified that the billionaire would hold them responsible, my adoptive parents forced abortion pills down my throat and tried to induce labor early.   And just as they were preparing to kill the baby, he arrived.