After burying his only child, who was just three years old, the first thing Tyler Holland did was draw a blade hidden in his sleeve and plunge it deep into his wife, Alena Roberson. Alena's eyes snapped wide. In those eyes, which he had been obsessed with for a decade, there was a sudden flash of shock and agony, underscored by a faint, inexplicable trace of confusion. "Tyler... why… " Chaos erupted at the funeral. Everyone stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer suddenness of the scene. As Alena was rushed to the hospital, her childhood friend, Luke Murray, immediately called the police. Tyler was taken into custody shortly after. Yet, in less than twenty-four hours, Tyler was released. Standing outside the police station, Alena looked deathly pale, the wound in her abdomen still throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. Her voice was raspy and strained, yet it carried an undeniable trace of concern: "Tyler, I just woke up. Are you okay? You've been inside all night. You must be exhausted." "I'm sorry about Luke calling the police. He was just in shock." Tyler looked up at her, his expression cold and mechanical. "You're lucky. I really thought I'd killed you." At his merciless words, Alena's heart felt as though it were being crushed in a vice. A sharp, stinging pain radiated through her, leaving her throat too dry to form a coherent sentence. "I know you hate me, Tyler. I know you're angry. Noah is gone, and I'm breaking too… " "Alena, how do you even have the nerve to say that?" Tyler cut her off sharply, his eyes swirling with a sudden, violent rage. "At our son's funeral, you actually showed up in matching outfits with Luke! "Are you even mourning my son? Or are you just relieved that he is the one who's safe?" He took a step toward her, the aura surrounding him becoming suffocatingly cold. "I do hate you. I hate that it wasn't you who died." Without another glance at Alena's bloodless face, he raised his hand and hailed a passing taxi. The moment the taxi door slammed shut, scalding tears surged forth without warning. He hated Alena, but he hated himself even more. Tyler had loved her for ten years. For a decade, he had been like a shadow, never leaving her side, guarding her, and caring for her. He had carved her every preference into the very marrow of his bones and felt her every wound as if it were his own agony. Yet, this all-consuming love had ultimately cost him his son's life. Ten years ago, the three of them had met at the military academy. He had fallen for Alena at first sight, but because she and Luke were already in love, he buried his feelings deep within his heart. It wasn't until a mission went wrong that everything changed. Luke was shot and taken hostage by kidnappers. In a moment of desperation, he plunged into the deep sea. Alena had thrown herself in after him without a second thought. Though she survived, she was left with a permanent disability that forced her to leave the front lines. Without a moment's hesitation, Tyler applied for a transfer. He stayed by her side through every waking hour, tending to her daily needs and helping her endure the dark, desolate days of her recovery. Eventually, Mrs. Roberson resorted to a death threat to force the two of them into marriage.

Right after Anna Green's abortion surgery, she received a voice message. "Bring two boxes to Room 999 at Moon Club. Mr. Hunt is in a hurry." The moment she opened it, everyone nearby heard the message clearly. All of them stared at her, some awkwardly, some secretly gloating. Without the slightest hesitation, Anna dragged her aching body and headed straight. Whispers broke out behind her. "That's the future Mrs. Hunt? What a doormat. She just lost her baby and still has to run errands for her fiancé and his mistress." "What else can she do? She's clung to him for three years, begged her way into an engagement. This is just karma." "I heard Mr. Hunt lit sky lanterns for Miss Brown again yesterday. You can really tell who he loves and who he doesn't." Mocking laughter lingered around her ears. Anna tuned it all out. There was only one thought in her mind—Luka Hunt must not get agitated, or the transplanted heart inside him would suffer. When she reached the club's private room, Luka had just finished being with Lucy Brown. He glanced at her indifferently. Anna set the items on the floor. "I brought what you asked. Carry on." Luka stopped her, his handsome face holding faint amusement and disdain. "What did you even buy? You've run errands so many times, yet you still can't remember Lucy likes strawberry flavor?" Bearing this blatant humiliation, Anna tightened her fists, then relaxed them, and obeyed quietly. "I'll go buy it again." Luka studied her pale face for a moment. "You look so pale. Are you sick?" Before Anna could explain she'd just had a miscarriage, he let out a mocking laugh. "Never mind. Wait outside the door. I might need you again later." Anna swayed slightly, then walked silently outside. The noises from inside the room grew louder, clearly meant for her to hear. A waiter who'd witnessed everything took pity on her and pulled over a chair. "Miss, what are you even doing this for? Do you really care about him that much?" Anna fell silent. What she cared about was only the heart beating inside Luka's chest. Three years ago, her fiancé had died saving her. Before he passed away, he held her hand tightly, eyes full of reluctance. "I signed the organ donation form—my heart will be donated for transplant. As long as my heart keeps beating, someone in this world will love you in my place. Promise me you'll live well." Following his words, Anna found Luka—the man who'd received his heart—and became his assistant. She thought fate had been kind to her. Just as her fiancé had said, Luka fell for her at first sight and confessed to her grandly. For the next three years, he doted on her endlessly. Everyone marveled that the once-playboy young master had completely changed. Until one day, she fell into a feverish coma and unconsciously murmured her late fiancé's name in her sleep. Luka stayed by her side all night to look after her, yet disappeared the entire next day. Soon after, paparazzi caught him on a date with his first love Lucy at a bar. Luka explained voluntarily, "She just came back from abroad and has no one to rely on. I'm just helping her out." But all Anna could ask anxiously was, "Did you stay up late? Is your heart alright?" "Heart?" Luka's eyes were filled with pain. "I met my first love, and you only care about my heart? Or are you just treating me as a substitute for someone else?" Anna was left speechless. That was their first quarrel, and Luka slammed the door and left. She sat in the room all night, waiting for news. The moment her phone lit up again, tears poured out of her eyes. She suddenly realized that over these three years, she seemed to have really fallen in love with Luka. [Bring me some hangover medicine] Anna opened the message sent by Luka and seriously replied with: [Okay.] She wanted to go find Luka to explain clearly, but outside the private room, she heard Luka joking with his friend. "Luka, now that Lucy is back and you two are reconciling, aren't you afraid that your fiancée will get angry and leave?" Luka saw Anna through the crack of the door and smiled maliciously. "Don't worry, she can't bear to leave me. Just because I had a heart transplant and can't be stimulated, even if I have an affair, she won't dare to say anything." Anna felt as if a basin of cold water had been poured over her head. Luka's casual words were like an invisible slap, striking her hard in the face. When she tremblingly questioned him, he curled his lips. "Are you jealous? As long as you give in, the position of Mrs. Hunt will still be yours. As for Lucy, she is helpless, and I must take care of her." Anna closed her eyes. That little flame of love was easily extinguished by him. Since then, when Luka took Lucy shopping and bought expensive jewelry at sky-high prices, she turned a blind eye and only sent someone to deliver medicine to protect his heart. When they checked into a hotel, she obediently delivered condoms and was always ready to call the ambulance. She still didn't want to give up the heart of the man who loved her. Until this time, she found out she was three months pregnant. Lucy hired people to beat her until she had a miscarriage, and right after the curettage surgery, she was called by Luka to deliver condoms again. She suddenly remembered that year, when she had just scraped her skin, the man who loved her had red eyes with worry. "Anna, be good and live well. If one day you fall in love with someone else and that person makes you sad, you should leave him. My Anna deserves the best man in the world to love her. Never be trapped, even if that person is me." Those were his last words before he died. Tears poured out of Anna's eyes. Listening to the continuous ambiguous sounds in the private room, her heart also died completely at this moment. "Luka, you are not him. Since you have fallen in love with someone else, I will fulfill you."

To keep my promise with Lawrence Quinn to stay child free, on our tenth wedding anniversary, I went to get my tubes tied on my own. While I waited for the anesthesia to wear off, I scrolled through my phone. Then I stumbled into a trending livestream of a kindergarten show in the city. There he was. The man who always said he could not stand kids. Now he sat below the stage, eyes soft as water, holding up a glowing sign that read: Go, my baby. On stage, a little boy who looked just like a mini version of him was dancing. When the performance ended, the host bent down and handed the mic to the child. "Sweetie, do you have anything to say to your family today?" she asked with a smile. "Thank you, Dad, for taking time off to come see me!" the boy said brightly. The camera zoomed in. Lawrence picked him up and kissed his cheek. "I will always be your biggest fan," he said softly. It was the gentlest voice I had ever heard from Lawrence. Comments flooded the chat. A: [What a great dad.] B: [Such a loving father.] I lowered my head and touched my abdomen. The wound was still seeping faintly. Then I turned off my phone. Lawrence, from now on, we go our separate ways. The taxi stopped by the side entrance of the theater. The cold wind cut through my collar like a knife. I stood by the main doors, still as a statue, staring at the exit. In those ten minutes, one memory kept looping in my mind. Lawrence held me tightly, his voice shaking. "Sierra, it's my fault you won't have children in this life," he said, guilt heavy in his tone. For that one sentence, to smooth the crease between his brows, I kept it from everyone and lay on that cold operating table. I gave up my chance to be a mother with my own hands. All just to tell him... "I'm not suffering. As long as I have you, that's enough."

In her third year undercover, Serene Hale still had not been called back. Three years. Three chances. Every single one had failed. In her first year, she could not stand the harsh conditions and constant surveillance any longer. She finally asked Ivan Kane to pull her out. He refused without hesitation and scolded her for lacking discipline. In her second year, her training injuries worsened. Her leg was close to permanent damage. She endured the pain and sent another request. Ivan said she could not handle hardship. He still approved someone else instead, just because of a twisted wrist. In her third year, Serene's hands shook as she sent her request. The reply came back immediately with a rejection. Her heart went completely cold. She had spent three years earning trust, only to be given just three days of leave. Serene packed her things and left. She needed answers from Ivan. Ivan, as the youngest commander in the Capitol, had always kept work and personal life strictly apart. She had been hoping that once this mission ended, she would be reassigned and finally marry him. The office door was not fully closed. Serene gently pushed it open. On the desk lay the latest reassignment order. Her name, Serene Hale, had been heavily crossed out and replaced with Wendy Stone. Her steps slowed and wavered. She gripped the desk to steady herself. Wendy. She had seen her inside before. She had only been there for one month. Footsteps came closer. Serene quickly wiped her tears and rushed to hide under the desk. "Ivan, why won't you bring Serene back?" Joseph Chance's voice rose with anger. "According to protocol, she should have been rotated out after three years. If she stays any longer and gets exposed, she will not survive. "This year let Wendy come back first. Next year, I'll bring Serene back for sure." "She has only just gone in. You could have waited until next year." Joseph shook his head slightly. His eyes showed disappointment as he looked at Ivan. "Wendy is different. She is too kind. How could she handle such a dangerous mission?" "Then, what about the past two years? The first year it was Wendy's friend. The second year it was her so-called sister." Serene trembled all over. She bit her lip hard and forced herself to stay silent. So, it was not that she was not good enough. She was simply not as important as Wendy. She and Ivan had grown up together. Their families had arranged their engagement since they were children. Back then, Ivan always stood in front of her and drove away the kids who bullied her. Before she went undercover, Ivan promised he would get her reassigned soon. He said once she was back, they would get married. Now, his attention was fully on Wendy. In her first year of the mission, Ivan told her a new recruit named Wendy had joined. He said Wendy was just like Serene used to be, full of fire and drive. Serene did not think much of it. New recruits came every year. In her second year, Ivan said she was not as disciplined as Wendy. By her third year, he said she was not as kind as Wendy. A chill ran down Serene's spine. Her whole body felt tight and cold. The truth was right in front of her. Ivan had changed. "Serene will be fine. She has been safe all these three years, hasn't she?" someone said. Serene's heart jolted. Her breathing tightened for a moment. Ivan's voice slowly faded into the distance. Serene looked down at the scars on her arms through blurred eyes. She had countless wounds across her body. To Ivan, that was what he called safe and sound.

On the night of their fifth anniversary, Dexter Jarvis received a set of photos. They were of his girlfriend, Arianna Harmon. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes unfocused. She lay completely naked across rumpled sheets, her body marked with unmistakable signs of intimacy. The sender was Bruce Marshall, a well-known director. Along with the photos came a few voice messages. "Dexter, your girl's got real talent. Come on, baby. Call me daddy. Why don't you stay with me instead? Dump that useless boyfriend of yours." In the background, a woman's broken sobs could be heard—soft, breathless, attempting to please. Every now and then, her voice turned sweet as she murmured, "Daddy," again. Dexter didn't reply. He stared at the screen for a long moment, then quietly dialed a number he hadn't called in years. The line connected quickly. "Dexter..." The voice on the other end sounded older than he remembered. Dexter closed his eyes briefly, forcing down the storm rising in his chest. "Dad," he said, his voice low. "I want to come home." "Dexter, you finally… you finally forgave me? Come back," his father, Wyatt Jarvis, said, his voice trembling. "Everything's still waiting for you. The company… it's yours!" Wyatt's voice shook violently, the unshed tears painfully obvious. Dexter's nose stung, a sharp ache building behind his eyes. After his mother's death, he had blamed his father for five long years. Maybe it was time to let that go. "I'll come back once I wrap things up here." Wyatt was quiet for a moment, then added, almost cautiously, "Oh, and Hailey Allison… she's still not married. She's been waiting for you all this time. You're almost thirty now. Some things… it's time to start thinking about them." A face surfaced in Dexter's mind—cool, distant, untouchable. He closed his eyes. "I understand," he said. "Don't worry." After he hung up, two trending topics popped up automatically on X. Breaking: Rising star Arianna Harmon rumored to be dating director Bruce Marshall Breaking: Trash agent Dexter, get out of the entertainment industry! The attached video played automatically. Arianna and Bruce were kissing inside a luxury car. The next clip showed them walking into a hotel together. The comments section had exploded. Fans from both sides celebrated as if it were a confirmed relationship: They don't even need rumors. It's obvious. Someone commented: Perfect couple. Wishing them forever! On Dexter's end, however, it was a wall of mockery and vile insults. One netizen commented: Dexter's probably smashing things at home right now LOL! Another user chimed in: Can't wait for the official announcement. Let's see how that useless agent still clings to Arianna after this! Some even wrote: If not for that trash agent, Arianna would've blown up ages ago. Dexter, get lost! Type 1 if you agree! Dexter stared at the endless stream of numbers until his fingers turned pale from how tightly he clenched them. They all said he had held Arianna back for five years. What they didn't know was that he had paid a far greater price than she ever had.

Before she is taken hostage alongside Tiffany Hudson, a college junior of Colin Paisley's, Hilary Sanchez has never once imagined she will end up losing to a girl like that. The kidnapper flashes a grin as he presses a dice into Colin's hand. "Simple rules," the kidnapper says. "Even number, your fiancée goes free. Odd number, the sweet little thing over there gets to walk." When the dice first hits the floor, it comes up four. The tension in Hilary's shoulders starts to ease, but the moment she lifts her gaze, she meets Colin's face, drained white. He is staring at those dice as if they were some kind of menace that could destroy him. Off to the side, Tiffany has gone just as pale, looking like she is on the verge of tears. "Colin." She does not call him Mr. Paisley. She simply calls his name, plain and direct. Hilary stands frozen, watching helplessly as Colin calls out to stop the kidnapper who has been coming to cut her loose. "Hold on!" Colin says. "That roll doesn't count. My hand was shaking, and I wasn't ready when I threw it." The kidnapper lets out a manic laugh. "Fine," he says. "You grovel for me, and I'll let you roll again." Colin goes down on his knees and prostrates himself without a second of hesitation. Hilary's breath stops in her chest. The man she knows, the one whose pride runs all the way down to the bone, is sprawled on the floor with his forehead pressed flat against the ground, and the sight of it hits her heart like a hammer. It comes back to her then, how quite a few people at the company have dropped hints here and there to remind her to watch out for Tiffany, that female college schoolmate Colin has brought in. And Hilary has just smiled and brushed it off every time. She has been so confident, so sure that no one can ever come between her and Colin. After all, they have a bond that goes ten whole years back, all the way from childhood! Yet there he is, groveling for another woman. And on top of that, he is about to let all the hurt fall on Hilary. When he cheats to make the dice come up odd, Colin lets out a sigh of relief, but Hilary feels her heart sink deep into her chest. Colin lifts his head, flashing Tiffany a quick smile before he seems to remember Hilary and turns to her with a look that is almost apologetic. "Hilary, I'm sorry," he says, "but Tiffany's dream is to be a jewelry designer. If they ruin her hands, she wouldn't be able to handle it." Hilary fights to hold back the wave of devastation threatening to consume her, her voice shaking as she manages to get the words out. "So what, I'm supposed to be able to handle it instead?" It comes back to her then, how not so long ago Colin holds her hand and tells her, "You have to play that piece, Dream Wedding, at our wedding." And now here he is, ready to sacrifice her hands for Tiffany. Colin pauses for a moment, his voice dropping a little lower. "You've always been the strong one," he said. "When you get hurt, you never make a fuss about it. I knew you could take it." "I'm pregnant." Hilary cuts in. The air goes still for a second. Then Tiffany speaks up in a timid, hesitant voice. "Hilary, I saw you taking medicine this morning. You're not supposed to take pills when you're pregnant."

Three years into their marriage, Sebastian Vance acts as if he cannot get enough of Helena Asher's body—his obsession seems so real it borders on devotion. Before the sprawling window that mirrors their intertwined bodies, a breathless Helena asks, "After all this time, don't you ever get bored?" He silences her with a deep kiss, murmuring against her lips, "I love you madly. Thirty years are not enough." Later, while he is gone, a conversation drifts from around the corner—his voice, cold and clear. "Three years pretending with Helena is torture. Crushing the Asher family for Maggie cannot come soon enough." Icy disappointment and sorrow flood her veins. After that, only a signed divorce paper remains, and she vanishes overseas. Her departure, however, unravels the man left behind, plunging him into utter madness. Three years into their marriage, Sebastian acts as if he cannot get enough of Helena's body—his obsession seems so real it borders on devotion. Inside their sleek private elevator, the soft hum of machinery barely masks the tension in the air. Sebastian brushes aside the hem of Helena's dress, his fingers grazing her skin as he leans in, his breath fanning her neck. A soft, breathy whimper escapes the woman in his arms. She turns to face him, her cheeks flushed and eyes glistening with shyness. "Sebastian, the board meeting starts any minute—cut it out." He nips at her earlobe, his voice low and seductive, laced with longing. "I am away on business for three days. Do you not miss me, honey?" That single, intimate term "honey" melts half her resolve. Helena goes limp in his arms, pressing her palms against the cool elevator wall as she surrenders to his advances, her soft moans growing louder and more unrestrained by the second. The elevator chimes softly and comes to a halt on the 33rd floor—Sebastian's private office level, off-limits to everyone without his explicit permission. He lifts her in his arms, striding from the elevator to his private lounge. The plush carpet bears faint traces of their passion by the time Helena lets out a startled gasp, collapsing into his embrace, her strength drained. Sebastian's face is etched with satisfaction as he presses a tender kiss to her chest, his tone warm and doting. "I have to head to the board meeting, honey. Rest for a bit, and I pick you up on the way home." Helena mumbles a lazy response, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. The moment Sebastian leaves, she drifts off into a deep sleep. ***** Two hours pass before she is jolted awake by voices outside the lounge door—three or four male voices, all familiar as Sebastian's closest friends. "Way to go, Sebastian! Postponing the board meeting for an hour just to hook up with Helena? You keep up this charade for three whole years—it must be torture for you!" one jokes, his tone teasing. Sebastian's voice drifts in, lazy and unconcerned, void of any warmth. "What choice do I have? I spend three days with Maggie, so I owe Helena a little show to keep her off my back." 'A charade? Maggie?' Helena's mind goes blank, a cold dread coiling in her stomach. The teasing continues outside, each word twisting the knife deeper. Another friend chides, "C'mon, cut the act. Helena is such a sophisticated, elegant stunner—she practically throws herself at you, no matter the place. How can you call that torture?" A third voice interjects, "You have no clue what you are talking about. Sebastian goes all out for Margaret Thorne. First, he worms his way into Helena's life, faking that whole 'obsessed husband' act, wasting his time and energy just to siphon off shares of the Asher Group little by little. Then he secretly funnels money to Margaret, helping the Thorne family claw their way back from ruin. Sebastian's feelings for Margaret? They are not even in the same league as his for Helena. Hey, Seb—when are you going to dump Helena and tie the knot with Margaret?"

Julia Foster was thrown onto the floor of an abandoned chemical factory. Nearby, her son, Ethan Hayes, and her husband Victor’s ward, Chloe Bennett, were suspended from the ceiling. Their cries pierced Julia’s heart. "Mommy, I'm scared!" In her ten years with Victor, Julia had survived many kidnappings. But she never imagined these psychos would target her six-year-old son. Her head was bleeding and her face was as pale as a sheet, yet she still forced a comforting smile. "Be brave, Ethan. Don’t be afraid. Daddy will be here to save us soon..." The next second, the factory doors were kicked open. Dust swirled in the air as Victor strode in, flanked by armed guards. Julia’s eyes welled up at the sight of Victor’s cold, handsome face. She was about to beg him to save their son. But Victor ignored them both and rushed straight toward Chloe. His expression darkened when he saw the dirt on Chloe’s pristine face. "Don’t be scared, Chloe. Uncle Victor is taking you home!" He waved his hand, signaling the guards to cut Chloe’s chains. But her chain was linked to the one holding Ethan. If it was cut, he would plummet into the acid pool below and be dissolved into corrosive sludge! As the guard reached for the chain, Julia screamed in agony, "Victor, no! Don’t cut the chain! Ethan will fall!"

Three months after Adrian supposedly recommitted himself to their marriage, he cheated again. Serena's chest ached so badly she could barely breathe. Gone was the poised, elegant woman everyone admired. She stood in front of him shaking with rage, her voice cracking as she shouted, "I've been with you since I was eighteen! Do you have any shame at all?" Adrian lounged against the sofa with one arm wrapped around his latest mistress. At her outburst, he let out a short laugh, lazy and cruel. "Shame?" He looked up at her with open mockery in his eyes. "You're really talking to me about shame? You climbed into my bed when you were eighteen." That was the moment something inside Serena finally died. ***** Late that night, Serena returned home after the launch event for her newest novel. The house was dark and quiet. Smiling faintly to herself, she slipped off her heels at the door and walked upstairs barefoot, planning to surprise Adrian. Before she even reached the bedroom, breathless moans drifted through the half-open door. "Ade..." a girl whimpered sweetly. "I gave you everything. My body, my heart... You can't keep hiding me forever." Adrian's voice followed, low with lingering desire. "What's the rush? Other than a title, I can give you anything you want." A soft chuckle escaped him. "Rena and I have been together for ten years. If I dump my wife the second I make it big, what would people say about me?" Serena stopped cold. For a second, she couldn't hear anything except the violent pounding of her own heartbeat. Pain spread slowly through her limbs until even standing felt difficult. The first time she discovered Adrian cheating, she had cried until she nearly broke apart. She demanded a divorce, smashed things, screamed herself hoarse. Adrian had knelt in front of her then, letting her slap him over and over while swearing on his dead parents that there would never be another woman again. And now, only three months later, he had brought his mistress into their bedroom on their wedding anniversary. Chloe was a junior at Northbridge Film Academy, barely twenty years old, with the kind of soft, delicate beauty that naturally awakened men's protective instincts. Her innocent eyes and sweet smile matched her nickname Coco perfectly. Unable to endure another second, Serena shoved the bedroom door open, still clinging to the faint hope that she might see even a trace of guilt or panic on Adrian's face, anything that would prove he still cared about hurting her. Instead, he merely pulled the blanket lazily around his waist and looked at her with calm amusement. "Rena," he said lightly, "maybe you should take a look at yourself for once." He tilted his head toward Chloe with a faint smile. "Being with Coco makes me feel young again. But living with you?" His gaze cooled. "This house feels like a graveyard." The words cut deeper than shouting ever could. Serena dug her nails into her palms so hard they nearly broke skin, but she still couldn't stop trembling. Adrian leaned comfortably against the headboard with Chloe curled against his chest, and for one unbearable moment, his sharp profile overlapped with the memory of the boy Serena had fallen in love with years ago, the boy in a white school shirt who used to look at her as if she were his whole world. Memories came rushing back without warning. The two of them crammed into a damp basement apartment during the hardest years of their lives, sharing a single cup of instant noodles between them. Adrian would always insist he wasn't hungry, then quietly drink water to fill his stomach while Serena sat there crying into cheap noodles gone soggy from her tears. At eighteen, she thought poverty was the cruelest thing life could offer. At twenty-eight, she finally understood that nothing hurt more than watching love rot away in front of her. "Why?" Her voice shook so badly she barely recognized it. "You promised me once. You said you'd give me a good life someday." Tears blurred her vision as she looked at him. "You said you'd love me forever." A crushing pain tightened around Serena's heart, squeezing harder and harder until she felt herself breaking apart from the inside out.

In her eighth month of pregnancy, Serena Robert suddenly felt a familiar, heavy pulling sensation in her lower abdomen. A warm, sticky liquid trickled down the inside of her thigh. She looked down, and her fingertips turned ice-cold in an instant. It was blood. "Help! Somebody, please!" A neighbor rushed over at the sound of her cries, her expression shifting to one of shock at the sight. "Oh my god, you're bleeding! We need to get you to the hospital, now!" As Serena was hoisted onto a flatbed cart by several pairs of hands, a sense of profound relief filled her heart. Her husband, Aaron Marsh, was the star surgeon at the military hospital. Everyone called him a "miracle worker" whose hands could bring the dying back to life. With him there, she and the baby would surely be safe. But when she was wheeled into the emergency room and Aaron saw it was her, his expression tightened abruptly. He strode to the side of the gurney and asked in a hushed tone, "Why are you here now?" "I'm bleeding..." Serena was breaking out in a cold sweat from the pain. She reached out to grab his sleeve. "Aaron, please, I need a doctor…" Instead, Aaron grabbed her wrist with a force that was slightly painful. He turned to the nurse and said, "Take her to the hallway and wait. I'll deal with her in a bit." "But Dr. Marsh, your wife is literally in labor! We have to check her right now—" "I said wait!" He interrupted sharply, a rare display of temper. He then leaned down close to Serena's ear, his voice barely a whisper. "Serena, listen to me. You cannot have this baby right now."

Nina had been married to Simon for seven years, and now she faced the uncertainty of her fifth pregnancy.   Following the arrival of their son, Nate Moore, she had endured the heartbreak of three miscarriages.   The first occurred after a mishap on the stairs, the next when she collided with a table corner, and the last from an ill-placed marble in the garden.   Doctors had gently warned her that her body had grown frail, hinting at difficulties in conceiving again. Even if she succeeded, the journey might be perilous.   This time, the entire family approached with heightened vigilance. Simon rejiggered his schedule, ensuring he returned home promptly each evening to stay by her side. He laid anti-slip mats over every stair and cushioned table edges with rubber pads for safety.   Nate would snuggle close to Nina's growing belly, offering her a bowl of soup with endearing sincerity.   "Mom, have this. I asked Mary to prepare it for the baby's health. I watched her simmer it patiently for two hours."   Gazing into Nate's hopeful eyes, Nina drank without hesitation.   However, the soup was unusually bitter, a far cry from the prenatal tonics she'd previously had.   Before she could inquire whose culinary advice they'd followed, Simon's phone interrupted.   He finished the call, then bent to plant a soft kiss on Nina's forehead.   "I need to handle something at the office. I've bought the gemstone necklace you liked. I'll have Jamie deliver it soon."   Nina's lips curved into a smile.   Suddenly, a searing pain slashed across her abdomen! She crumpled along the wall, her eyes widening at the crimson bloom spreading across her pajamas.   "Help, Simon. Our baby..."   She pleaded in a whisper, watching in disbelief as Simon exited the nursery with purpose, and even little Nate was nowhere in sight.   Her mind spun into chaos, murmuring desperate prayers while she strained to reach the phone on the bedside table.   But her legs buckled beneath her, sending her crashing to the floor.   A wave of pain washed over her, and she lay there, curled up, drenched in cold sweat that seeped through her pajamas.   In her haze, she heard the creak of a door swinging open.   "Mom?"   It was Nate.   Gathering the last remnants of her strength, Nina reached out, her voice barely a whisper, "N-Nate, please, fetch your dad. Call an ambulance."   Yet Nate remained still, as if his feet were glued to the spot.   He gazed at her, his young face completely blank. Neither fear nor urgency reflected in his eyes.   Just a calm detachment, as though he were merely observing a scene to which he was detached.   Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he said softly, "Mom, you're bleeding a lot."   Nina's heart tightened, and she couldn't help but repeat, "Nate, ambulance."   Nate laughed lightly, "Alright, Mom, I'll be right back."   He spun around and dashed off.   As Nina's awareness began to slip away, her last sight was the tiny night light, dotted with stars and a moon on the ceiling.   A gentle glow she had lovingly prepared for her unborn baby.

The moment Grace White discovered her pregnancy, Sarah Lowe, a lifelong friend of Ryan Jones, took a fatal plunge from the floor just above Grace's office.   "Ryan, my love for you never fades, but I refuse to be a burden, stirring conflict between you and Ms. White. Meeting you is something I'll never regret. If there's another life, I'd fall for you all over again."   Sarah stood at the panoramic window, wiped her tears defiantly, and leaped without hesitation.   "Ryan, I'm preg..."   Grace clutched a pregnancy test report, ready to knock when Ryan's office door flung open and he rushed out, seemingly frantic.   She was pushed aside, stumbled uncontrollably, and her hip collided painfully with a desk edge.   The report slipped from her hands, trampled under the chaos.   "Ryan! Where are you headed?" she called out, urgency threading her voice.   But Ryan didn't turn back.   Only after watching the company group chat video of Sarah's tragic leap did the situation become clear.   Grace, who had just visited the hospital that morning, now returned, not for herself but for a woman who deeply loved her husband.   Ryan stood outside the emergency room, leaning against the wall, despairingly muttering to himself.   "I'm sorry, it's all my fault."

After her fifth stillbirth, Jane Paxton didn't cry or make a fuss. Her husband, Owen Wright, rushed back from abroad, claiming he wanted to spend more time with her. Jane used to beg him to stay, but this time, she didn't say a word to stop him. She simply packed his bags quietly and said in a flat tone, "Go. Your mother's condition is more important. I'll be fine." Owen took the suitcase, his eyes turning slightly red, his voice thick with guilt. "I'm sorry. Every time something this huge happens to you, I'm never by your side. Don't worry. Once Mom gets better, we'll make it work. We'll have more children." Jane gave a self-mocking smile but remained silent. Five years ago, he'd made the same promises. She had believed him then, only to be rewarded with five stillbirths in five years. As Owen opened his mouth to speak again, a phone call made his expression change. He hurriedly hailed a taxi and left the house. Jane caught another cab and followed. Watching the scenery flash by, she recalled all their moments together. Back then, he'd driven ten hours to bring her fever medicine. When they were caught kissing in the library, he'd shielded her and proclaimed her his girlfriend. On her twentieth birthday, he'd taken her to get their marriage license, happily spinning her around in his arms. They'd been so deeply in love. But three years into their marriage, Owen's mother suddenly became critically ill, and he took her abroad for treatment. He had been gone for five years, leaving her alone. However, Jane never complained until that day, when she tried transferring all her savings to Owen's mother. The system showed an "unusual account activity" alert. The bank teller looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but this account holder is deceased. It's been frozen." She froze. "When did she die?" Her voice shook. "Five years ago.

My biological sister Vivian Bennett had always worshipped freedom.   After being welcomed back into the Bennett family, she caused a scene at the reunion banquet and slept with the heir of the Foster family. The day after giving birth, she decided the baby would only hold her back, abandoned her child, and flew overseas without a second glance.   Adrian hated her for what she had done, yet pitied the motherless child.   So I married into the Foster family in her place and became Leo's stepmother.   Leo had been a difficult baby from the start. He cried, fussed, and threw tantrums day and night. Adrian deliberately refused to hire a nanny, leaving me to handle everything alone in constant chaos. Countless nights, when I dragged myself out of bed to tend to Leo, Adrian's cold voice would follow behind me.   "Tired? Vivian suffered far more during the twenty years you stole her life."   Five years later, my sister returned after enjoying her freedom to the fullest and came straight to Adrian to reclaim her place.   "I've had enough freedom," she said. "Now I want to settle down."   Adrian glanced at me with faint amusement.   "So tell me, should the child acknowledge his real mother or his stepmother?"   I twisted my hands together. "I... don't know."   Adrian let out a cold snort, his tone almost generous.   "Vivian is back now. You don't necessarily have to leave. Leo is used to you. I can let you stay with the Foster family as his nanny."   I offered no objection and lowered my head obediently. "I'll do whatever you decide."   For some reason, my answer seemed to displease him. He parted his lips as if to speak, then said nothing.   Five years had passed, yet Vivian remained as sharp-tongued as ever.   "Vanessa, stop acting pathetic! First you stole my place as the Bennett family's daughter, then you stole my place as Mrs. Foster. And now you're pretending to be the victim?"   The accusation was painfully familiar.   Because on the day she was first welcomed back into the Bennett family, she had hurled those exact words at me in front of every guest.   "Don't think acting meek will make Adrian pity you!"   She did not need to remind me.   No one knew better than I did that if Adrian had ever intended to show me mercy, he would have let me go long ago.   It was not as though I had never had the chance to leave.   But after five years of raising Leo by his side, I had grown too attached to the child. I could not bear to leave him.   Vivian was about to continue when Leo's cries interrupted her. He always cried like that whenever he woke from a nap. Grateful for the interruption, I turned toward the nursery.   "Leo's awake. I'll go check on him."   Vivian stepped in front of me.   "I'll go. After all, I'm his real mother. Of course he'll calm down faster with me than with an outsider."   I watched her head upstairs, and Adrian gave me a light shove.   "Well? Go help her. She's been spoiled her whole life. Do you really think she knows how to care for a baby?"   I sighed and hurried after her. But when I pushed open the nursery door, I froze. Leo was sleeping peacefully in Vivian's arms. She looked at Adrian with smug delight.   "Blood really is incredible. The moment I held him, he stopped crying and went right back to sleep."   Adrian gave a faint nod without replying. After we stepped outside, he shot me a disdainful look. "You can't even handle the work of a nanny properly. I see no reason for you to remain with the Foster family."   Vivian followed us out and casually slammed the door behind her. She looked completely unconcerned. "Oops. I'm so used to doing whatever I want that I forgot Leo was still asleep."

Wendy had schemed, seduced, and fought her way into Xavier's bed for three years, only to flee the very night she gave birth to his son.   When Xavier tracked her down himself, he found her rifling through passports in an old house on Ashford Alley.   "Ten years ago, I saved you here. You said you would trust me for life." He advanced on her step by step, his voice dark with anger. "I've decided to marry you, so why are you running?"   Wendy's shoulders trembled violently.   "I'm low-born," she whispered. "I'm afraid the other Mrs. Sterlings will come after me."   Pain flashed across his eyes. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.   "There are no others," he murmured. "From now on, you will be the only Mrs. Sterling."   What he did not know was that as Wendy made up that flimsy excuse, all she could see in her mind was the way she had died in her previous life.

A man's low, ragged voice drifted from inside. "Would being gentler satisfy you?"   The moment Wendy heard it, she froze. Her whole body began to shake uncontrollably. After seven years of dating and three years of marriage, ten years together in all, no one knew Sebastian's voice better than she did.   Her legs felt heavy as lead as she forced herself toward the door. Through the curved glass, she saw everything inside.   Sebastian had the nurse pinned beneath him, driving into her with ruthless force. One of the woman's hands braced against the narrow hospital bed, the very bed that was supposed to be protecting their child's fragile life.   Wendy's hand flew to the doorknob. She nearly shoved the door open on instinct. She would never let anyone hurt her child.   Then reason slammed into her. It was a sterile room. Charging in recklessly could endanger the baby.   Inside, the woman gasped breathlessly. "I can't take it anymore, Sebastian… stop…"   "You were begging for more last night," Sebastian said with a laugh. "And now you want me to stop?"   'Last night?'   Wendy's pupils contracted sharply. Before her mind could fully process what she had heard, tears were already spilling down her face.   Last night, Sebastian had told her a specialist had flown in from overseas, an expert who might be able to save their son. He said he needed to stay overnight to meet with him and fight for their baby's chance at survival.   She had believed every word. She had even stood at the door and helped straighten his tie before he left.   No matter how hard the past three years had been, she had always believed that if nothing else, their love for their child had been real.   And now she was hearing the truth. He had used their dying child as an excuse to leave her and sleep with another woman.   Sophia wiped herself off and slapped the bedside rail in annoyance. "If the baby's dead, just tell her already. Why keep a dummy in here? It freaks me out every time I see it."   Sebastian turned away and lit a cigarette. "If she knows the child died long ago," he said coldly, "what will I have left to keep her by my side?"   Every word struck Wendy with brutal clarity.   It felt as though someone had torn her chest open and poured freezing wind straight into the wound. The pain was so sharp it numbed her entire body.   'Dead? Dummy?'   "Sebastian… what are you talking about?" Before she realized it, she had already shoved the door open.   Sebastian's face changed the moment he saw her. Shock flashed across his features, and he immediately crushed out his cigarette.   "Wendy, Sophia and I were just… "   "Who cares what you were doing?"   Wendy's scream tore from her throat.   She rushed to the bed, shoved Sophia aside, and looked into the incubator.   A doll lay inside the incubator. A lifeless, plastic imitation of an infant.   For a moment, Wendy laughed.   Then the laughter grew sharper, more hysterical, until tears began pouring down her face faster than she could stop them.   "Sebastian, I don't care who you sleep with!" she screamed, her voice breaking apart. "I'm asking you where my child is! Where is the baby I carried for ten months? Where is the child you used to keep me trapped by your side?"   She lunged at him and seized his collar, shaking him with all her strength. Her voice climbed higher with every word, shrill with grief and desperation, her bloodshot eyes filled with a despair so overwhelming it seemed to consume her whole. Her vision blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again as her breathing turned ragged and uneven.   At last, Sebastian looked at her and said the words that shattered her world. "Wendy… the baby was stillborn."   Blood roared in her ears. Her vision went black. Before even a scream could leave her throat, Wendy collapsed unconscious.

Seven years after leaving the Fidelity Investigator industry, Sophia Carter received a commission. Client: I heard you were a Gold-Level Fidelity Investigator at HeartWise Agency. I need you to help me test my boyfriend. Sophia was about to reply and turn her down, saying she had been out of the industry for years. But the person on the other end sent over a picture. Her breath stopped in an instant. With trembling fingers, she opened it. She stared at the photo no fewer than dozens of times before finally asking in disbelief. Sophia: This is your boyfriend? Client: Who else would it be? But the man in the photo was clearly her husband of seven years, Ethan Shaw! Holding on to the last shred of reason she had left, she replied. Sophia: I can take the case, but I'll need detailed information about the man. What if... What if the other person had simply stolen his photo? After all, Ethan was a regular face in financial reports, and for years, he had dominated Northbridge City's Top Bachelor of the Elite Rankings. But the next message quickly shattered Sophia's pitiful fantasy. Client: His name is Ethan Shaw. He's about five eleven. He likes red wine... Forget it, none of that matters. He has a red mole on the inside of his thigh. A roar went off in Sophia's head. A second later, her mind went completely blank. In that instant, she realized the girl on the other end truly did have an intimate relationship with Ethan! Forcing down the dull pain in her chest, she continued asking. Sophia: Why do you want to test him? Client: I've been with him for three years. I'm just an ordinary woman, but he spoils me beyond belief. Luxury gowns, priceless jewelry, anything I want, he gives me. Client: The only regret is that even though I'm already pregnant, he still refuses to register our marriage or acknowledge me publicly. He says the Shaw Family has too many enemies, and that everything he's doing is to protect me. Client: I've always suspected he has someone else, but I've hired several investigators, and none of them could tempt him. I heard you were the most authoritative Gold-Level Fidelity Investigator, so I want you to test him for me! Pregnant? One message after another exploded in her mind, leaving her scalp numb. She could not believe Ethan would cheat on her and build another life behind her back. After all, Ethan loved her more than anything. To be with her, the man who had once drifted from woman to woman had cut off every flirtation around him. Even when a business partner deliberately drugged him and tried to send a woman into his bed, he fought the effects of the drug and forced himself to hold out until Sophia arrived. Even in the instant their car crashed and exploded, his first instinct had been to throw himself over her and protect her. His love for her had long since gone beyond instinct. Sophia did not want to believe the truth. She remembered the day they first met. Back then, as an investigator, she had accepted a client's commission to test whether one of Ethan's friends would truly remain faithful after marriage. Sophia completed the client's commission brilliantly, but because the target failed the test, the client mistakenly believed she was a mistress using an investigation as an excuse to destroy someone else's marriage. That client used a few connections to have Sophia locked up in the Police Station, where she was harshly tormented for three days. Everyone applauded the punishment she received. Only Ethan stepped forward without hesitation. He did not care if it meant offending his friend. He used every means at his disposal to bail her out. She asked him why. He looked at her face and said each word with complete seriousness, "Because I believe you. Because I fell in love with you at first sight. Would you believe that?"

On the fifth day after giving birth to her third child, Clara Monse saw her husband, Chris Monse, for the third time in five years—he had been building his business empire in Europe all that time. This time, she did not cry or make a scene, unlike the previous two times when her children had been taken away, when she had begged on her knees, heartbroken and hysterical. She held out the newborn baby to him, her calmness taking Chris by surprise. "Not going to fight me this time?" he asked. Clara lowered her eyes and spoke softly. "Chris, your company is growing bigger and bigger. I trust you with the baby." Chris's gaze drifted toward the window, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm swamped with work in Europe. I won't be staying this time. Please take care of my mother for me." Clara had just opened her mouth to say, "Mom, she—" when Chris stood up and cut her off. "She has Alzheimer's. She won't even remember me if I see her. I won't go visit her." He leaned down and pressed a cool kiss to her forehead, then picked up the baby and left. The door clicked shut. Clara swallowed the words "She is already dead" that had been on the tip of her tongue. She slowly pulled the divorce agreement out from under her pillow and murmured to herself. "Five years. You've come to see me three times. This time, it's my turn to go to Europe to see you. If the rumors are true, I won't keep propping up the Monse family for you anymore. And I won't wait for you, either."

Josephine Emerson's husband was found lying in the same bed as a colleague's widow and could not give a clear explanation. When Josephine rushed to the scene, she saw her usually rational husband suddenly looking extremely anxious. He took Josephine's hand and kept apologizing to her. "Josephine, trust me. This is just a misunderstanding. It has to do with my work. Let's pretend to get divorced for now. Don't worry. Once this matter is resolved, I will definitely remarry you." Looking at her husband's reddened eyes, Josephine agreed to his request. But Josephine's husband did not know that once Josephine began to doubt him, that doubt would only grow deeper and deeper. When that time came, Josephine would use the opportunity to study abroad to leave her husband completely.

At the presidential suite atop the hotel, Nina pushed open the door with practiced ease.   Across from the entrance, Julian lounged on the sofa with his clothes in disarray, the muscles beneath his open shirt gleaming under the lights, sweat slick across his skin.   At the sight of her, he gave a crooked smile and tightened his arm around Lana, the purple-haired woman with a lip ring in his lap.   "Took you long enough. Did you bring them?"   "I did. Mint flavored, just how Ms. Hayes likes them."   Rainwater dripped from Nina's clothes as she set down her umbrella. On her way out, she bent to gather the scattered clothing from the floor into her arms.   "They're dirty," she said quietly. "I'll take them home and wash them."   The moment the door shut behind her, Lana burst into laughter.   "Your wife must be insane. She actually ran through the rain to deliver condoms? Acting this generous, do you think she's faking it? If she finds out I'm pregnant, won't she cry herself to death?"   Julian's lazy voice followed, casual and mocking. "Relax. If she finds out you're pregnant, she'll probably treat you like royalty."   "Hmph. As if I care. By the way, I heard three years ago Nina was Northhaven's famous wild rose. She climbed Everest, touched a polar bear, and even won the national racing championship?"   The words struck Nina like a distant echo.   Her mind flashed with images of endless snow-capped peaks beneath the northern lights, of roaring crowds in the grandstands, and of the racetrack shaking with cheers and screams meant for her.   Before she married Julian, she had been fearless, untamed, and utterly free. Only now did it truly hit her. Three years had passed.

He had shown her every beautiful thing the world had to offer. With her adoptive parents away on business most of the year, he had been the one to raise her.   When she got her first period, he had blushed scarlet while buying her pads, then awkwardly taught her how to use them. When boys confessed to her, he skipped class and rushed to school to grab them by the collar and warn them to stay away from her. Even every birthday wish he made was the same.   "May Rena live her whole life safe and happy."   Once, traffickers came for Serena again. She escaped during the struggle and fell into the water, only to come down with a grave illness afterward. The doctors said there was nothing to do but wait and hope. In the middle of a snowstorm, Lucien climbed the mountain on his knees, step by agonizing step, to pray for a Protective Charm for her.   After that, he insisted on knowing where she was at all times. Even when she went out with friends, he wanted to know exactly where she was and who she was with.   Her friends used to tease her about it.   "Is that really your uncle? He acts more like a boyfriend checking up on you."   "Seriously, even your dad doesn't keep tabs on you that much. Your uncle is way too invested."   "You're not even blood-related, and your Uncle Lucien is insanely handsome…"   At first, Serena thought it was simply the devotion of an overprotective uncle. But after hearing everyone around her insist again and again that Lucien was in love with her, something inside her began to change.   Whenever he came near, her heart raced. Whenever he ruffled her hair, her ears burned. Whenever she heard another woman was pursuing him, she lay awake brooding all night.   So on the night of her eighteenth birthday, when Lucien smiled and asked, "My Rena's all grown up now. What gift do you want? I will grant any wish," Serena clenched her skirt, rose onto her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I want to be with you."   What she got in return was his face turning instantly cold. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm your uncle."   His answer was a one-way plane ticket overseas.   For three years, she sent him countless messages. He vanished as though he had disappeared from the face of the earth, never replying even once, though he still kept in regular contact with her parents.   Serena refused to give up. She kept telling herself that everything would be fine when he came back.   But after three years of obsession, the only thing she received in return was news of his wedding.   Using the excuse of going out to buy things for the guests, Serena slipped away, wanting nothing more than to be alone. She had barely reached the door when she ran into Richard and Eleanor returning home.   Seeing the lost look on her face, they comforted her gently. "Your uncle is getting married. You should be happy for him."   Serena lifted her head and forced a smile. "You're right… I should be."   After a pause, she said softly, "Didn't you always say a strategic marriage would benefit the Vale family? I'm old enough now. Please find me someone reliable."   Her voice grew even quieter. "Uncle Lucien was right. It's time I had a family of my own."

Vivian had loved her brother for five years, but on Christmas Eve, the night she turned twenty-three, she finally came to her senses.   In the front seat of a red convertible, she straddled a man she had known for less than a week, determined to bury that hopeless crush once and for all.   "Why the hell are you crying?"   The hard-edged man beneath her looked downright dangerous, and Vivian flinched at once. "I-I'm scared it'll hurt, Mr. Graves. Could you pull out first? No, wait…go away, I changed my mind!"   Lucien stilled for a beat, then pushed upward slightly, only to meet the unmistakable resistance of her first time. He straightened and looked at her with amused disbelief. "You're really doing this for the first time? Too late for regrets now."   Vivian trembled and instinctively tried to curl up, hoping he might spare her, but the look in Lucien's eyes only grew darker. He had known all kinds of women—bold, shy, elegant, wild—but never anyone like her. She was innocence wrapped in temptation, pure and provocative all at once, and the sight of her was enough to drive him mad.   He rolled her beneath him, switched their positions, and pressed himself between her thighs just as a firework exploded overhead. The sudden burst of light illuminated her face, pale as paper and shaking so hard she looked on the verge of breaking. Lucien frowned.   "Are you really that scared?"   "N-No…"   Vivian did not know how to explain. She had drunk an entire bottle earlier, and in the darkness she had never noticed where the car had stopped. Only now, beneath the fireworks lighting up the sky, did she realize they were parked in Ashbourne Heights.   Adrian's villa was right there. No matter how badly things had ended between them, he was still her brother in name. If he saw her with another man like this…   Panic surged through her, and she struggled at once.   "Don't move."   "I don't feel good. I don't want to do this anymore!"   Lucien's face darkened. His desire had never burned hotter, and there was no chance he would stop over an excuse that transparent. Knowing he did not believe her, Vivian hurriedly pressed herself against him and softened her voice.   "Mr. Graves... could we go to a hotel instead? I'm just afraid someone will see us. There are too many fireworks tonight."   Lucien caught her chin in his hand, his voice cold and absolute. "No. Open your legs and take it. You'll like it soon enough."   He drove down with decisive force.   And at that exact moment, a black car came hurtling toward them. Its blinding headlights flooded the interior, exposing them in a single brutal flash.   Vivian cried out and shoved Lucien away instinctively.   Bang!

Everyone knew that after a kidnapping left genius researcher Serena with brain damage, she developed severe memory loss and forgot each day by the next.   Fortunately, her childhood sweetheart Adrian remained steadfastly devoted. He covered her room in sticky notes documenting every detail of her life and stayed by her side through her rehabilitation. He did it for seven years.   From eighteen to twenty-five, Serena lived by those notes until, one day, on the very last one, she saw:   September 13: Marry Serena.   Joy flooded her heart.   But that night, when she got up for water and passed the study, she overheard Adrian talking with a friend.   The door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, she saw Adrian leaning against the desk, head lowered, staring at the unlit cigarette between his fingers.   "Are you really going to have a bodyguard take your place on the wedding night? Don't you think that's too cruel to Serena?"   "I can't betray Vivian," Adrian replied calmly. "Besides, Serena forgets everything. In a few days, I'll take down the sticky notes, comfort her a little, and she'll forget any of this ever happened."   Serena nearly collapsed. Her eyes burned red as tears welled uncontrollably.   Adrian was planning to let another man take his place in their marriage bed.   And Vivian was her father's illegitimate daughter, the one he had brought home after Serena's accident left her unable to inherit the family business.   But when had Adrian and Vivian become involved? Serena clearly remembered how cold and dismissive Adrian had always been toward her.   Then his next words shattered what remained of her world.   "If Vivian hadn't arranged that kidnapping, I wouldn't have bothered taking care of Serena all these years. I knew Vivian back in high school. If Serena hadn't gotten hurt, she would have been the one I married."   He finally lit the cigarette, his eyes unreadable.   "Vivian wronged Serena, so I'll make it up to her. I'll take care of Serena for life. But everything else…her inheritance, her family's fortune…all of it belongs to Vivian."

There’s a saying in high society: Cross whoever you want, but never Rowan Dye. She’s not just a cold-blooded psycho who killed her own parents—she’s also under the protection of Miles Chase, a math prodigy. At a wedding reception, a guest once muttered under their breath that Rowan didn’t deserve Miles. She beat them so badly they were sent straight to the hospital. Miles smiled indulgently. “Be good. Don’t get your hands dirty next time.” That one sentence alone bankrupted the person’s family and forced them to their knees to apologize to Rowan. So when Miles turned her in for embezzlement and murder, claiming he was upholding justice, everyone was absolutely floored. When the police arrested Rowan at her office, she was still clutching a pregnancy test. It was the child they had both wanted for so long. Flashbulbs popped all around her as a crowd swarmed in, pointing fingers and whispering behind their hands. “Rowan’s been crazy since she was a kid. At six, she drove her own mother to hang herself—then stayed alone with the body for three whole days and nights!” “That’s not even the half of it. She cursed her grandfather into his grave, killed her father, and now even her husband couldn’t take it anymore and called the cops on her!” “Someone like her deserves to go through life unloved.” Rowan stopped dead in her tracks next to the woman who’d spoken those last words. She turned and stared at the stranger, her dark, hollow eyes sending a chill right through them. “What gives you the right to say Miles doesn’t love me?” Rowan said. “He promised he’d take care of me for the rest of my life.” The woman shot back without thinking. “He was just scared of you! He’s been lying to you this whole time!” Miles, lying to her? Rowan refused to believe it. Not unless she heard it with her own ears and saw it with her own eyes. She turned to the police. “I need to go home first.” Before they could protest, she added, “According to procedure, you have to search my house for evidence anyway.” The officers finally relented. Rowan rushed home, desperate to find Miles. She had to know if someone had threatened him, forced him to set her up. But before she could even step through the door, she heard it—soft, breathy moans drifting from inside. Miles, who had always treated her with cold indifference, was holding a woman’s hourglass figure in his arms, pressing soft, tender kisses to her forehead. That woman was Zara Wallace—her father’s illegitimate daughter, the half-sister with no blood tie to her, and one of the very people who had driven her mother to suicide.

When I found out that Jack Wayne had been cheating on me with his student, I brought 365 photos, solid evidence of his betrayal, and tore off his mask in front of everyone at his faculty award ceremony. When I handed him the divorce papers, he threatened to kill himself. To keep me, he actually stabbed himself. Before he was even fully taken to the hospital, his mistress stormed up to me. "It's all your fault, you frumpy old hag!" she shouted. "If you cared about him even a little instead of working all the time, would he have done something wrong? She continued, "I've already been generous enough to let you stay as the official wife. What more do you want? Are you trying to destroy everything?" With tears streaming down her face, she claimed she was his true love. I could not help but laugh out loud. True love? Then why did she need hymen repair surgery twenty times in the past year?

It was the seventh year of my marriage, and I'd finally embraced the whole "live for the moment" thing Finn Ford was always going on about. I stopped caring where he went or who he was with. I stopped waiting up for him late into the night. I started putting myself out there, meeting new people. Letting myself enjoy life a little. Sometimes I'd find myself holding hands with some soft-eyed young man. Other times, I'd warm a poor younger guy between my sheets. Even when Finn headed to fix the neighbor girl's plumbing yet again, I'd thoughtfully hand him a couple boxes of condoms on his way out. "You can't get the job done without the right tools." But the man who should've been thrilled just stood there, eyes locked on my neck. His voice came out rough. "What are those marks on your neck?"

To save my critically ill little sister, I joined a rich family's wife-selection game. The winner would get engaged to Sterling Holt, the billionaire heir, plus a huge payout to save a life. The final round was Truth or Dare. Sterling sat casually in the main seat, twirling a wine glass between his long fingers, his eyes fixed right on me. "The question is — who do you love the most?" I answered without a second thought. "Sterling Holt." The whole room burst out laughing. Everyone thought I was a total hypocrite. But Sterling smiled. He walked over, tilted my chin up, and said, "Nicely done. Game over. You win." The next day, the payment for my sister's surgery hit the account. I let out a breath of relief and sent him a message. "Mr. Holt, thank you so much. But there's already someone I love... about the engagement..." He replied instantly with a video. In the clip, my frail little sister and my childhood sweetheart boyfriend were locked in a deep kiss. My boyfriend's voice was sickly sweet. "Baby, your sister's so stupid. She's willing to risk her life for you. Once we get the money, we'll travel the world together." Right after, Sterling called me. His voice had a teasing edge to it. "Still wanna back out now... my darling fiancée?"

At the Lucero Group's centennial gala, I walked in on Xavier Lucero pressing Evelyn Singleton down onto a sofa, the fabric of his suit pants brushing against her torn stockings. "Get out!" He snapped, his voice full of irritation at being interrupted. I looked away and said calmly, "I'm sorry," before shutting the door behind me. Even with the door closed, Evelyn's breathless gasps and the unmistakable sounds of them together echoed into the hall. It felt like half the city had gathered outside. They all stood there, watching me be humiliated outside the room while my husband slept with someone else. I hesitated for only a moment before coming up with a graceful excuse. "Xavier and Ms. Singleton are dealing with something urgent. They may be a while." Someone let out a dry laugh. One of the socialites patted my hand with a knowing sigh. "Aurora, you're always so composed." The pity in her eyes was unmistakable. She wasn't wrong. By now, Xavier's wife being understanding had become a running joke in this circle. This was the ninth time. The ninth time I had caught him and Evelyn together. The first time was in our marital home. Back then, I still believed in love. I smashed everything within reach, crying as I demanded to know why. He stood there, watching me with cold eyes. When I finally collapsed from exhaustion, he said, "Aurora, stop acting like a madwoman and embarrassing the Lucero family." The second time happened in his car. I followed them for three hours and blocked the car before they could leave. He pressed Evelyn back against the passenger seat and looked straight at me. "If you're that determined to watch, then watch carefully. At least Evelyn knows how to please a man better in bed than you do." The third time... The fourth time... I cried, fought, and made scenes. None of it changed a thing. The only thing that changed was the hollow in my chest. It kept getting wider until, eventually, even the pain stopped feeling like pain.

Everyone in Asterfall City knew Sophia Lloyd was the woman Vincent Fowler had risked everything to bring back from Cordilla, and that when it came to love, she was dangerously possessive. She hated it when he had dinner alone with another woman. She had his chest inked with her name, called him at random just to check in, and held on to him with everything she had. Then she caught him cheating with her own eyes, and the shock caused her to miscarry. After that, she burned the villa to the ground and fled the country. A month later, Vincent had her dragged back. He used her mother's illness as leverage to force her back into his control, locking her under house arrest for six months. During those six months, he held her down night after night, murmuring in her ear with equal parts desire and regret. "I've been miserable every single day since you disappeared. If you'll give us another chance, I'll save your mother myself." So when they got back together, Sophia became the perfect wife in his eyes. She stopped checking up on him. She stopped getting jealous. She shut down every feeling she had left for him. Even when Quinn Conrad ended up naked in the master bedroom, Sophia quietly moved out and said to Vincent. "She's the donor you found for my mother. She should be comfortable. I can sleep on the cot at the hospital." Everyone said Sophia had finally matured, but Vincent slowly realized she hadn't become understanding. She was avoiding him. When he traveled for work, she no longer clung to him. When he called her first, she no longer kept him on a video call just to make sure he was really alone. On their wedding anniversary, she told him to spend the evening with Quinn. When he got drunk, she sent Quinn her hangover remedy and had her make it for him. It was as if she had handed her home to another woman and moved her own life into the hospital. At that moment, she stood outside the transplant unit, sick with worry. The doctor frowned. "Where is the donor? Your mother has already gone through the preparation for the transplant. If we delay this any longer, her life will be in danger!" Quinn shrank into Vincent's arms, tears filling her eyes. "Vincent, I heard bone marrow donation hurts. I'm really scared. Can't you find someone else?"

Janice Shannon had been by Leopold Vargas' side back when he had nothing but ambition and a future no one else could see. In those hardest years, they could barely afford contraception, and there were times they were too afraid of an unplanned pregnancy to touch each other at all. But in the very year Leopold's career took off, he betrayed Janice and married Delilah Leblanc, the heiress of the Leblanc family in Los Angeles. She was young, spoiled, and fiercely possessive, treating Janice like an enemy from the moment they met. The first time Delilah saw her, she raised her hand and sneered. "Nobody takes what's mine!" But before the slap could land, Leopold caught Delilah's wrist, his expression turning cold, and shoved her back. "I married you because of your father. But I never agreed to let you touch my wife." That was when Janice learned the truth. Asher Leblanc had used his control over the company to force Leopold's hand, demanding that Delilah be recognized publicly as Mrs. Vargas. Janice had never considered divorce, but she gave in to Leopold's promises. "Janice, you are my only wife. I promise she will never come before you, and I will never lie to you again!" From that moment on, Janice was forced to share her husband with another woman.

After burying her three-year-old son, Chaya Wilkins pulled a knife from her sleeve and drove it straight into her husband, Thiago Lowery. Thiago's eyes widened, shock and pain flashing across them, the same eyes she had once spent ten years obsessing over, now clouded with an unreadable confusion. "Chaya... You..." The funeral descended into chaos as everyone froze, stunned by what had just happened. Thiago was rushed to the hospital, and Willow Jenkins, the childhood friend he had grown up with, immediately dialed the police. The police took Chaya away shortly afterward. But within a day, they released her. Outside the station, Thiago stood there, his face pale, the wound in his abdomen still throbbing beneath the bandages. His voice was rough and strained, but the concern was impossible to miss. "Chaya, I just woke up this morning. You spent the whole night in there. Are you okay? I'm sorry. Willow called the police because she panicked." Chaya looked at him coldly, her voice devoid of emotion. "You're hard to kill. I was aiming for something vital." Her words landed like a blow to his chest. The pain twisted inside him, and his throat went dry, leaving him barely able to speak. "Chaya, I know you blame me. I know you hate me. Zach is gone, and I'm hurting too..." "Hurting?" Chaya interrupted him, her words slicing through the air. Fury blazed in her eyes. "You have the nerve to talk about hurting?" At his stunned silence, she stepped closer, her anger practically freezing the air between them. "You showed up at our son's funeral dressed like you and Willow had planned your outfits together!"

On the flight heading overseas, Conrad Gibson suddenly suffered a severe asthma attack. Fortunately, the passenger beside him, Humphrey Blake, sprang into action with first aid and saved his life. Once Conrad caught his breath and started to thank him, Humphrey waved it off with a warm laugh. "If you want to thank anyone, thank my wife. She's the one who taught me all those emergency tricks." He grinned and waved a pregnancy test slip in his hand. "My wife is expecting. I cut my business trip short just to rush back and see her. Saving you today feels like a little blessing for our baby." Conrad noticed the sparkling diamond ring on Humphrey's finger and could not help but sigh. "You two really have a wonderful marriage." "Yeah, you have no idea how much she fusses over me. Even this sweater I'm wearing, she knitted it herself." Humphrey's face lit up with a mixture of sweet affection and playful exasperation. Conrad thought of his own wife, Maeve Barnes, and a tender smile softened his features. They had been married seven years. For their anniversary, Maeve had given him a one-of-a-kind custom ring and promised she would love only him for the rest of her life. This time, he had kept his trip secret from her, hoping to surprise her on her birthday. His heart filled with anticipation. The moment the plane landed, and he stepped out of the arrivals gate, he spotted a petite figure in a fitted long dress waiting ahead. Joy flashed across his face. Before he could call out, Humphrey threw his arms wide open, pulled the woman into a tight embrace, and planted a loving kiss on her forehead. "Honey!" In that instant, Conrad felt as if ice had flooded his veins. He stood frozen like a statue, watching Humphrey kiss Maeve's forehead with such tenderness. "The weather turned chilly today. Why didn't you wear more layers? What if you catch a cold? I'd be heartbroken." Maeve handed him the coat draped over her arm. As she did, her gaze landed on Conrad standing just a short distance away. Their eyes met. Conrad's eyes reddened with unshed tears.

Emily Spencer was the cherished daughter of one of Kingboport's most distinguished literary families, raised under the strictest standards of propriety. And yet, she had now been dragged through two scandals so public and humiliating that they became the talk of the entire social circle. The first scandal exploded across the internet when intimate photos of her in bed with her fiancé's sworn enemy went viral. Insiders sneered with vicious delight. "Look at her, acting like some cheap dancer from a nightclub. She's got moves even those girls couldn't pull off." The second came when her fiancé, Brenton Richardson, poured millions into throwing a lavish birthday celebration for the simple-minded girl he was keeping as his mistress. People in the circle laughed out loud. "She comes from a cultured family, but over the past three years she's practically driven herself crazy, and she still can't even compete with a girl like that." Emily could only offer a faint, self-mocking smile in response. Yes, she had truly lost her mind for him. Brenton had been her childhood sweetheart, the one she adored. Their families had celebrated their engagement right after graduation, everything falling perfectly into place. But one month before the wedding, she was framed and violated by Marcellus Coleman, Brenton's sworn enemy. The compromising photos were splashed across every platform. Marcellus even taunted Brenton directly. "Your precious fiancée seduced me." Brenton responded with cold fury, spending six months crushing the Coleman family until they fled the country entirely. He never called off the engagement, yet their wedding was postponed again and again under endless excuses. Emily had tried countless times to explain the truth, but Marcellus's words had already rooted themselves deep in Brenton's mind. Slowly, that poison turned into justification. He began cheating without shame.

In the second month after the birth of their third child, Jeremy Sawyer met his wife Laura Lane for the third time since her move to Paron, where she had been running her business for five years. She had returned this time to register the child for citizenship. This time, he did not argue. He did not make a scene. He was no longer like the previous two times when the child had been taken away after registration, when he had knelt on the ground in heartbreak and begged. Instead, he handed over the third child on his own. His face was calm, which made Laura slightly surprised. "Not going to make a fuss?" Jeremy lowered his head and spoke in a hoarse voice, "Laura, your company is getting bigger. I'd feel at ease if the baby stays with you, the mother." Laura looked out the window. Her voice sounded rough. "Work in Paron is busy. I will not stay this time. Please take care of my father." Jeremy started to say, "Dad is..." Laura stood up and interrupted him. "Dad has dementia. He does not even remember me when we meet. I will not visit him." She lifted her head and placed a cold kiss on his face. Then, she left holding the child. The door closed. Jeremy swallowed the word, "dead." He slowly pulled out the divorce agreement from under the pillow and murmured to himself, "It has been five years. You have come to see me three times. This time, I will go to Paron to see you."

Mid-flight on her trip abroad, Yara Dye suffered a sudden asthma attack. She survived only thanks to the passenger sitting beside her, Annie Jensen, who administered emergency first aid. As Yara finally caught her breath and was about to thank her, she heard Annie speak with a soft smile. "If you want to thank someone, thank my husband. He's the one who taught me how." Annie gently stroked her swollen belly. "Think of it as me putting a little good karma out there for the baby." Yara's gaze dropped to the diamond ring glinting on Annie's finger, and she couldn't help but sigh softly. "You two have such a sweet marriage." "Right? You have no idea how clingy and fussy he can be." A sweet, just-a-little-exasperated smile tugged at Annie's lips. "Even the sweater I'm wearing? He knitted it." The mention of a devoted husband made Yara think of Shawn Ewing, and a soft, tender smile bloomed on her face. On their seventh wedding anniversary, Shawn had given her a matching ring, vowing to love only her for the rest of his life. This trip abroad was a secret. Yara had planned to come back unexpectedly on his birthday and surprise him. Quiet anticipation filling her, she stepped through the arrival gate the moment the plane landed. Almost immediately, she spotted a tall, slender figure in a trench coat standing a little ways ahead. Joy flared bright in her eyes. Before she could call out to him, Annie threw herself straight into the man's arms, calling out affectionately, "Honey!" In an instant, every inch of Yara's body went ice-cold. She froze on the spot like a statue, watching Shawn lean down and press a soft kiss to Annie's forehead. "The temperature dropped today. Why didn't you throw on another layer?" Shawn slipped off his trench coat and draped it gently over Annie's shoulders. Mid-motion, his gaze lifted and locked onto Yara, standing alone in the distance. Their eyes met. In that instant, tears welled up and glistened in Yara's reddening eyes.

I've been trapped in these mountains for six months. They only let me out of the yard to eat because I'm pregnant. To my surprise, Mrs. Gable gave me an extra piece of meat tonight. "Eat up. Mayor Jenkins is sending someone for you tomorrow. He needs your womb. His third son is also a half-wit. You're already carrying one, so what's one more?" I lay in the woodshed, staring at the rafters all night. Just as I was about to drift off, a tiny voice whispered, "Mom, the door isn't locked! Run! Mayor Jenkins will be here in an hour. He’s 'borrowed' three women before, and none of them made it out alive." My palms broke into a cold sweat. Just as I was about to bolt, lines of text suddenly flashed before my eyes. "Don't move! Mrs. Gable is wide awake, just waiting for you to make a move! If you run, she'll burst in and break your legs! That kid is a trafficker's seed. He wants to trap you here forever!"

Lydia had been protected from the moment she was born. Her father was the infamous Mafia Kingpin who ruled over Dunmire, his influence woven through countless industries, and Lydia was his only daughter. Yet even that level of power could not shield her completely. She survived countless kidnapping attempts growing up, and at sixteen, she lost her mother forever. Afterward, she broke ties with her father and returned to the country alone. She enrolled at Westbridge Medical University in the South, became a doctor, and eventually fell in love with Ethan, the city's most celebrated young surgical prodigy. Ethan had entered Westbridge Medical University's gifted youth program at twelve, completed his doctorate by eighteen, and quickly risen to become one of the city's top surgeons. To Lydia, he was everything her father was not: gentle, kind, dependable, and deeply devoted to both his patients and his family. When Lydia suffered through painful periods, Ethan would pull her cold feet against his stomach to warm them. When she worked overnight shifts, he stayed awake beside her until dawn. And after she became pregnant, he was so overjoyed that he practically told every doctor and patient in the hospital, "I'm going to be a father." Lydia truly believed they would stay this happy forever. Then Vivian was admitted to the hospital. It was the first time Lydia had ever seen Ethan lose control. The moment he heard Vivian's name, he rushed out of the office as though he had gone mad. Yet when he finally reached her hospital room, he stopped himself from entering and simply stood outside the glass door, his body trembling faintly as he stared at the woman inside with unmistakable longing in his eyes. Lydia immediately sensed something was wrong, but Ethan only explained patiently, "Vivian and I were classmates back then. Focus on your pregnancy and don't overthink things." After becoming Vivian's attending physician, Ethan gradually started leaving home earlier and coming back later each night. Lydia wanted to question him further, but her pregnancy had become unstable, and she eventually decided to schedule an early C-section instead. That day, she received her latest prenatal test results and planned to discuss the surgery with Ethan. But the moment she reached his office door, Ethan suddenly burst out from inside before she even had the chance to enter. Lydia slammed hard into the wall, caught completely off guard, and instantly felt warmth spreading between her legs. Her water had broken. "Honey... hurry and take me to the operating room..." Panicked, Lydia reached toward Ethan, but before she could finish speaking, he violently slapped her hand away. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at her with terrifying fury. "What did you do to Vivian?" Lydia could not even process the accusation. What could she possibly have done to Vivian? But the violent pain twisting through her abdomen left her unable to think clearly. Cold sweat poured down her forehead as she clutched her stomach in agony. "Honey... Ethan..." "If anything happens to Vivian, I'll never forgive you." Ethan looked at her coldly before turning and hurrying away without another glance. Lydia collapsed against the wall while blood and fluid soaked the floor beneath her. In the end, it was only a passing nurse who rushed her into the operating room. By then, wave after wave of brutal contractions were already tearing through her body. She gripped the bedsheets tightly, trembling from the pain, before forcing out a weak question. "Where did Ethan go...?" The nurse was drenched in sweat herself as she answered anxiously, "The patient in Room 432 attempted suicide. Dr. Walker went to see her. Dr. Lancaster, please hang in there!" The words struck Lydia like a blow. Room 432 was Vivian's room. She clenched her teeth, drew in a trembling breath, and forced herself to endure the pain alone.

Five years after the divorce, Sadie Ross ran into her ex husband at the hospital. The hallway was packed. Footsteps echoed everywhere, mixed with overlapping conversations and ringing phones. The noise was almost overwhelming. Ethan Gordon stepped out of his office in a white coat, his expression cold and unreadable. He was walking fast and didn't notice Sadie standing ahead of him before he slammed right into her. The medicine boxes in her arms scattered across the floor instantly, rolling in every direction. "Sorry," Sadie said coolly, though there was a trace of irritation beneath her calm tone. "I walked into the wrong department." Ethan frowned as his gaze swept over the pills on the ground. A second later, realization flickered across his face. "So now you buy birth control pills yourself?" he said lazily. "Funny. Back then, in bed, you were strict as hell with me. No condoms, no touching you. Those were your rules." As he spoke, he crouched down and quickly picked up every box, stuffing them back into the bag. Sadie reached out to take it, but Ethan didn't let go. She froze for a second before slowly lifting her head, meeting his unreadable eyes. "Sadie," he said quietly, staring at her face. "Didn't think you'd still be this good at hiding after all these years." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks to you, Mr. Gordon, not a single company in West City would hire me. The tiny places willing to take me probably aren't worth your attention anyway." Ethan's gaze swept over her openly from head to toe. A mocking look crept into his eyes. "I thought you were so desperate to divorce me because you found someone better. Guess your new guy isn't exactly impressive either." Through Ethan's eyes, Sadie could clearly see how awful she looked now. Her face was pale. Her body was frighteningly thin. The plain clothes hanging off her only made her look more exhausted and fragile. Nothing about her resembled the untouchable rich girl she used to be. A dull ache spread through her chest. Sadie didn't want to stay another second.  Tightening her grip slightly, she tried to pull the medicine bag back, but Ethan acted like he didn't notice. His fingers remained locked around it. Annoyance slowly rose inside her. "What kind of life I live has nothing to do with you," she said coldly. "We're divorced, remember?" The words seemed to snap Ethan back to reality. His body stiffened, and he suddenly let go. Sadie had already been pulling hard, so the sudden release threw her off balance. She stumbled backward and crashed hard onto the cold floor. Ethan instinctively stepped forward, his hand already reaching toward her. But halfway there, he stopped. After a long pause, Ethan slowly pulled his hand back. "I already investigated what happened back then," he said at last. "I won't target you anymore." He hesitated briefly before adding in a more complicated tone, "Where's your husband? Why didn't he come with you?" Sadie felt nothing hearing that. She was no longer the woman who would break down because of his distrust. Biting her lip, Sadie braced herself against the floor and slowly stood up. After dusting herself off, she said nothing. She didn't even look at Ethan again before turning and walking away.

To save Everly Mason's daughter, Harper Mason, Aiden Stone drained blood from Anya Shaw's daughter, Isla Stone, three separate times. Three days after Isla bled to death, Anya hired people to kidnap Aiden and his precious first love, Everly. She pressed a knife against Aiden's throat, her eyes burning with pure hatred. "Aiden, one of you dies tonight. You pick. You, or her." Aiden stared at her in shock. His sharp, handsome face was filled with disbelief. "Anya, have you lost your mind?" "My heart hurts over Isla too. But Harper just got out of heart surgery. Everly and I need to get back and give her medication. Let us go." The moment Anya heard Isla's name, her eyes turned bloodshot. Her hand trembled so badly that she didn't even notice the blade slicing into Aiden's neck. "You don't deserve to say her name!" Anya screamed. "Isla was perfectly healthy, but you drained her blood again and again just to save Everly's daughter. You killed her! She wasn't even three years old yet! You say you were hurting too? The day our daughter died, you threw a damn drone light show across the city to celebrate Harper surviving surgery! What kind of father does that?" Pain and fury twisted across Anya's face. She looked completely unhinged. "If you can't choose, then both of you can die and be buried with my daughter. Don't worry, I'm not planning to live either. Two lives for two lives, sounds fair to me." Then she drove the knife straight into Aiden's chest. Warm blood splattered across Everly's face. The shock woke her instantly. "AHHH! Somebody help! She's trying to kill us!" The scream echoed through the warehouse like thunder. The people searching for Aiden immediately found the location. They burst through the doors, wrestled the knife away from Anya, and rescued Aiden and Everly. By the time Aiden finally made it out of critical condition, seven days had passed. The first thing he did after waking up was go to the psychiatric hospital and personally get Anya released. The moment he saw her, guilt flashed across his face. "Anya, Everly didn't mean to scream and alert my family. She was just scared... Are you hurt?" Anya slowly touched the bruises and burns covering her body. There were marks from electric shocks, beatings, and whip lashes layered over her skin. A cold smile tugged at her lips. "Aiden, the only thing I regret is not killing you." Aiden staggered back as if the words physically hurt him. "Anya, I know you hate me. I know you blame me. But Isla is gone now. We have to move forward. We can still have more children..." His casual tone made her whole body shake with rage. She shoved him like crazy. "Get out! I never want to see you again!" Aiden fell hard onto the floor. Blood slowly spread across his white dress shirt. He frowned in pain. "Okay. Okay, Anya, don't get upset. I'm leaving."

Word spread among their social circle that Kate Allen was cursed to lose her children. She had conceived three times, only to give birth to stillborn babies each time. And now, she had lost her fourth child as well. When Kate woke up, the first thing she saw was Barry Kent sitting beside her bed, his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. Seeing her awake, Barry lowered his head, took her hand, and said in a hoarse, sorrowful voice, "Kate... we're still young. We can have more children..." His phone vibrated, cutting him off. He glanced at the screen, then hesitated and looked at her. "Lucy Brown just texted. Herry Kent's having nightmares again and keeps asking for me. I..." Kate pulled her hand away calmly. "Go." Barry froze. In the past, Kate had always minded Lucy's presence deeply. Lucy was his late brother's widow—and also his first love. Kate had been jealous and upset countless times over how he doted on Lucy. But this time, she was unnervingly calm. "Kate, if you don't want me to go, I'll stay here with you..." "It's fine," Kate said flatly. "I'm alright here. Just go." Barry stared at her for a long moment before finally standing up to leave. "I'll be right back." Kate watched him walk away, bitterness spreading through her heart. Year after year, she kept giving birth to stillborns. She had always thought it was her poor health, that she hadn't been able to nurture her babies well. Until that day. She'd gone to a maternity store to prepare things for her fourth unborn child. As soon as she stepped inside, a familiar Bentley pulled up at the entrance. Barry and Lucy got out hand in hand, exchanging a soft smile like a real married couple. Kate froze on the spot. Lucy's son was almost four years old—why was she here at a maternity shop? Hiding behind the shelves, Kate listened to their conversation. Lucy's voice sounded melancholy. "Barry... I've always envied Kate. She's able to have so many children with you... When I fell ill and had my uterus removed, you rushed to stay with me all night. Knowing I couldn't accept never having children of my own, you decided to take Kate's baby to raise as mine, telling everyone it was my late husband's posthumous child. Later, when I said Herry was lonely all alone, you let Kate get pregnant twice more and gave both newborns to me." Lucy continued, "Barry... thank you." Barry paused, then finally replied, "I know you've always loved children. Granting your wish is the least I can do to take care of you for my brother's sake." Kate bit her lip hard until she tasted blood in her mouth. Each of her past three births had nearly cost her life. The first time, she'd hemorrhaged and fallen into a three-day coma. The second, she'd suffered a severe postpartum infection with a high fever of forty degrees. The third, a complicated breech birth that turned into an emergency C-section, leaving her on the operating table for six hours. Barry knew all of it. Yet all her agony meant nothing to him compared to Lucy. "After this next baby is given to you," Barry said quietly, "let Kate keep the one after that." He pressed his lips together. "She's suffered enough all these years, blaming herself every night and relying on antidepressants... She's still my wife. I can't bear to watch her waste away like this." Lucy replied softly, "Alright. Whatever you say. Take the fourth baby for me, and leave all the rest to her." "Have you picked out what you need? Let's go." Only after the Bentley drove away did Kate stumble out of the store. It had started to rain. The downpour soaked her clothes, leaving her shivering with cold. The first time she had met Barry, it had been raining like this too. She had pulled him out of a crashed car and rushed him to the hospital. When he woke up, he had searched everywhere for her. The moment he saw her, he had said, "You saved my life. I'll spend the rest of my life repaying you." She hadn't taken it seriously—but he had. No matter how late she worked, he would be waiting downstairs to take her home. Whatever snack she mentioned casually, he would bring it to her the next day. When she had a fever, he would stay by her side, refusing to sleep for nights. On the day he proposed, he had rented every LED screen in the city. The only message displayed was, "Let me take care of you for the rest of your life, Kate." Everyone had envied how well he treated her. The only thing that bothered her was Lucy, his widowed sister-in-law. It was only after they married that she learned Lucy had been his first love. Lucy had lived abroad with Barry's brother for years. After his brother died, she had been brought back to the country. After Lucy's return, Kate had clearly noticed Barry's unusually kind treatment of her. She had argued with him about it, but he had knelt before her and sworn, "My brother is gone. I'm the only one left to take care of her and her child." "Kate, you're my wife. No one will ever come before you in my heart." She had believed him. But what she had gotten in return was one "stillborn" baby after another. Every night, she had woken up from nightmares, wondering if she was truly cursed to kill her own children. But the truth was, her babies were alive and well—they just called another woman "Mom." Every time she had cried out in agony over losing her child, she had been paving the way for another woman's happiness. Kate's heart ached so much she could barely breathe. Tears streamed down her face. The baby in her belly seemed to sense her distress and started kicking violently. A sharp pain shot through her lower abdomen. She looked down and saw rainwater mixed with blood streaming down her legs. Trembling, she pulled out her phone and called the ambulance—then lost consciousness completely. When she woke up again, she was told she had given birth to another stillborn. Thinking back to everything, Kate laughed. As she laughed, tears rolled down her cheeks—tears of disappointment in Barry, and tears of relief that her baby was actually alive. Kate wiped her tears, took out her phone, and called her brother. "James, I want a divorce." "Did Barry hurt you?!" Her brother's voice turned urgent. "If our family's business didn't require secrecy, you wouldn't have had to hide your identity for so long. But that's over now. Taking down The Kent family is easy for me. Don't worry—I'll be back in the country in two days!" Kate's eyes grew warm. "James, there's something I need you to help me with..." She was going to take back her children, and those who had stolen her babies would pay for what they'd done.

Clara Lane never expected that her first assignment filling in for the anti–vice squad would end up targeting her own husband. She froze outside the door, unable to believe the face she saw through the half-open doorway. Julian Rivers sat in the shadows, calmly smoking a cigarette while staring intently at the girl kneeling before him. He leaned forward and casually lifted the girl’s chin with the hand holding his cigarette. "Your father’s debt has already climbed to five million with interest, hasn’t it? How long do you think it would take to pay that off working at a nightclub?" The girl trembled all over. "Why not agree to my offer? Be my mistress for one year, and the debt would be cleared." He suddenly reached out and pulled the girl into his arms. She cried out and struggled, but he subdued her effortlessly. He took out a velvet box and opened it, revealing the Pink Star Necklace inside. "I saw it at an auction yesterday," Julian said softly. "I thought it would look perfect on you. Put it on. Think it over carefully. I’ll wait for your answer." Standing at the doorway, Clara felt all the blood in her body turn to ice. She had seen that necklace in Julian’s study three days ago. He had just returned from overseas then, and when she asked about it, he had replied casually, "It’s a gift for you. Open it on our anniversary in a few days." Back then, she had laughed at how mysterious he was. But now, seeing that necklace around another woman’s neck felt like a brutal slap across her face. The girl bit her lower lip, eyes reddening. "I may be poor, but I won’t sell myself! I’ll pay the money back! Mr. Sherlock, I won’t agree to this!" The other well-dressed men in the private room burst into laughter. One of them swirled his wine glass and sneered, "Plenty of women would kill to get into Julian’s bed, and he doesn’t even look twice at them. It’s been two years since Julian remarried, and this is the first time he’s cared this much about a woman. He helped deal with the debt collectors your father brought on himself and even got you a job here. Scarlett, if you ask me, that’s already more than generous. Even Julian’s actual wife—" Julian lifted his gaze without saying a word, and the man immediately shut up awkwardly. He looked back at the girl, his tone softening with a hint of pleading. "How about this? Have dinner with me tonight. One meal. One hundred thousand. Is that acceptable now?" Clara felt as if an invisible hand had clenched her heart, the pain spreading through her entire body. After knowing him for so many years, she understood this wealthy heir’s temperament better than anyone. He had been spoiled his entire life, always getting whatever he wanted, and he could not stand being defied. Under normal circumstances, if someone had dared to reject him like this again and again, he would have made sure they could not survive another day in Riverport. But toward this girl, not only was he not angry, he was unexpectedly gentle. Three years ago, in this very nightclub, she had caught Julian fooling around on the couch with a dance student. She had just graduated from the police academy back then. Young and hot-tempered, she flipped the table on the spot and threw divorce papers in front of him the next day. Julian had signed them with a cold sneer, saying that if she wanted a divorce, then fine. But soon after, he went insane searching the entire city for her, and even followed her to Latin America while she was on assignment.

Rumors rife in Riverfront City claimed that Lucy Grant of the Grant family and Dany Hayes of the Hayes family were a match made in heaven. As Riverfront City's most famous news anchor, Lucy was gentle, virtuous, self-disciplined, and polite—a proper lady from a distinguished family raised under three thousand house rules. At the helm of the Hayes family stood General Hayes, a man of icy composure, strict self-restraint, and unwavering authority in the military. Their powerful union was a perfect match, envied by countless onlookers. Yet even this seemingly flawless marriage began to fray. In the ninth year... Headlines blazed across newspapers once more: General Hayes caught kissing a college student. This time, Lucy did not threaten to break up the affair with tears, tantrums, or suicide, as she had the first time. Instead, she neatly clipped the page showing their kiss, handed it to General Hayes's assistant, and said calmly, "I will cover for him in front of the reporters and explain this 'misunderstanding.' As usual, I want the latest collection from Celestial Diamond at the State-owned Department Store counter..." Before she finished speaking, the assistant immediately laid out a jewelry set between them. It was exactly the design Lucy had requested. Clearly, General Hayes knew this routine all too well. And Lucy, in just half a year, had finally learned to secure the best possible deal for herself amid his infidelity. Ever since Nina Allen, the college student, had appeared, scandalous headlines had never stopped.

This was the ninth time Flora Keenan had booked a wedding photoshoot. Jonathan Lane still did not show up and only texted her. Jonathan: [Flora, I'm sorry. Training has been crazy lately. I really can't make it.] Jonathan: [Behave. Don't be mad at me.] This time, she did not get angry like she had in the past. Instead, she just turned off her phone and quietly left by herself. Night had already fallen. On the subway, the two girls beside her suddenly gasped in excitement. "Oh my gosh! Jonathan and Flora, the ice-skating power couple, are getting married next month? Is this real?" "They even posted their custom wedding rings online! Jonathan posted it on his official account too. It has to be real!" Flora quickly pulled out her phone. Her fingers shook slightly. It was true. Just two minutes ago, Jonathan had posted on Weibo and tagged her. The photos showed their brightest moments on the ice. There was also a huge diamond ring designed by a world-famous jeweler. Their initials were engraved inside it. Jonathan: [Flora, our wedding is finally happening.] Her eyes instantly turned red. Tears filled them as all the sadness from him standing her up disappeared. That idiot. They had agreed to keep the wedding private so it would not affect this season's competition. Why had he suddenly made it public? Warmth spread through her chest. Instead of going home, she went straight to the rink. Eight years ago, Flora and Jonathan had both been chosen for the nation's top rink. They became partners in pair figure skating. Jonathan was cold, elegant, and impossible to approach. He was the Ice Prince every girl dreamed about. Flora was graceful and pure, like an angel. Every media company wanted to interview her. For eight years, they skated perfectly together and competed in countless tournaments. For two years in a row, they won the world championship title. They had been skating partners for eight years. They had also loved each other for eight years. Their biggest dream was to win the next world championship and take home a third straight title. After that, they would retire together, get married, and start a family. But half a year ago, everything changed during training. They were practicing a difficult quadruple twist lift when Jonathan made a mistake during the throw. The moment Flora landed, her skate blade suddenly snapped. Her ankle shattered the instant she hit the ground. She would never compete again. Jonathan had knelt beside her hospital bed with tears in his eyes and proposed to her. "Flora, marry me. In this life, you are my only perfect partner on the ice. You are also my only love." With all their teammates watching, she cried and said yes. To avoid affecting his final competition, she buried the urge to make their relationship public and secretly started preparing for the wedding. A woman who had once been proud and dazzling gave up her comfortable retirement plans. She stayed at the training base and became an assistant coach, handling every small task no one else wanted to do. Jonathan would often pull her into his arms, guilt filling his red eyes. "Flora, I've let you down. Once I win this final championship, we'll retire together." But somewhere along the way, Jonathan changed. He always said he was busy. Even though they were still at the same training base, they spent less and less time together. Flora slowly became anxious. She kept overthinking everything and felt more lost every day. But Jonathan's sudden public announcement had completely surprised her and filled her with happiness. The rink was empty. Flora searched everywhere for him. As she walked past the rehabilitation room, she suddenly heard soft gasps and moans coming from inside. They belonged to a man and a woman. Her steps stopped. Then, she slowly pushed the door open.

Vivienne Calloway had always been known as the good girl, the kind who never caused trouble, never stepped out of line. The most reckless thing she ever did was crawl into her stepbrother Julian Ashford's bed on the night of her eighteenth birthday. Julian had been cold and resistant at first. Then came the lust. After that, he kept her up until the small hours every night, unwilling to let her go. Eight years they were together. On the day she won the Best Emerging Journalist Award, Julian booked the bridal suite at The Swan Crest Hotel, the most coveted wedding venue in Nexis City. Vivienne let herself believe it. She let herself think that after all this time, they were finally going to make it official. What greeted her instead was a camera flash in the dark while she slept. She jolted awake to find a woman standing at the edge of the bed, beautiful, glacial, and utterly composed. "Sweetheart." The woman's voice was silk over ice. "There's a price to pay for sleeping with my fiancé." A manicured nail dragged slowly across Vivienne's cheek. Blood welled up in its wake. But Vivienne barely felt it. She turned toward Julian, searching his face for something, an explanation, a denial, anything. He was lounging against the headboard, a cigarette between his fingers, his voice still roughened from earlier. "This is Ellie," he said. "She will be your sister-in-law, Vivi." Vivienne felt something inside her collapse. By the time she came back to herself, the photos had already spread across the internet. The comments were merciless. "Vivi, I brought you into the Ashford family so Mr. Ashford would look after you, and this is how you repay him?! Throwing yourself at your own stepbrother, shameless as you are?!" "Don't hold back. Make it hurt." Vivienne was on her knees on the floor when the whip came down across her back. Love turned to stone in an instant. Across the room, Julian calmly covered Eleanor's eyes. "Too gruesome," he murmured. "Don't look." Vivienne stared at the two of them and forgot to cry out. Eight years. Eight years of him being there for everything. When her period came, he, a man who ran an empire, had stood in the kitchen and made her brown sugar ginger tea. When she held her photography exhibition, he had bought out the entire Midtown Plaza Tower, some of the most expensive real estate in Nexis City, just to give her the space she deserved. And at night, he gave everything, as though he wanted to hollow her out completely. She had believed, truly believed, that she and Julian were heading toward something permanent. Now she understood that she had been dreaming. Fifty lashes. By the end, her back was raw and broken open. They threw her into a room and locked the door. Three days. No food, no water. Her stomach burned like something was eating through it from the inside. When they finally let her out, she could barely walk. She pushed open the door to the study, gathered her laptop in her arms, and held onto one single thought: she was leaving the Ashford family, and she was never coming back. Then she stopped. Her flash drive was gone. Six months of work. Every frame, every interview, every sleepless night she had poured into her submission for the Best Journalism Award vanished. She went downstairs and pulled up the security footage. "Mr. Ashford, you gave the flash drive to Miss Whitfield. What do we do if Miss Calloway finds out?" The assistant's voice. Vivienne's footsteps froze. "It'll be fine." Julian's tone was easy, unbothered. "She owed Ellie that much anyway." The assistant hesitated. When he finally spoke again, his voice was careful, almost pained. "But… Miss Calloway's photos are all over the internet. Everyone is tearing her apart. She's already been punished. Why are you still doing this to her?" "This way Ellie gets the award she's always wanted," Julian said, "and Vivienne finally lets go of ideas she never should have had in the first place." He leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. "Frankly, I'm so tired of having to deal with her."

On the day of the first snow, Northbrook was rocked by the worst kidnapping the city had seen in twenty years. Cindy Shaw, wife of senior diplomatic envoy Jasper Chase, was abducted on her way to a charity gala. The kidnappers had orchestrated every detail far in advance and broadcast the entire ordeal live. Day one. Cindy's left arm was shattered with a steel pipe. They forced her to kneel on the freezing concrete floor. She bit down hard on her lip, stifling every scream—but she could still hear the sickening crunch of her own bones breaking. Jasper watched the live feed, his face cold and impassive as always. Day two. The kidnappers fired ten rounds right next to her ears. Blood poured from Cindy's ears, and the world dissolved into a piercing, high-pitched whine. Jasper pressed his lips into a thin line and still said nothing. Day three. The kidnappers ran out of patience. They hauled Cindy to her feet and slashed through her blood-soaked dress with a knife. "Jasper! Hand over what we want, or everyone gets to watch what we do to your wife!" They were after a top-secret core intelligence file. If it got out, the consequences would be catastrophic. On the massive screen, Jasper's expression remained utterly detached. "Impossible. No document is worth a human life—not even my wife's." Cindy didn't catch the rest of his words, but she read his lips perfectly. "Sacrifice is expected." Four words. Spoken so casually, yet they slammed into her chest like a stone sinking straight to the bottom. Truth be told, Cindy had never been afraid of death. Once the bold, fiery young heiress of the Shaw family, she'd chased after Jasper for five years before becoming his wife. Having stood by his side day in and day out, she understood perfectly what loyalty to country demanded, and what it meant to face life and death without flinching. One of the kidnappers, seething with rage, grabbed Cindy by the hair and yanked her head back. "So your wife's not afraid to die, huh? Fine. I'll make her wish she were dead!" The blade dragged across her collarbone. A filthy hand started unbuttoning her dress, and the man sneered as he spoke. "Ms. Shaw, any last words for your husband? Go on—beg him to save you." Cindy lifted her gaze and stared straight at Jasper on the screen. His back was still ramrod straight. Not a single crease furrowed his brow. It was like the battered, blood-soaked woman in front of the camera had nothing to do with him at all. "Jasper. If I die here today—" She paused, her voice rough and raw. "Will you regret using me as bait so Jenna wouldn't have to go?" Jasper's pupils constricted. His fists clenched in an instant. The kidnapper froze too. His hand stopped mid-motion, and he thrust the knife up sharply. "What did you just say? Who the hell is Jenna?" At that exact moment, the iron gate of the abandoned factory blew open. S.W.A.T. officers flooded in from every direction. The kidnappers fought back in a frenzy, cursing and scrambling to kill Cindy. In the chaos, a bullet tore straight through her left shoulder. Cindy screamed. The force of the impact slammed her hard onto the ground. The last thing she saw was Jasper finally bolting up from his seat in front of the screen. Then the darkness swallowed her whole. ***** Cindy's mind drifted back to that quiet afternoon. She had walked up to the study door, a cup of coffee in her hand. "The Gray Foxes are ruthless. Are you seriously sending Cindy in as bait instead of Jenna?" It was Cole Cain, Jasper's second-in-command. "She's a pampered, sheltered heiress with zero self-defense training. This is way too dangerous for her." Cindy's hand froze on the doorknob. She stood outside the door, her entire body rigid.

"Mrs. Shelton, Kaiden has been involved in another incident with his classmates. If this happens again, the school may have to consider asking him to leave." Clarissa Huber stepped out of the operating room and realized this was the tenth time this month her son's teacher had called. She closed her eyes, feeling completely drained. Her boy used to be so sweet, but in just a few months, he'd turned into a totally different person. He wasn't just bullying kids at school. He was intentionally ripping up her clothes to upset her and trashing the research papers she'd spent all night working on. She let out a long sigh and hurried to the school, where she saw a familiar face waiting for her with a smile. Marvin Shelton gave their son a playful tap on the head. "Giving Mom a hard time again, Kai? Come on, say you're sorry." The boy gave a cold snort and turned his head away. "Honey," Marvin said with a shrug, "I actually booked a session with a child psychologist for tonight. Let's take him; maybe they can figure out what's going on." "Okay." Clarissa offered a faint smile. No matter what happened, as long as Marvin was there, she always felt a sense of peace. She couldn't help but think back to the time she almost drowned; he'd risked everything to pull her back to shore and never left her side for months after. Back then, when she was struggling so much that she started hurting herself, he'd just smile and do the exact same thing to his own skin, calling them their "matching scars." When she tried to take her own life, he slit his wrists alongside her, saying, "If this is the path you choose, I will walk it with you." A charismatic heir, the golden boy of high society, was willing to die alongside a broken person like her. At that moment, she found a reason to live. That evening, after stepping away from the operating table, Clarissa took a taxi to the location tracked by her son's GPS watch. But the moment she stepped out of the car, her footsteps froze. A woman stood with her back facing her, dotingly pinching her son's cheek. "Tell me," the woman says. "Do you like Mommy Jane more, or the mommy you have at home?" "Mommy Jane, of course!" her son exclaimed, eyes shining as he held his ice cream cone. "The mommy at home is so annoying! I wish you could just move in with us." "Kai." Marvin frowned. "Stop talking about your mother like that." Kaiden Shelton made a face and ran off. Only then did Clarissa finally see the woman's face clearly, her pupils shrinking in shock. It was the same person who had bullied her for ten whole years, the woman she had mentioned to Marvin countless times. The woman's voice rang out with chilling clarity. "I wonder how Clarissa would feel if she knew you've been sleeping with me? That'd be a hell of a show, wouldn't it?" "Jane." Marvin's tone instantly turned cold. "Clarissa is my wife. Don't push it." "It's been three years, Marvin. You can't tell me you don't feel anything," Jane said, sounding desperate. "You let Kai call me 'Mommy,' you went behind Clarissa's back to get my prison sentence shortened, and you've kept me right by your side this whole time..." "Enough," Marvin cuts her off. "Clarissa is the only one I love. You tortured her for a decade. The only reason I keep you around is to get revenge for her and make your life a living hell—" What a ridiculous joke. It was honestly pathetic. Seven years ago, when Marvin learned the truth behind her depression, his eyes had reddened. "Honey, I'll never forget the name Jane. I don't care where she hides, I'm going to make her pay." Later, he truly kept his promise and sent Jane to prison. But he had betrayed her. And the so-called "punishment" and "torment" were nothing more than— "Fine, it's a deal," Jane's voice teased. "Next time, you can tie me up and 'torment' me to death... how's that sound?" One word hit Clarissa. Disgusting.

Jenna Foster had an unexpected miscarriage and lay in critical condition on the operating table. When a family member's signature was urgently needed, her husband was nowhere to be found. This was already the third time. When she was in a car accident, trapped in the mangled wreckage with her life hanging by a thread, he was in Northern Europe watching the aurora with Lynn. When she was cornered in an underground garage by a rival and left bleeding from a head wound after a scuffle, he was in a private kitchen coaxing Lynn to eat. Now she had suffered a miscarriage, losing the child they had long hoped for. When he was finally located, her husband was playing the Good Samaritan—helping Lynn find "relief." So this time. Three days later, in the heart of Northport—on the giant outdoor screen of Central Plaza Tower, a video suddenly began to play. In the video, Jason Pierce and Lynn Summers were disheveled, their continuous moans making it crystal clear what they were doing. The crowd erupted into hushed whispers. "Aren't Jason and Jenna known for being a devoted couple?" "I used to be so jealous every time they celebrated their anniversaries so publicly." "I heard they even risked being disowned by their families and went through hell just to be together. I never expected..." "I don't believe in love anymore. Devotion changes in the blink of an eye." ... Meanwhile, in Jason's office, the atmosphere had plummeted to freezing point. Sitting in his leather chair, his expression so dark it was practically dripping with malice, he snarled, "Jenna, what exactly are you trying to achieve?" Jenna stood across from him, her back rod-straight and her face an emotionless mask, as if she weren't the one who had just stirred up such a massive scandal. "How many times do I have to explain it to you?" Jason's voice carried a suppressed rage. "Lynn was drugged that night. It was an emergency! We got stuck in traffic on the way to the hospital, so I had to help her find relief first. We didn't even go all the way!" He slammed his hand on the desk. "And you? You went and put that video on the screen at Central Plaza Tower. Did you even consider the consequences? Lynn is just a young girl. How is she supposed to show her face in public again?" Hearing this, Jenna suddenly let out a low laugh. "Show her face?" She looked up, her gaze cold as ice, and said one word at a time, "It's simple. Why don't you just marry her?" With that, she pulled a Divorce Decree from her bag and slid it in front of him. "Sign it. It's better for both of us." Jason looked at the document, his expression darkening further. He swiped it away, sending the papers fluttering to the floor. "I told you, I don't feel that way about Lynn. Stop being so unreasonable." His tone softened slightly, tinged with a hint of helplessness. "She's the sister of my former secretary, Joey. Joey died saving my life, and after he passed, Lynn was left all alone with no one to rely on. Of course I have to look after her more. What's wrong with that?" "Look after her?" Jenna raised an eyebrow, her sarcasm deepening. "You've looked after her a bit too much, haven't you, Mr. Pierce? You moved her into our home and even neglected me, your lawful wife, for her sake. Are you telling me that's just 'looking after' her?" Jason was momentarily speechless. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke slowly. "You're just upset because the baby is gone and because I had physical contact with Lynn, aren't you?" "The baby is gone, but we can have another one. It's not that big of a deal. Besides, you had contact with several men back then, and I never held it against you, did I?" Boom— Those words were like a clap of thunder exploding in Jenna's mind. That was the deepest shadow in her heart, a nightmare she never wanted to revisit.

Elaine Warner was stunningly beautiful, yet she was known across the campus as the perfect good girl. She never caused trouble. She only studied, finished every assignment on time, and followed the same routine every single day, going from home to school and back again. People said she was dull and boring, that such a pretty face was wasted on her. Until the day she hosted the graduation ceremony. The giant screen behind her suddenly switched to the school forum. A: [Breaking news! Innocent good girl with secret sexy bombshell paintings. The change is insane. Auction starts now, highest bidder wins!] The description beneath the post made everyone catch their breath. The first four collections recorded the girl's private moments from everyday life: half-naked shots, lace lingerie, and all kinds of seductive poses. The fifth collection was the ultimate reveal. It showed the girl's true self after stripping away her innocent disguise, putting her flawless curves fully on display. Anyone could tell the girl in the drawings was Elaine. Even the beauty mark beneath the corner of her eye was identical. But who could possibly know so many of her secrets? The answer was obvious. Simon Blaine, the boyfriend she had secretly dated for three years. After Elaine pulled off her heavy gown, she clenched her fists, wanting to confront Simon to demand an explanation. But the moment she reached the entrance of the building, she abruptly stopped. Simon was sitting by the fountain with a group of people, their laughter loud to her ears. "Simon, these comics you drew are seriously lifelike!" One of the boys deliberately raised his voice, wiggling his brows suggestively. "Who would've thought Elaine, the proper little good girl, would have such a bombastic body beneath those layers?" "Come on, tell us already. Does Elaine really have a figure that good?" Before he could finish speaking, another boy suddenly smacked him hard on the back of the head. "Shut up already! No matter how good she is, can she compare to Suzy Porter? Everyone knows Simon pulled this stunt on purpose just to get revenge for Suzy, right, Simon?" Simon's expression stayed cold and indifferent. His handsome face remained emotionless as he casually flicked a pebble into the fountain with perfect accuracy. "Elaine? The moment she stole Suzy's role as the host, she should've expected this to happen. "Now everyone can see what she's really like. Let's see how she keeps pretending to be innocent and pure in front of the teachers and students." Someone could not help asking, "Just the images on the forum alone have already branded Elaine as a tramp. If all five collections really get auctioned off, Elaine probably won't be able to stay at this school anymore, right?" Simon lowered his eyes. His hand suddenly froze halfway through tossing another pebble. He jumped down from the steps and slowly walked forward, his tall figure looking cold and distant. "I'm only teaching her a lesson. When the time comes, I'll buy the collections back at a high price and play the hero. She'll probably cry tears of gratitude and throw herself at me. As for the future, if she ever makes Suzy unhappy again, I've got leverage on her. I wouldn't mind letting the whole world see the seductive side she hides behind her innocent act." The group noisily climbed into the luxury car parked nearby. The engine roared as they sped away. Elaine stood frozen in place, as though all the strength had been drained from her body. Her heart felt like it was being tightly crushed in someone's hand, twisting little by little until the pain nearly made her collapse.

At the peak of her acting career, Chloe Sterling stepped away without a second thought, entering a secret marriage with the man she had secretly loved for years, Christian Ford, the golden boy of The Old Money Elite. There was no lavish wedding. No public announcements. Just a marriage certificate tucked away in the depths of a drawer. She had thought time would eventually brew something tender between them, believing that three years by his side would be enough to thaw his frozen heart. That was, until two weeks ago, when Christian's grandmother suddenly collapsed during her 88th birthday banquet. She was taken to the hospital and told she had only one year left. When she finally woke, tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks as she clung to Christian's hand. She had only one dying wish. "I only recognize Riley Cross as my granddaughter-in-law. Before I close my eyes for good, I just want to see you and Riley have a child. Let me fulfill my dream of holding a great-grandchild." Riley Cross was Christian’s ex-wife. They had once shared an unforgettable, deeply passionate romance, but it ended in divorce when Riley stubbornly chose to move abroad to further her career. After the split, Christian remained solitary until he crossed paths with Chloe. Drawn together by family ties and seemingly compatible personalities, they tied the knot. Standing right there in the hospital room, Chloe’s hands had turned to ice. She watched as Christian, without a single shred of hesitation, gave his grandmother a firm nod. "Alright. I promise you." Later, he had held her hand, trying to comfort her with a dismissive tone. "Chloe, Riley and I are just having a child for my grandmother's sake. Once she's at peace, everything will go back to normal." All Chloe could do was watch helplessly as Riley moved her things into their marital home. Desperate to numb the pain, she buried herself in the work of the production team, hoping the grueling hours would keep her mind occupied. But before cameras even started rolling, trending topics about Chloe suddenly flooded the internet, rocketing straight to the front-page headlines. An anonymous source leaked rumors of a suspected secret marriage between her and Christian, the CEO of The Ford Group. The post was accompanied by blurry paparazzi shots of them walking in and out of a hotel together. Barely three minutes later, a second wave hit the trends. In this new set of photos, Christian was gently supporting his ex-wife, Riley. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder outside a hospital's maternity ward. An insider claimed to have overheard them discussing their plans to conceive. With both stories blowing up simultaneously, public opinion in the comments section was a landslide of mockery directed squarely at Chloe. A: [A secret marriage? Please, Mr. Ford doesn't even look twice at her. She's totally throwing herself at him.] B: [Riley is his ex-wife. Their romance was legendary back in the day. Now they're trying for a baby? They're definitely back together!] [If you ask me, this Chloe girl looks more like the homewrecker.] It felt as though an icy hand had brutally crushed her heart. Even drawing a breath brought a dull, agonizing ache to her chest. Dropping everything on set, she rushed back to the Ford estate. She needed Christian to clear her name and tell the truth! But the moment she stepped through the foyer, a blindingly painful scene greeted her. Riley was lounging lazily on the living room sofa, wearing Chloe’s own silk pajamas. The scattered red hickeys marking her collarbone were glaring enough to make Chloe’s eyes burn. Christian sat casually beside her, acting as if this domestic picture was the most normal thing in the world. He lifted his gaze at her arrival, his brow furrowing slightly. "I know about the trending topics. Grandmother's health is fragile. She can't handle any stress right now." Staring down at him, Chloe felt her heart sink into an endless abyss. "I'll have PR announce that Riley and I have remarried." His tone was as flat and businesslike as if he were discussing a corporate merger. "Just lay low and endure it for a while. I'll compensate you with some top-tier industry resources." The old Chloe would have fought him tooth and nail. She would have screamed, demanding to know what gave him the right to sacrifice their marriage on the altar of his ex-wife and his grandmother. But in this moment, nothing remained but a hollow, deadening silence inside her. She didn't even have the strength left to argue.

"The mother is hemorrhaging. We need a family member to sign. Save the mother or save the baby?" The doctor's voice was urgent as he kept glancing toward the delivery room doors, but no one came. Stella Quinn lay on the delivery bed drenched in cold sweat, every contraction like a blade carving through her flesh. "Save me. Let the baby go." She forced the words out, her eyes empty and lifeless. The doctor froze. In all his years of practice, he had never seen a mother willingly give up her child. But Stella's gaze never wavered. If this had happened before, even if giving birth cost her life, she would have chosen the baby without hesitation. Back then, her whole world had revolved around her husband Adrian Grant and the little family they had built together. There had never been room in it for herself. Only now did she finally understand that the person she should have treasured most had always been herself. As her consciousness began to fade, memories flooded her mind like a rising tide. She and Adrian had grown up together at St. Mary's Orphanage, relying on no one but each other. When they were children, he always stood in front of her to stop the older kids from bullying her, and if there was only one piece of meat on his tray, it always ended up in her bowl. As they got older, he secretly took construction jobs just to buy her a new dress, working until his palms blistered raw without ever complaining. When they became adults, they fell in love naturally and got married. There had been no grand wedding and no expensive ring, but their hearts had belonged wholly to each other. They lived in a cramped rental apartment barely large enough for the two of them, sharing one narrow bed and one tiny closet. They commuted to work together every day, curled up on the couch to watch movies at night, and haggled over pennies at the market on weekends. Their life had been poor, but it had been full of hope. Adrian used to hold her in his arms, rest his chin on top of her head, and whisper softly, "Stella, once we save enough money, I'll buy us a place with a balcony so you can wake up in the sunshine every morning." She believed him. And she waited for years. Then the Grant family, the wealthiest family in Kingsport, appeared at their door and announced that Adrian was their long-lost biological son. That sudden fortune swept into their lives like a storm and shattered the quiet happiness they had built. Adrian brought her with him into the Grant estate. The mansion was so vast it made her uneasy, a hundred times grander than the little balcony apartment they had once dreamed of. Yet on their first night there, Adrian held her tightly and promised in a steady voice, "Stella, I came back for one reason only: to give you the best life possible. Don't be afraid. I'll never let anyone make you suffer." Back then, his eyes still held the warmth and love she knew so well. Listening to the steady beat of his heart, Stella slowly let herself believe him. But little by little, everything changed. Adrian grew closer and closer to Nina Grant, the Grant family's adopted daughter. He took her shopping, accompanied her to exhibitions, and searched all over the city for gifts just to make her smile. When Nina got sick, he stayed by her bedside all night caring for her. No matter what happened, he instinctively shielded Nina behind him. He even spent entire nights in her room without the slightest concern for rumors. Whenever Stella voiced even the slightest complaint, Nina's eyes would redden instantly, and Adrian would immediately accuse Stella of being petty and unreasonable. Whenever she tried to talk to him, all she ever got in return was his impatience.

On her eighteenth birthday, just before high school graduation, Adrian Blake coaxed Nina Jensen into filming their first night together. Holding the camera above them, he murmured against her lips between heated breaths, tempting her into unclasping the front of her lace bra. An hour later, the entire Campus Forum exploded. The trending post was filled with seductive photos of her, along with looping GIFs of her kneeling between his legs, eyes dazed with desire. Overnight, Nina's reputation was destroyed. Adrian calmly buttoned his suit and returned to being the untouchable golden heir everyone admired. Before boarding his flight, he left her with only cold words. "You acted so pure and innocent, but who knew you were a venomous bitch? You're the one who drove my sister Yvette to her death. Yvette is dead. Your life is ruined. Fair trade." Her brother tried to defend her and was beaten into a vegetative state by Adrian's bodyguards. Her mother coughed up blood in rage, pointed at the door with trembling fingers, and ordered her to get out. A week later, her mother died. To keep her brother alive, Nina gave up every last shred of dignity she had left. Again and again, she took off her clothes in front of cameras and became an adult film actress. Three years later, in a cramped film studio, the new investor walked in. It was Adrian's fiancée, Chloe Reed. She got straight to the point. "Fifty million. Bear Adrian's child for me." Chloe was still exactly the same as she had been back in school: arrogant, absurd, and convinced the entire world should bend to her will. The only difference was that back then, she had begged. It had been Chloe who drove Yvette Blake insane, yet she had knelt in front of Nina, crying so hard she could barely breathe. "If anyone finds out it was me, I'm dead! I'm not like you. I'm just an illegitimate daughter. My brother would never protect me. Please... just help me this once." Nina had softened for a moment and gone to apologize to Yvette in Chloe's place. The very next day, Yvette lost her mind. And now Chloe was no longer begging. She was giving orders. Leaning forward slightly, Chloe lowered her voice, every word dripping with contempt. "All I want is the title of Mrs. Blake. You give me the child, take the money, and disappear. Isn't that a perfect deal?" Nina's throat felt dry. "Why me?" Chloe lifted her chin and tipped Nina's face up with her lacquered nails. "Because no one looks more like me than you do. And I don't want my child growing up while people whisper behind their back. Hiring you is the best option, isn't it?" She pulled out a check and held it between two fingers. "Ten million. Deposit." Then she deliberately let it fall to the floor. Chloe looked down at Nina with smug satisfaction. "Your brother's medical bills cost a million a month. How many more years do you think you can keep selling your body? Agree to this, and in ten months you'll have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life." Pride had long since become the cheapest thing in the world to Nina. Hatred was a luxury she could no longer afford. Before anything else, she had to survive. So she bent down quietly and picked up the check. That night, Chloe personally delivered her to Adrian's bed. In the darkness, the man stood with his back to her. The deep grooves of his spine ran down the lean lines of his waist before disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks. Nina drew a shaky breath and pressed the softness of her chest against his burning back. His body stiffened instantly. A second later, he turned around, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pinned her beneath him. Desire roughened his voice as he murmured against her ear, "Chloe... give me a child." At the exact moment he thrust fully inside her, his hand brushed the switch. The lights snapped on. The instant Adrian saw her face, every trace of desire vanished from his eyes. His expression turned cold and vicious as he stared down at her. "Nina, you really are filth to the bone. Since you're shameless enough to throw yourself at me, I'll indulge you."

The day after the explosion at the Medical Research Institute, a photo titled "The Parker Couple" went viral online. In the picture, Ethan Parker was covered in dust and looked utterly disheveled, yet he held the woman in his arms with fierce protectiveness, shielding her so completely that not even a strand of her hair had been harmed. Everyone said Ethan loved his wife, Clara Quinn, beyond measure. Even in a life-or-death disaster like the lab explosion, he had shielded Clara's face from the cameras to keep the media from hounding her. Together, they had risen from sharing a cramped slum apartment and a battered piece of lab equipment to publishing groundbreaking papers in top-tier journals, becoming the only two leading experts in the emerging field of cancer therapeutics. But only Clara, lying in her hospital bed, knew the truth. From the moment of the explosion yesterday until she woke this morning, her husband had never once stepped into her room. It was not until Clara went alone to collect her medication that Ethan, who was there picking up medicine for Lily Lane, finally noticed her standing bruised and battered in the crowd. Surprise flickered across his face as he frowned and strode over. "You were hurt too? I'm sorry. I was too worried about Lily yesterday, so I took her out first. Why didn't you call me back to save you?" Clara lifted her chin, her gaze calm. "I did call you." But at the time, his eyes had held only Lily. He had braced himself beneath the collapsing beam and lifted it to shield Lily, never noticing that the other end of that same beam was pinning Clara's arm beneath it. A researcher's hands were priceless. She had screamed, "Ethan! The beam is crushing my hand!" They had been only a few feet apart, yet he seemed deaf to the world, carrying Lily to safety without so much as a glance back. Clara had been left to drag the beam off herself inch by inch until every fingernail tore back, exposing raw, bloody nail beds. Ethan rubbed his temple impatiently. "How can injuries like yours compare to Lily's stomach cancer?" He turned to leave, then paused and lowered his voice. "If the media asks about that trending photo, do what you always do and admit the woman in it was you." Clara lowered her eyes. For once, she did not argue. She simply hid the mockery in her gaze behind lowered lashes. She had once believed Ethan's favoritism toward Lily came only from gratitude toward Lily's father for helping him in the past, along with sympathy for Lily's illness. Until not long ago, when Clara had gone to find him with the latest anti-cancer compound she had developed and saw Lily throw herself into his arms, sobbing. "When can we finally be together openly? The last time we were photographed in the garage, you made Clara take the blame. Then again in the lab, and again at that private gala. Now everyone thinks you two are the golden couple of the pharmaceutical world." Clara froze, clutching the formula sheet so tightly it crumpled in her hand. Ethan bent his head and kissed Lily's hair. "Be good. Clara and I aren't divorced yet. If you're photographed now, the backlash will hurt you." "Then when are you divorcing her?" Lily pouted, tugging on his sleeve. Ethan's voice was slow and measured. "Not yet. I still need her family's ancestral medicinal formula to treat your illness. Be patient a little longer, alright?"

That year, after Eveline Barlow had been missing for years and was finally found and brought back by the Gomez family, a group of spoiled rich kids tossed her into the ocean. Her dress was soaked through, revealing the old-fashioned undergarments beneath. They laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world, mocking her like some wild hillbilly. One of them even tore her undergarment off in front of everyone just to "study how it was made." At the lowest, most humiliating moment of her life, it was Brenton Flynn who stepped up, shielding her from the assault. He was poor, brooding, and born mute, yet ready to take on the world for her. Eveline had once believed she was the happiest girl alive—until that day, when she overheard her so-called mute boyfriend chatting with his friend in a low, teasing voice: "Back then, I purposely let you guys tear off her undergarment so she'd be too ashamed to stick around Gomez Manor. The whole plan was to stop her from competing with Clare for attention. I didn't expect to go overboard and take it so far." He shrugged, voice dripping with scorn. "Now she literally can't live without me, so I'll just suck it up and keep pretending a little longer. Don't want her throwing a massive tantrum. If she gets so mad she actually gets sick, that heart of hers might not be any use anymore." Eveline had never imagined running into Brenton on the VIP ski run at Kestrel Peak. And she certainly hadn't expected that her deaf-mute boyfriend could not only hear perfectly but also had a voice ridiculously charming. Right then, he tilted his head slightly, adjusting the snow goggles for the girl beside him, Clare Gomez. "Clare, remember to block Eveline when you post on Instagram. She's spending Christmas alone in Soren City. Who knows, she might get so bored she starts stalking our feeds." Clare stuck her tongue out playfully. "I blocked her ages ago! Dad, Mom, and even my brother haven't given her access either." One of their friends burst out laughing. "Frederick's a straight-up Oscar-level actor! Pretending to be a face-blind mute for this long? Absolute legend." "Every time I watch Frederick act like he doesn't recognize Eveline, I have to bite my tongue to keep from cracking up." "Frederick, when are you dropping the act? I'm dying to see her reaction." Clare planted her hands on her hips and pouted. "Hey, you guys, don't be too mean! Sure, Frederick says she's petty and vicious, but in the end, she's still the real Gomez family heiress." The laughter didn't die down. "What kind of Gomez family heiress is she? Haven't you heard the saying? The one who isn't loved is the real fake. Plus, she was raised in some backwater mountain village by a female psychic. Your parents must be so embarrassed." "Yeah, why don't you ask Frederick—he's the one engaged to the Gomez family. See if he'd actually marry Eveline." Clare hooked her arm through Brenton's. "Frederick, what do you think?" Brenton let out a low chuckle and gently tightened the scarf around Clare. "The only reason I stayed by Eveline's side was to keep her from competing with you. Otherwise, with that vindictive streak of hers, I'd worry she'd come after you. Baby, my heart has always belonged to you—and it always will, past or future." The group erupted into cheers, calling him a hopeless romantic. In the snow, the girl in the pink fleece nestled against the handsome guy's chest like a scene from a fairy tale—picture-perfect. But Eveline couldn't bring herself to appreciate any of it. All she felt was the icy wind and snow of Kestrel Peak slicing straight into her heart. The poor, mute guy she'd thought she knew was actually the young heir to the Murphy family, the richest in Winsdale City. In his eyes, she had always been nothing but "vicious," "petty," and "vindictive." Eveline pressed a hand to her chest. Something in the inner pocket of her down jacket dug painfully into her ribs. She pulled out the silver ring that had been worn smooth and shiny. The cold metal pressed a crescent-shaped red mark into her palm. This was the very first gift Brenton had ever given her. Back then, crammed together in their tiny 110-square-foot rental apartment, his eyes red, he had signed to her: "When I make money, I'll buy you a diamond ring." Now it was obvious: every single vow had been fake—the poverty, the muteness, the face-blindness, the depression... all of it. Even his name, Brenton, had been a lie. Eveline stared at the swirling snowflakes. Tiny ice crystals formed on her lashes. She turned and headed back to the changing room, locking the door behind her. Inside her assigned locker sat a small embroidered cloth bag. Eveline pulled out a handful of sage leaves and lit them. The blue smoke rose straight up, then froze midair at the snap of her fingers. A kindly voice floated through the air: "Eveline, didn't you swear you'd never use divination again? Why break your vow now?" Eveline gave a bitter smile. "Aunt Maeve, I was too naive." To be with Brenton, she had knelt in the ancestral hall for seven full days and nights until Maeve Barlow finally agreed to seal off her spiritual pathways. After that, she became a sickly girl plagued by endless illnesses, coming down with fevers and coughs every other day. If she could hold on for three years, she could return to being an ordinary person. Now, she was just one day away from that exact three-year mark. Eveline's nose tingled and her eyes burned. "Aunt Maeve, I've made up my mind. I want to come back and inherit the House of Barlow. Please erase all traces of me from this world. From now on, I'll cut off all love and attachment. I won't step into the mortal world again." Maeve stayed silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice carried the weight of countless unsaid words, softening into a gentle sigh. "The erasure spell will need time to fully work. If there is still anything you cannot let go of, go say your goodbyes properly while you still can."

"Robin, it's almost New Year! You know Martha can't wait any longer..." The soft voice on the other end of the phone continued, repeating words she had already said countless times before. Robin Levy felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, and she finally spoke to interrupt her. "I agree to the divorce." As soon as she said the words, the turmoil inside her quieted completely. Her thoughts settled, and an unexpected calm took over. She decided to let everything end here. She would return everything she had taken and stop expecting anything in return. All those memories that once felt like a dream within the Levy family, no matter how deeply they had embedded themselves into her, would be stripped away piece by piece and given back. The woman on the other end of the line clearly felt relieved. "I knew you would understand," her mother, Norma Levy, said gently. "You have always been sensible. I am doing this for your sake as well. There are only the two of you in this family, and if Martha recovers, at least you will have someone to accompany you in the future." Robin let out a quiet breath and asked, "So even if she ignores all boundaries and falls for my husband, you still expect me to agree to this without hesitation?" "Watch how you speak! She is your sister! When she and Jayden met, you were not even married yet. If your grandfather had not been so stubborn about that engagement, the one who married Jayden would have been her!" She continued without pause. "Your father has already issued your transfer this morning. The company in Nylara needs you, so you should leave as soon as possible. Martha cannot handle any emotional stress right now, so you do not need to visit her at the hospital. We will explain your transfer to her." There was both reproach and satisfaction in her voice. She ended the call without further courtesy. The empty room echoed with the dull tone of the disconnected line. Robin looked down at the divorce agreement beside her and eventually turned to the last page to sign her name. The truth was that even without Norma's call, her husband Jayden Jenkins had already prepared everything required for the divorce. With the best legal team from Jenkins Group involved, whether she agreed or not had never truly been her decision. Norma's call did nothing except add another wound to Robin's heart. Martha was Paul Levy's illegitimate daughter, and when Paul first brought her home, Norma had nearly thrown her out. Paul had knelt in front of her for an entire afternoon and produced proof of Martha's mother's death before she was allowed to stay. From then on, Paul gave Martha everything she wanted, Robin's room, Robin's dresses, Robin's opportunity to study abroad, and even Robin's position as vice president. All of it gradually became Martha's. Robin herself had once pitied her. She believed Martha was unfortunate for growing up without a mother, so she willingly shared her parents' love without hesitation. What Robin had never expected was how quickly things would change. In just eight years, Martha, who had once struggled to be accepted into the Levy family, became the one Paul and Norma cherished the most.

After leaving Southhaven Private Detention Facility, Selene took on a high-paying private job, designing the engagement venue for the richest man in Southhaven City and his fiancée. Her artificial heart had been declared near failure. Without surgery, it would completely shut down. She needed money, desperately. Selene put on her uniform and followed the team to the site. They worked through the entire day and night, finishing only at dawn. She turned to leave, but a sudden commotion rose near the entrance. She froze. Her eyes locked on the doorway. Adrian stood there in a tailored suit, surrounded by people. He looked radiant and untouchable. She couldn't help but look again, and then she saw the woman beside him. The woman was dressed in a wedding gown, her arm linked with his. It was Vivian, her best friend. So, this was their engagement banquet. A dull ache spread through Selene's chest. Her gaze lingered on the two of them as her thoughts drifted back. Three years ago, she could have been Adrian's bride. They had met young and fallen in love, once the perfect couple everyone envied. But on the eve of their wedding, she broke up with him and left the country with a wealthy heir. That day, Adrian's eyes had been red. He had begged her not to leave and to wait for him. A man so proud had lowered himself and abandoned his dignity just to keep the woman he loved. But she had been ruthless. She pried his fingers off hers one by one, then laced her fingers with another man's right in front of him. "Adrian, I don't love you anymore. I have someone else now." She walked away without looking back. Even when he chased after her and was struck in a car accident, she never turned around. The accident was devastating. His legs were crippled, and he could no longer stand. His heart began to fail, and he needed a transplant to survive. Yet even then, covered in blood on the operating table, he used his last strength to call her again and again. Every call was rejected. After that, Adrian hated her. Thinking of it now, Selene felt her chest tighten painfully. Warmth suddenly spilled beneath her nose. Another nosebleed came. She covered it in panic, but the blood kept flowing. She had to get the money, or she might not even have time to fulfill her mother's last wish. Selene took a deep breath and forced herself to steady her emotions. She tried to slip away quietly through the crowd. But a voice stopped her. "Selene, what are you doing here?" Her body trembled as panic surged through her. She didn't dare look up. Then suddenly, a foot shot out and she was tripped violently to the ground.

A courtroom is the last place I expect to run into Alexander Vance, my ex-boyfriend—especially after our messy, bitter breakup. Fate has a twisted sense of humor: my client, Vincent Wayne, stands as the plaintiff, while Alexander's client takes the defendant's seat. Famous for his poise and careful demeanor, Alexander fumbles his words more than once during the hearing—a rare slip for the sharp-tongued attorney. "Ms. Sterling spends so long in Merilica, it's only natural she's a bit out of touch with our laws. I get it," he says, his tone dripping with feigned understanding. Through the first few veiled jabs, I force a smile, but my patience has its limits. My expression hardens as I lock eyes with his playful stare. "Mr. Vance, people ought to move forward and keep pace with the times. This is a new regulation passed this year—you don't know that?" I refuse to buy it. This is a man who memorizes legal clauses in his sleep, a total workaholic—he never makes such a rookie error. Alexander merely nods, his expression indifferent as if the matter doesn't concern him in the least. When the recess hits, Vincent pulls me aside, eager to play matchmaker. "Vivian, I have the perfect guy for you—let me introduce you," he insists, already reaching for his phone to pull up the man's contact. Out of nowhere, Alexander appears, his face stormy as he saunters over, oozing sarcasm. "Ms. Sterling doesn't like men, Mr. Wayne. Don't you know that?" Vincent's smile freezes on his face, while Alexander wears a triumphant grin, clearly pleased with himself for ruining the moment. I roll my eyes, not wanting to waste another breath on him, and link my arm through Vincent's. "Let me walk you to your car, sir—take it easy," I say gently. Before pulling away, Vincent slips a business card through the car window, his voice warm with encouragement. "My grandson is a researcher—loads of cash, just missing a wife. If you're interested, give him a ring, Vivian. Don't be shy!" I nod politely, tucking the card into my purse once the car drives off. Alexander's cold, detached voice cuts through the air from behind me. "Planning to keep that as a memento? Going to actually go on that blind date, Vivian?" He holds a cigarette between his lips, taking a long drag before glaring down at me, his eyes sharp with disdain. "What's it to you?" I shoot back, my tone icy. I circle around him to avoid the smoke—I once had chronic bronchitis, and even a whiff makes my chest tight. The Alexander who quit smoking just for me, it seems, is a thing of the past. He trails closely behind, staying half a step back as he taunts me. "Just back from Merilica and already scrambling to find a man? Did you come home just to gold dig?" The sharp tongue that earns him the nickname "Law School's Biggest Burn Master" is still as cutting as ever. I snap, spinning around with a fake smile stretched across my face. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Vance—do you have any single male colleagues around my age? If so, send them my way. And a few rules: no one older than me, no players, no one who can't keep boundaries with the opposite sex—especially female supervisors." Alexander lets out a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me, irritation flashing in his gaze.

On the day of their seventh wedding anniversary, Brianna Stokes found a divorce agreement in Xavier Hansen's bedside drawer. The document was covered in crossed-out lines and revisions, as if someone had gone back and forth over it many times. One clause stated that if he fell in love with someone else during the marriage, he would voluntarily give up all his assets and leave with nothing, followed by a list of properties. He had once sworn that he would walk away with nothing. However, he kept revising the asset section. He crossed out the house that was originally meant for her. He changed the fifty million he intended to give her into five hundred thousand. At the end, he added a final line as if he were confessing to himself. He wrote that it would be better for Brianna to leave the marriage with nothing because Julie Dodson was pregnant. ***** Brianna sat down on the bed, unable to believe what she was seeing. Xavier's signature on the agreement was clean and decisive, without any hesitation. The agreement had been drafted seven years ago, the same year they got married. In that year, Xavier had been willing to give up everything for her. In each year that followed, he removed more and more from what he had promised. Seven years later, she had become the one who would leave with nothing. Her phone suddenly vibrated, and Xavier sent her a message. Xavier: Last-minute business trip. Don't wait up for me. Brianna called him immediately, but she found that his phone was already turned off. Another message appeared on her screen, and it was a screenshot sent by a friend. Julie, the student Brianna had been supporting financially, had posted on Instagram. Julie: Wow, I got praised! To celebrate my first time not leaking during my period, he said we have to celebrate! The photos showed Xavier smiling warmly as he placed a dazzling gemstone necklace around Julie's neck. The post was located at a couple-themed hotel. Brianna's breathing hitched for a moment. Xavier had forgotten the anniversary of their seven years together, but he had taken the time to celebrate something so trivial for Julie. The gemstone necklace in the photo was one Brianna had seen at an auction the previous week. That necklace had once belonged to her mother, and it had been lost years ago. She had planned to bid for it, but she was told her bank card was frozen. She had asked Xavier for an explanation. He had replied after a long delay and told her not to waste money on something impractical. She had sat helplessly in the auction hall while holding her bidding paddle. She had even considered selling her own ideas to raise the money. However, someone had placed a final bid remotely and secured the item. Brianna had blamed herself for a long time and hated that she could not reclaim her mother's belongings. She had never imagined that the person who placed that bid was Xavier. He had known how much that necklace meant to her. Yet he had still given it to Julie. On their seventh wedding anniversary, Xavier had lied about being busy and had chosen to spend his time with Julie instead.

I woke up as the woman who had abandoned a ruthless tycoon at the lowest point of his life. In the original storyline, my departure had shattered him. He was later healed by the novel's female lead, and the two of them had found their way to each other. But I had come back. The entire city of Haldenport was waiting to see me fall. Everyone knew that anyone who offended the woman Lucian Vance treasured would pay the price. He had a reputation for dealing with enemies mercilessly, throwing them into the sea as if their lives meant nothing. I was not thrown into the sea. I was thrown onto his bed. He pinned me down, one hand gripping my waist as his teeth sank into my neck in a harsh, punishing bite. His voice was hoarse, cold, and edged with something dangerous. "Ivy, you were the one who said you liked being with me. So why did you run? Do I need to keep you in bed until you can't even walk before you finally stay where you belong?" ***

As Addison Moore was about to turn off her computer and call it a day, a notification popped up on her screen. Irene: [Chasing after my idol, but accidentally ended up pregnant with her husband's child—what should I do?］ Addison usually ignored such gossip, but today, for some reason, she clicked on it. In the video, a man whose back was the only thing visible reached out a hand to caress a woman's stomach.  Staring at the silhouette that bore an eerie resemblance to Steve Roberts, her husband, Addison's heart raced inexplicably. She let out a wry laugh and shook her head, realizing how much that obsessive fan had gotten under her skin. A year ago, Addison had participated in filming a cultural relic restoration documentary that became wildly popular after its release. Her exceptional restoration skills earned her a devoted following. One fan was downright deranged, camping daily outside Addison's workplace just to see her. She'd even broken into Addison's home to steal and wear her underwear. At one point, she'd recklessly chased Addison's car, causing repeated crashes that almost killed them both. When Steve learned of this, his fury knew no bounds, and he had Irene Wilson, the crazy fan, imprisoned immediately. Steve's message pulled Addison from her thoughts. Steve: Addison, it's our anniversary. I'm waiting downstairs. A wave of guilt washed over her. Here Steve was, thinking about their anniversary, while she had been doubting him over some baseless post. Back in university, if Addison merely said she missed him, Steve would traverse thousands of miles through blizzards just to hold her. Before their marriage, when Addison was diagnosed as infertile, he'd faced down his family's opposition, even cutting ties to marry her. After inheriting the Roberts Family business, no matter how swamped, he always made time for holidays and little surprises. Everyone said she'd won the lottery—married to a devoted, wealthy, and handsome man. It was straight out of a fairy tale. Phone in hand, Addison started downstairs when the account dropped another bombshell. Irene: [The baby's father won't let me go through with it. I'm keeping the baby.］ As she rounded the corner, Addison overheard Steve conversing with Leo Walker, his assistant. "Sir, I've escorted Ms. Wilson back." "Is she still causing trouble?" "Ms. Wilson insists you must accompany her tonight, or she'll abort the baby." "Today is mine and Addison's anniversary. I can't miss that. Tell Irene I'll come later." Addison's breath caught—Steve had betrayed her. With Irene Wilson, the freak who'd nearly killed her in a car chase last year. But hadn't he imprisoned Irene? Her knees buckled as she braced against the wall, tears spilling down her cheeks.

In the seventh year of her marriage to Zack Pierce, Claire Lawson brought her state residency records to apply for the school's public housing, only to be told the document was fake. 'No way.' She couldn't have misheard. The clerk had to be wrong. Swallowing her disbelief, she forced a polite smile, "Excuse me, could you check again? My husband handled the registration transfer himself." The clerk sighed, double-checked the records, then smirked, "No mistake here. This registry lists the all members in the household, his wife Hannah Brooks, and their son Lucas Pierce." Claire Lawson's body turned to ice. Her mind reeled, thoughts tangling into chaos. 'Hannah Brooks? His late friend's widow? Since when was she his wife?' She stared at the proof in black and white. Her own name, gone. As if seven years of marriage meant nothing. Numb, Claire walked out and headed to the address listed, Zack's real household. She stopped at the gate, her courage failing. Through the open window, cheerful laughter spilled out. "Guess what Daddy got you." Zack's voice rang out as he dangled a bag of White Rabbit milk candies. The boy, his son, squealed and jumped into his arms, "Love you, Daddy." Hannah appeared in the doorway, her smile warm, "Wash up, sweetie. Dinner's on the table." The house was filled with warmth and laughter, but Claire Lawson stood there, ice-cold inside. She couldn't stomach another second of it and bolted, her mind reeling. The sun had long set by the time she dragged herself home, numb and hollow. The housekeeper nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Claire and hurried over, frantic. "Oh, Mrs. Pierce. Thank God you're back. Mr. Pierce has been blowing up the phone, he's beside himself with worry. Quick, call him back." Claire blinked, barely registering the words. When the phone rang, she didn't even flinch, like the sound belonged to another world. The housekeeper answered, it was Zack. "Mr. Pierce, Mrs. Pierce is here. Yes, I'll put her on." The second she pressed the phone to her ear and heard his voice, the dam broke, tears flooded down her cheeks. Zack immediately picked up on her distress, "Claire? What's wrong? Did you miss me? I'll put in for leave tomorrow and come see you." A day ago, those words would've made her heart skip. She would've poured out how much she missed him. Seven years married, and he only came home twice a year, summer and winter. She had begged to move to his base, but he shut her down, saying it wasn't the right environment for her. It never once crossed her mind that Zack had another family, or that their marriage might not even be legal.

Everyone in Concenia's elite circle knew that the ruthless heir, Julian Kennedy, loved Willa Taylor more than his own life. He had even donated his own heart to save her without a second thought. Yet, barely three years into their marriage, his obsessive pursuit of the journalist Serena Lynn became the city's worst-kept secret. At first, Willa didn't pay it much mind. But gradually, everything started to feel wrong. When Serena casually mentioned she wanted to make a wish on a falling star, Julian funded a massive artificial meteor shower globally just for her. When Serena posted a sad quote on Instagram, he abandoned a ten-million-dollar corporate merger to fly her to the coast, sitting on the beach from sunrise to sunset just to make her smile. On Willa's birthday, he even broke their dinner plans just to accompany Serena to a rural area to film a documentary on elderly poverty. Swallowing the bitter acid in her throat, Willa handed him divorce papers. The first time, Julian fell to his knees. He begged for her forgiveness over and over, swearing it was all just a show for the media. The second time, with red-rimmed eyes, he issued a public apology live on national television, pleading with her to give him one more chance. But as the number of attempts grew, he became certain she would never actually leave him. His apologies turned into sheer negligence. By the ninety-ninth time, his patience completely snapped. With a deep frown, he snatched the divorce papers from her hands and aggressively signed his name. "Serena is never going to threaten your position as Mrs. Kennedy. Could you stop being so damn unreasonable?" He genuinely thought Willa was just throwing a tantrum. That very night, he ruthlessly outbid everyone at an auction to buy Serena a diamond ring to prove his devotion. What he didn't know was that this time, Willa was completely dead set on leaving. ***** Willa smoothed out the wrinkled divorce papers as tears slipped silently down her cheeks. It wasn't until the water droplets nearly blurred the ink of Julian's signature that she forcefully suppressed the agonizing pain in her chest. She tucked the papers away and dialed her best friend's number. "Are you absolutely sure you want to move abroad? But isn't Julian permanently banned from leaving the country?" Blake Reilly asked on the phone. Willa's knuckles turned white as she gripped the phone. On their wedding day, in front of hundreds of high-society guests, Julian had dropped to one knee and vowed never to betray her. "What if you do something to hurt me?" she had asked. Smiling, he had slid the diamond ring onto her finger. "I will never hurt you. I've been permanently blacklisted from leaving the country. If that day ever comes, you can flee abroad. Punish me by making sure I can never find you, leaving me in agony for the rest of my life." Willa turned her head to look out the window. Down in the garden, the estate staff were busy uprooting the hundreds of red roses. Julian had planted them with his own hands just to propose to her. Now, simply because Serena complained they looked too tacky, they were being violently ripped out of the earth. A bitter smile touched her lips. "Book me a flight for a month from now. And please, don't breathe a word of this to Julian." Blake sounded incredibly worried but eventually agreed. The moment Willa hung up, her phone buzzed again. It was the private nursing home. "Miss Taylor, you need to get here immediately! Mr. Kennedy is ordering us to pull the plug on your mother's life support!" Willa froze, forgetting how to breathe. A horrific car accident last year had left her mother in a vegetative state, entirely dependent on a ventilator to stay alive while waiting for a miracle.

On the rooftop of a luxury penthouse in Haldenport. When Alina Jones, her husband's younger sister, made her sixty-third threat to jump, Cecilia Wright felt completely drained. So drained, in fact, that she briefly considered jumping with her. The police officer sighed helplessly over the phone. "Ms. Wright, how many times has this been? Just handle it yourself. Give her what she wants." For the past two years, she had surrendered every time. First, Alina demanded Cecilia wash her clothes personally, then forced her to slap herself, even made her kneel at the gate for an entire day and night… Each unreasonable request was more humiliating than the last. "It's all your fault, you bitch! If you hadn't latched onto Ethan back then, would I have gotten depressed?" Alina stood at the rooftop's edge, screaming, "Hurry up! Burn every photo of you and my Ethan right in front of me!" "Not moving?" Alina suddenly swung a foot over the edge. "Then I'll jump! Let's see how you explain it to Ethan!" Cecilia closed her eyes briefly. "Don't move. I'll get them." She rushed home, gathered all their photos, including the marriage certificate, and carried them back to the rooftop. Under Alina's watchful gaze, she burned them to ashes in a steel drum. Satisfied, Alina left, laughing triumphantly. Cecilia crouched on the ground, staring at the last corner of their marriage certificate photo as silent tears fell. She pulled out her phone and texted Ethan. Cecilia: Ethan, we should convince Alina to see a therapist. Today she... The message showed as read, but no reply came. After staring at the screen for a long moment, Cecilia finally stood, preparing to visit the clerk's office to request a replacement marriage certificate. The hall wasn't crowded. Cecilia showed the staff their electronic marriage records. After checking the system, the clerk frowned. "Ms. Wright, our system shows you're already divorced." "What?" Cecilia's mind went blank. Her voice trembled. "I never filed for divorce…" The staff turned the screen toward her. "The system shows the divorce was processed just days ago." Cecilia gripped her phone tightly, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She suddenly remembered that a month ago, Ethan had handed her a document to sign, claiming it was insurance paperwork. At the time, Alina had been throwing things in the next room, screaming for her attention, and she had signed without looking. Behind her, the queue grew restless. "If you can't handle it, get out! Don't waste everyone's time!" "What an idiot. Got dumped, and she didn't even know. Serves her right…" Cecilia didn't remember how she left the clerk's office. The sun scorched the asphalt, yet she felt a bone-deep chill, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She hailed a cab straight to the Jones Group building. The president's office door was slightly ajar, laughter drifting out. Her steps faltered, her breath caught. Through the gap, she saw Alina Jones, who had refused to leave the house for two years claiming depression, now sitting on the sofa, smiling brightly. Meanwhile, Serena Brown nestled close to Ethan, placing a piece of ribs on his plate. "Ethan, did Cecilia complain to you again? That's all she's good for—whining with her tears," Alina said petulantly. "Don't you dare side with her!" Serena said softly, "Alina, honestly… Cecilia has worked hard taking care of you these past two years." "She deserves it!" Alina snapped. "If she hadn't clung to Ethan and stopped him from picking me up from school, how could I have been kidnapped and tortured by those enemies?" Cecilia's nails dug into her palms. Ethan Jones frowned, conflicted, but remained silent, letting Alina's words stand unchallenged. "Ethan," Alina pivoted sharply, "when are you going to tell her about the divorce and kick her out?" Ethan replied quietly, "Alina, she literally has nowhere to go. Besides…" Alina interrupted, her tone razor-sharp, "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts? Look at Serena. She's beautiful, capable, far better than that woman!" "Alina," Ethan's quiet voice carried steel, "don't tip her off yet. I have other plans." Alina sneered, eyes glittering with malice. "If she stays, even better. I still have plenty of ways to mess with her." "Don't go too far," Ethan said lightly, though it sounded like tacit approval. Cecilia staggered back, tears streaming. Not only had she been divorced without her knowledge, but she was also the last to find out. Stepping out of the building, she watched the traffic flow past, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. This two-year farce was finally ending. If she was destined to be an outsider, she would make her own exit. Two years ago, for Ethan, she had severed all family ties, even swearing she'd rather die than accept the arranged marriage her grandfather had set in her childhood. Now that marriage was over, it worked out perfectly. It was time to return and finally enter the marriage she should have long ago.

Audrey Harlow watched her fiancé dismount his warhorse after four years on the battlefield. Cassian Langley had finally returned. She rushed forward to help him remove his battered armor, her heart aching at the sight of his injuries. Before she could reach him, a pair of weathered hands brushed past her. Lyla Glenn stepped in, taking over with practiced ease. Audrey froze. She hadn't even managed to mask her expression when Lyla offered an explanation. Lyla glanced at her. "I've got this, Audrey. The armor's heavy, and you'll hurt those delicate hands of yours. I've done this a hundred times in camp." Cassian gave Lyla a grateful clap on the shoulder. "Four years fighting side by side, and you're a brother I'd trust with my life. I'm marrying Audrey in ten days. You'll sit at the head table." Lyla laughed, punching him lightly in the chest. "You just want me there to guard your drinks! Last time you got wasted, I had to prop your sorry ass up while you relieved yourself. If you pull that on your wedding night, I am not helping you wash your—" Audrey couldn't bear another word. She hurled her cup against the table, shattering it into pieces. The moment the shards flew, Cassian instinctively pulled Lyla back. He didn't notice the shard that sliced across Audrey's palm. She pressed a handkerchief to the wound in silence, a bitter ache spreading through her chest. Years ago, she had fallen from a cliff. Cassian fought off bandits to save her, breaking three ribs in the process. When vicious rumors questioned her virtue, he swore to marry her. He took fifty lashes from his own family as punishment for his defiance. Clutching a blood-soaked betrothal contract, he had dragged himself to her doorstep to seal their engagement and silence the gossip. But before they could wed, he received orders to march. Four years passed. She went from being called "the ruined girl" to "the old spinster." Even beggars on the street mocked her to her face. 'Is this really what I waited for?' she thought, her throat tightening. 'Is this the reward for all those years in the dark?' Her lashes trembled as she looked toward Cassian. He was staring at a scratch on Lyla's boot, his brow creased with displeasure. He spoke without looking at Audrey. "I got drunk once and mistook someone for you. That's all it was. Four years apart, and you've developed quite the temper?" Audrey stood frozen. Her heart dropped like a stone. Behind her, Lyla whispered, "Audrey might be jealous. Maybe you should… smooth things over?" Cassian did as she suggested without hesitation. He reached into his cloak and carefully drew out a silver bracelet. He held it out. "Will you accept it this time?" Before he left for the front lines, he had wanted to give her this bracelet—a Langley family heirloom passed down through three generations—as something to remember him by. She had refused through tears, insisting he carry it into battle. She made him promise that on the day he returned safely, he would place it on her wrist himself. Now the bracelet had returned. So had he. Audrey's eyes stung with emotion, and her heart softened instantly. She reached out without thinking. Lyla suddenly snatched the bracelet and announced, "Let me put it on for Audrey!" She leaned close to Audrey's ear and murmured, "This bracelet was on my wrist just an hour ago. I've worn it for four years. To be honest, I got tired of it." Audrey went pale. She stammered, "You…" Lyla pulled back with a bright laugh and teased, "Audrey is so easy to rile! One little joke about giving her an heir, and she turns red!"

Adrian: Seli, help me… I've been drugged. Aurora Grand Hotel, room 3001. Come quick! When Selene received the message, she was in the bath. She didn't even dry herself before rushing out, barely managing to throw on a silk nightdress. The moment she pushed the door open, a loud bang rang out as confetti burst into the air. A glass of champagne was thrown straight at her, and the liquid ran down her hair, dripping along the fabric that clung to her body. Selene froze. In front of her, a group of young men burst into laughter. Phones came out instantly, cameras aimed at the thin silk of her dress, now completely see-through where it had been drenched. Flash after flash lit up the room. "Hey, a bet's a bet. Pay up, pay up!" "Look at that. The Vale family's 'upbringing' is really something. Showing up in a nightdress…does she really think Adrian needs her help? More like she's here to throw herself at him. Hahaha!" "She's been chasing after him for ten years like a leech. Can't even shake her off!" The room roared with mockery. In the center, Adrian sat cross-legged, calmly turning a string of prayer beads in his hand, detached and untouchable. Hearing the commotion, he merely lifted his gaze to meet Selene's, a trace of ridicule curving his lips. "Selene, how many times do I have to tell you? No matter what you do, I will never break my vows for you. Do you understand now?" The truth hit her all at once. This had been nothing more than another of Adrian's cruel games, and a chill spread through her chest in steady waves. The laughter around her faded into nothing. Only his words remained, echoing again and again in her heart. This was the man she had loved for ten years. "I was wrong, Adrian," she said softly. "I won't chase after you anymore." Tears slipped down her face and fell to the floor. Ten years ago, she had been sent away to train her mind and discipline her heart. That was when she met Adrian. The first time she saw him, a group of wealthy young heirs were making noise inside St. Elaris Abbey. But she saw only one person. Through the drifting incense smoke, Adrian knelt motionless on a prayer cushion, like a god carved from stillness. Selene had always been slow to fall in love. She had met all kinds of men before, charming, gentle, serious, yet none of them had ever stirred her heart until she met Adrian. From that moment on, her heart belonged to him completely. During their years of training, the pampered young lady who used to sleep until late morning began waking before dawn. Every day before five, she helped Master Rowan make herb-stuffed bread rolls, just to save the biggest one for Adrian. Life on the mountain was harsh, so she would sneak down to buy him candy. Even when Master Rowan punished her and struck her palms until they swelled, she never complained. As long as Adrian smiled at her, it was worth it. Later, after they came down from the mountain, she learned that the Vale family and the Hale family had arranged a marriage between them. Selene had been overjoyed, so happy she nearly cried, and she had wanted to make it official that very day. But Adrian had thrown a cup of coffee in her face. "I'm not marrying you," he said coldly. "My purity is reserved for the woman I truly love."

It was Ethan Graves' seventh birthday, and the family of three had finally managed a rare getaway. Susan Graves had booked the cruise suite weeks in advance, hoping for a perfect vacation with her family. But when she pushed open the door, her world crumbled. Amber Jacobs, her husband Jensen's secretary, lay sprawled on her bed, legs parted, a damp pen clutched in her hand as she moaned "Jensen!" breathlessly. Blinded by rage, Susan slapped her hard. The woman sobbed, darted past the rushing Jensen, and fled the suite. Susan stood trembling, demanding an explanation. But Jensen said nothing, only yanked Ethan roughly behind him. A bloodcurdling scream cut through the air—Ethan's. Susan raced out to find her son dangling over the ship's railing, a bodyguard sawing at the rope with a knife, the fibers fraying fast. Jensen blocked her path, his voice icy as frost. "Apologize to Amber." "She did such a shameful thing!" Susan shook with fury. "And I have to apologize?!" "Everyone has desires," he said flatly, as if stating a fact. "She was only pleasing herself. You hit her, so you are in the wrong." Watching Ethan shake in terror, Susan choked out a ragged "sorry" to Amber. Jensen pressed further, shoving legal papers at her. "As compensation, transfer your 20% company shares to Amber." Susan recoiled, shoving the documents away. The bodyguard glanced at Jensen, and the knife bit deeper—the rope was half-snapped! "Stop! I'll sign it!" Her hands shook violently, tears blurring the ink as she scrawled her signature. Then the rope snapped. Ethan plummeted straight into the churning sea below. "Ethan—!" Susan lunged forward, grabbing only thin air. Her head slammed into the stone railing with a sickening crack, and everything went dark. When she woke, Ethan's gleeful voice pierced her fog. "Dad, what do you think of that? I helped Amber get revenge, didn't I?" "Well done, Ethan," Jensen purred, indulgence dripping from his tone. "What reward do you want?" "I want Amber as my mom! My real mom's so dumb and naggy—she's so annoying!" That childish voice stabbed Susan's heart like a sharp blade. She lay frozen, listening as the truth crashed over her. "Amber's smarter and more… uninhibited than your mother," Jensen added. "Totally!" Ethan cackled. "When I 'fell,' Mom looked so clueless—I laughed the whole time! Such an idiot!" This entire nightmare was a setup—Jensen and Ethan had conspired to avenge Amber, to rob Susan of everything! 'Amber had stooped to such deeds, and Jensen still praised her… calling her uninhibited?' Dizzy with rage, Susan staggered to her feet and slammed into the door with a loud bang. Jensen and Ethan snapped their heads up, panic flashing in their eyes for a split second before hardening into contempt. "Awake and eavesdropping?" Jensen's gaze turned arctic. "How typical of you." Ethan parroted his sneer, cruel and unyielding. "No wonder Grandma calls you a country bumpkin. You have no manners at all." At that moment, Susan saw it clearly—her husband and her son were cut from the same rotten cloth; even their taste in women was no different. When had they become this way? Eight years ago, a lecherous client had harassed her during a photoshoot. Jensen, the coldest tycoon in the elite circle, had spent a fortune to tear up her contract and protect her on the spot. When she treated him to dinner to thank him, the client sent thugs after them. Jensen took the beating, suffering six broken ribs, internal bleeding, and severe organ damage. His first words when waking up were, "I'm glad Susan is okay…" He was icy cold to everyone else, yet his love for her burned like wildfire. Susan dove straight into it, staying by his side for eight long years. Their child was born the following year—a fragile premature baby who was hard to raise. Nanny after nanny came and went through their home. Susan also gave up her rising modeling career, finding sweet contentment simply in hearing her baby call her "Mom." Once the wife he adored and the mother Ethan clung to, she was now their common enemy. Fighting dizziness, Susan struggled upright, staring at Jensen. "You're in love with Amber, aren't you?" Ethan blurted out, "Yes!" before Jensen clamped a hand over his mouth, his face hardening. "She's just infatuated with me. You'll always be my wife." "Then fire her. Hire a male secretary," Susan demanded. Jensen's face darkened instantly. Ethan broke free and charged at her like a feral child. "You idiot! Dad needs Amber for work! What can you do? All you do is nag me, and I'm still always sick!" Susan stumbled to the floor just as Amber burst in, deliberately tripping over her. "Amber!" "Amber!" Jensen and Ethan rushed to help her, fussing over her anxiously as if Susan wasn't even there. Amber's voice trembled as she held up her phone. "Mr. Graves, Dora's coughing up blood at home! What am I going to do?" "What? I'll take you to the vet right now!" Jensen snapped, turning to leave without a glance at Susan. "I'm going too!" Ethan rushed to say. "Jensen, Dora is just her cat! But my head hurts..." Susan grabbed his ankle, her head throbbing. He shook her off violently, disgust etched on his face. "How could you say that? A cat's life matters too! She could die any moment!" The three of them vanished, leaving Susan alone in the silent suite, cold dread crawling up her spine. A sharp ding sounded—Amber had sent her an eight-digit password, labeled iPad Passcode. Jensen's work tablet sat on the coffee table, a device he'd never let her touch. Her fingers shaking, Susan typed in the code. The screen exploded with explicit photos—Jensen and Amber in his car, on his office sofa, even in the bathtub and bed of this very cruise suite. Those vulgar, lewd intimate scenes, shot from twisted angles, nearly tore Susan's heart apart. They had been having an affair for three whole years. And Jensen had dared to call it a one-sided infatuation! Tears blurring her eyes, Susan took photos of all the damning evidence and dialed her father's number, voice cold and steady. "Pull all our funding from Graves Corporation by the end of this month. I'm coming home to take over your position."

Allison Beckett had been adopted by the Schmidt family when she was only a little girl. She grew up surrounded by their care, and from childhood on, she had been promised in marriage to the family's son and future heir, Damian Schmidt. When she turned eighteen, Damian was suddenly kidnapped. To save his life, Allison stepped forward and offered herself as a hostage instead. In the kidnappers' grasp, she endured horrors no one should ever face. They cut off her food and water for three straight days. She burned with a fever so fierce she almost slipped away forever. Yet on the fourth day, fate handed her one slim opening, and she seized it. She escaped and made her way back to Schmidt Manor. She arrived with her heart full of relief, convinced the nightmare was finally over. But the moment she stepped inside, she overheard Damian speaking to his parents in a voice cold as ice. "I'm not marrying Allison," he said flatly. "She spent three days locked up with those thugs. Who knows what they did to her? If you want this engagement to stay alive, send her straight to finishing school and wash that filth right off her." Those words landed like a punch to the gut. That single sentence sealed her fate. On her very first day at the finishing school, they stripped her naked and pricked a tattoo into her skin, a pattern meant to mark the cleansing of a soiled soul. The second day, she cooked ninety-nine elaborate dishes from scratch, then dropped to her knees and scrubbed the floors until dawn. The third day, they ordered her to dance barefoot on a sheet of iron heated until it glowed red. Four long years dragged by before Allison finally walked out those gates. The very first thing she did was head to the crematorium and reserve an urn for herself. "Ms. Beckett," the robotic attendant said in its flat mechanical tone, "your cremation service will begin the instant you pass. Pay the deposit today and settle the rest within one month. We wish you a vibrant life and a peaceful end." Allison barely heard the cold blessing. She reached into her ragged canvas bag, pulled out a fistful of coins, and counted them again and again with shaky hands before sliding the deposit across the counter. Three months earlier, during a routine physical at the school, doctors had found pancreatic cancer. It was already terminal. At best, she had one month left. Before she left this world, she had one last task. She had to return to Schmidt Manor and take back the pendant her birth mother had left behind, the one she had once given Damian as their token of love. The Schmidt Manor sat halfway up the mountainside. Allison changed buses twice and then walked for nearly half an hour. By the time night fell, she stood at the familiar front gate. She pulled in a slow, steady breath and knocked. The heavy door swung open. Damian's mother, Helga Schmidt, let out a delighted cry the moment she saw her. "Allison! Today is your graduation from finishing school. I told Damian to pick you up. Why on earth did you come back alone?" Allison turned her head with a numb, empty stare. There stood Damian after four long years, still wearing that same arrogant smirk. The only change was the woman at his side. It was her own half-sister, Bella Beckett. "Today is all on me," Bella said quickly. She stepped forward with a bright smile and caught Allison's hand. "Damian and I planned to drive over together and bring you home, but then my period hit like a truck. My stomach cramped so badly I could hardly move. Damian stayed back to look after me. You won't hold it against me, will you, sis?" "No," Allison answered, her voice so soft it almost disappeared. "I don't blame you." She turned toward the stairs, ready to gather her old things and ask for the pendant so she could leave for good. Before she took even one step, Damian's mocking voice sliced through the quiet. "Well, Allison, they say girls fresh out of finishing school can entertain in the parlor and cook in the kitchen like pros. Everyone's here tonight, so how about you whip up eight dishes, two soups, and a dessert for us?" Her whole body locked up. After a long, painful pause, she forced the words out, her throat tight and trembling. "I don't want to cook. Just give me my mother's pendant. Hand it over, and I'll go." Old memories crashed over her in a wave. Cooking was a required course at finishing school. If the ingredients weren't cut evenly, she would be whipped until her back bled. If she were even a second too slow tossing the wok, needles would be driven into her fingertips. Over those four years, Allison had gone from anger and resistance to pain... and then to numbness, coldness, and despair. Those nightmare days had wrapped around her like an airtight net, suffocating her little by little. "What's this? You don't feel like cooking?" Damian sneered. A cruel smile twisted his lips as he lifted his hand high. The pendant with its red cord dangled from his fingers. "Then I guess you don't want this either. Fine. I'll just smash it to bits." It was the only thing her mother had ever left her. The second she saw him raise his arm to hurl it to the floor, Allison's heart seized with panic.

On her son Lucas Blackwood's tenth birthday, Elara Blackwood finally dragged her battered body to the gates of Blackwood Estate, looking bruised and barely human. The security guard immediately blocked her path. Gripping the iron bars, Elara tried to gesture, forcing out broken, voiceless sounds. The guard's face twisted with disgust. "Move along. Where the hell did you come from? Don't bring this mess to our gate." He raised his stun stick, ready to drive her off. Just then, Elara caught sight of a tall, commanding figure stepping out of the estate. It was her husband, Sebastian Blackwood. Her eyes, peering through matted hair, blazed to life as she redoubled her pounding on the iron gate. She knew even in this state—tattered clothes, matted hair, a throat too injured to speak—Sebastian would recognize her. After all, everyone in Newport City knew how Sebastian worshiped his wife, Elara. Years ago, he had staked his inheritance to marry Elara, signing a high-stakes pact with the family patriarch. He worked himself to the bone for a year, securing overseas markets Blackwood Group had never conquered. That same year, he had seven stars named after her. It was a declaration that his love, like the constellations, would burn across the sky forever. During the four years Elara was gone, Sebastian fell apart. In the first year, he abandoned everything, searching for her across continents. In the second, he spiraled into depression, brushing dangerously close to the edge—only their son kept him going. By the third, he spent countless nights in empty churches, sitting in silence, praying for her to be alive. Throughout, beauties pursued him, yet he remained unmoved. He swore Elara would be his only wife in this lifetime, vowing to wait forever. Many even targeted little Lucas, coaxing him to accept a stepmother. The boy never wavered. "My mother is Elara. I want no other!" This burning devotion fueled Elara through endless days trapped in the island laboratory, enabling her to collaborate with the police to dismantle the infamous crime syndicate. Yet in the final mission, a traitor's betrayal saw her captured by the syndicate's leader. After suffering through unimaginable hardships, she finally escaped from her captor. Yet framed as a traitor, she bore the stigma of betrayal. Until things became clear, Elara couldn't contact her superiors. So she kept moving, pushing forward through exhaustion and the elements, driven by nothing but the need to make it back to Newport City. Elara was certain Sebastian would recognize her instantly. Just like at that masquerade years ago, when he had picked her out from a crowd of identical Snow Whites. Now, he was walking straight toward her. Elara trembled, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

In five years of marriage, Tanner Cooper had asked Yvonne Mason for a divorce three times. The first time was after a car crash that left his leg injured. He claimed he didn't want to hold her back. Yvonne refused to leave him. She walked miles to a church to get a cross necklace for him, only to find it hanging around Noelle Hayes' neck—Noelle was his childhood sweetheart. The second time, photos of Tanner and Noelle hooking up in a car made the front pages of the tabloids. He demanded that Yvonne tell the public they had already divorced, just to save Noelle's reputation. Yvonne wouldn't agree to the divorce. But in front of the cameras, she calmly said she trusted Tanner and that Noelle was just a close friend to both of them. After that, everyone in their circle labeled her a desperate doormat. The third time was the night before. Yvonne got a call from one of Tanner's friends, saying he'd killed a man. It was a bitter, freezing winter, and snow was falling hard. Yvonne didn't even bother changing. She rushed straight out into the blizzard, still in her pajamas and slippers, and made it to the club. A group of people crowded into a private room. On the floor in the middle lay a man, his face bruised and swollen. Yvonne said, her voice tight, "What happened? Why was there a fight?" One of the men muttered, "It's all Tanner's fault—he lost his temper. This guy just called Noelle a mistress, and Tanner beat him within an inch of his life. He can't stand anyone saying a single bad word about Noelle..." Another man chimed in cruelly, "Well, what's done is done. An eye for an eye. You love Tanner so much, Yvonne—why don't you turn yourself in for him?" Yvonne froze. She lifted her head and scanned the room. "Where's Tanner?" Someone answered, "He took Noelle to another room. Said it's bad luck to be around a dead body, and he didn't want to upset her." Yvonne fell silent. A man added, "Yvonne, Tanner has his whole life ahead of him. Who else is going to help him if you won't?" Another agreed. "Exactly. You keep saying you love him. Can you really stand by and watch him throw his life away?" Yvonne's hands at her sides curled into tight fists. "Fine. I'll go to prison for him." For a few seconds, the room went dead quiet. Then everyone burst out laughing. One man cursed, amused. "Damn. You really are as pathetic as everyone says. You'd do anything for Tanner." Another added, "Tanner called it perfectly. He knew you'd fall for it." Yvonne stared in shock as a hidden door in the room slowly opened. Tanner sat in the small booth behind it, his arm wrapped around Noelle as he fed her a grape. The "dead man" on the floor quickly got up and stepped aside. Yvonne finally realized she'd been set up. Tanner snapped his fingers. One of his lackeys tossed a document onto the floor at Yvonne's feet. Tanner said coldly, "Yvonne, you were willing to take the blame for murder. Signing a divorce paper shouldn't be a big deal, right?" Yvonne glanced down at the paper on the floor, then lifted her eyes to Tanner. "Tanner, do you really want a divorce this badly?" A lackey sneered, "Can't you figure it out, doormat? Tanner's just sick of you clinging to him..." "I want to hear it from him," Yvonne cut him off sharply. Tanner shrugged, wearing an expression that clearly said he'd known she would be this stubborn all along. "Yvonne, if you insist on hearing the truth, don't get mad when I'm blunt." Yvonne nodded quietly. "Go on." Tanner said, "I've asked for a divorce more than once over the years, but you always dodged the question. It's gotten old, and I'm tired of it. You know I only married you because of my grandfather's will. Now I've inherited everything he left me. This marriage doesn't serve any purpose anymore. And I hate women who won't let go." He leaned in and kissed Noelle's cheek. "Noelle is my childhood friend—the one I've always loved. But my grandfather misunderstood her and never approved. I've put her through so much, keeping her by my side without a title... She's gentle and innocent. I can't let her be treated like that. I have to give her what she deserves." Yvonne nodded slowly. "I understand, Tanner. You really do want a divorce. Alright. I'll agree to it."

On the night of Clara Sharp's twentieth birthday, Matthew Coleman—her childhood fiancé, the boy she had loved since early childhood—coaxed her into drinking a glass of spiked wine with a feigned tender smile. Clara dropped her guard, foolishly believing it was nothing more than another one of his sick, twisted games. Matthew had always nursed a twisted, perverted obsession with watching her break apart under raging lust, brought low to kneel at his feet and beg for his touch. But that night, all her illusions shattered in an instant. Before she could register the dizziness coursing through her veins, he shoved her ruthlessly into the arms of his sworn arch-nemesis, Adrian Gilbert—a depraved playboy whose wild excesses had left him riddled with syphilis, clinging to his last days. In cold, sharp Aeran—a language he had always thought she could never understand—Matthew spoke, his voice stripped of all mercy. "You want to know who my true love is? It's Ivy. So leave her out of this. Whatever Ivy's done, Clara will atone for it. She's a virgin." Ivy was adopted by Matthew's grandparents, making her his legal aunt. Everyone in their social circle knew full well that Ivy was a manipulative seductress; yet Matthew turned a blind eye, clinging stubbornly to the lie that his precious aunt was pure, fragile, and untouched by sin. A month earlier, Ivy had crossed Adrian, and now Matthew was more than ready to sacrifice Clara and crush her dignity into dust. "A virgin?" Adrian reeked of strong liquor and rot. A low, lecherous whistle slipped from his lips as his greedy eyes crawled over Clara's curvy, defenseless figure. He took off his coat slowly and draped it loosely over her shoulders—a gesture far from gentle. Clara's mind went completely blank, yet every word Matthew had spoken burned into her brain, sickeningly clear and impossible to ignore. He never knew she had spent months secretly mastering Aeran, planning to reveal it as a sweet surprise for him—only for that secret to turn into the blade that sliced away her last flicker of hope. Burning heat twisted through every inch of her body. She struggled to fight back, to push him away, but the drug surging through her blood left her weak and limp. She could only curl helplessly in Adrian's cold arms. She squeezed her eyes shut, scalding tears streaming silently down her ashen, pale cheeks. Ninety-nine times before, Matthew had chosen Ivy over her. But this time, her heart was shattered beyond all repair. "Mmm." Right in front of Matthew's eyes, Adrian leaned down slowly, his lips catching each falling tear on her cheeks. "Tastes bitter," he murmured in a low, taunting drawl. "What could you ever see in a man like Matthew? When a man truly loves a woman, he will never hand her over. Never." He was right. What had she ever loved about Matthew? She closed her eyes, and memories crashed over her—all the way back to their childhood. She had seen him standing alone by the road: a ragged, lonely little boy in tattered clothes, his eyes blazing with stubborn defiance as he stared straight at her. In that instant, she had resolved to take him home, to love him, to protect him. But she had never foreseen the cruel vengeance of his spiteful stepmother. When a car came hurtling toward them out of nowhere, she had acted on pure instinct, shoving him behind her and shielding him with her own body. He escaped without a single scratch. She lost her leg. Her leg was crushed beyond saving, her bones shattered into fragments. Even after endless surgeries and agonizing rehab, she would walk with a permanent limp for the rest of her days. Matthew broke down crying for the very first time the day he saw her crippled leg. He dropped to his knees and swore to stay by her side forever, vowing never to abandon the Sharp family. Yet the second he stepped back into the Coleman household, he fell madly in love with Ivy—his nominal aunt. Overnight, her life-saving sacrifice, her lifelong disability, the Sharp family's endless kindness to him… all of it turned into a sick, degrading joke. Clara couldn't take it anymore. Her limp, helpless body was gently ushered into a lavish limousine by Adrian. The car shook violently, its ruthless movements leaving nothing to the imagination. Outside, Matthew sat motionless with his eyes squeezed shut, reciting Bible verses in a calm, unwavering tone. A devout Christian, Matthew had never recited the Scriptures so fluently, so flawlessly as he did that night. The car finally fell silent at the break of dawn, as the first ray of sunlight peeked over the horizon. Clara stumbled out of the limousine, her legs buckling beneath her—only to be caught gently by Adrian, who was leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette. He tugged her loosely, a lazy, mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Can we do this another time?" Clara didn't utter a single word. Her body swayed violently once, then she collapsed and blacked out. Matthew caught her limp frame, his face cold and impassive, his eyes devoid of all warmth or remorse. As darkness swallowed her whole, she faintly heard his assistant, Liam Marsh's anxious voice murmuring beside him, "Mr. Coleman, if Mr. Sharp finds out what happened to Ms. Sharp, our entire plan will go up in flames. What if he directs his anger at Ms. Coleman?" Matthew pulled Clara into a seemingly tender embrace, patting her back absently. But the words that left his lips were laced with frost—cruel enough to curdle blood. "No. Clara loves me. She'll cover for me in front of her grandfather. She knows how to stay quiet about this."

Hailey Lange had been raised solely by Kevin Wright, and everyone in Asarie knew she was his most cherished. It was also widely known that Hailey's feelings for Kevin went beyond filial affection—something he himself was well aware of. It was precisely because of this that Kevin had developed an unwarranted confidence. Even after colluding with another woman in her father's death, he still failed to recognize the gravity of his actions. But when Hailey—the woman who once smiled at him and called him "Kevin"—began addressing him coldly as "Mr. Wright," panic finally gripped him. He knelt before her, offering what she had once desired most, begging for forgiveness. Hailey didn't even glance at him. "Mr. Wright," she said icily, "have some dignity." When she abruptly entered the conference room, she saw Kevin gently wiping tears from Jane Grant's eyes. Hailey froze in the doorway, an overwhelming urge to flee surging through her. But recalling why she had come, she forced herself to stay. "Sorry, Kevin. Hailey seems to need you. I'll take my leave." Kevin nodded gently. "Don't worry. I'll handle it." Those words poured ice water over Hailey's heart, plunging it into despair. After Jane left, Hailey choked out, "Kevin… please. Return the video to me." Kevin didn't look up, casually flipping through papers. "You came all this way for this?" His indifference ignited Hailey's fury. "That's my father!" she nearly shouted. "You know he didn't molest anyone! You know he's innocent! Why would you do this?" A month earlier, the police had informed Hailey that her father had been detained on allegations of molestation—a claim she refused to believe. She spent an entire month investigating and finally found an eyewitness whose phone had captured the whole incident. It turned out a drunk woman had been assaulted, and James Lange, Hailey's father, had intervened, chasing off the perpetrator. Yet when the woman regained consciousness, she accused him instead. The scandal spread rapidly online. As a lawyer, Hailey worked tirelessly to secure justice for her father. But uncovering the truth proved grueling; all surveillance footage had mysteriously vanished. She later discovered that Kevin had purchased and erased every recording. Confused, Hailey investigated further, eventually learning the accuser was Susan Grant—Jane's sister. Jane Grant, the woman recently rumored to be Kevin's fiancée. Still, Hailey refused to give up. She spent sleepless days and nights pleading with person after person, moving from doorstep to doorstep on her knees—all for the sake of the truth.

Sylvia Snow never expected to see Julian Hugo again—least of all at her husband's funeral. His first words were cold and detached, "My condolences, dear sister-in-law." Agony lanced through her chest, and hot tears stung her eyes before she could stop them. She tried to pull away, but his iron grip clamped around her wrist, holding her fast. Memories crashed over her in an instant. Three years ago, a devastating fire nearly took her life. Julian had thrown himself into the flames to rescue her, leaving him badly burned and comatose. The cost of skin grafts and intensive care was staggering—way beyond what she could afford. They were both orphans, and she was only a college student then. Raising millions for his surgery was utterly impossible. Desperate and cornered, she met Camilla Hugo, who struck a cruel deal: Sylvia would marry her vegetative son Leon in a luck-bringing union, and the hefty bride price would fund Julian's life-saving surgery. She knew this marriage would end any future with Julian. Once she confirmed he was on the road to recovery, she cut all ties and vanished from his life completely. She thought they would never cross paths again. Then Leon Hugo died suddenly, and the shocking truth came to light: Julian was the Hugo family's long-lost eldest heir. "Sylvia," Julian snarled, tightening his grip until her wrist throbbed, rage and betrayal lacing his voice. "Do you disdain me, or are you afraid?" He'd been willing to die for her, but she'd left him at his lowest to marry into wealth. How could he not hate her? Sylvia lifted her head, and her tear-glistening eyes pierced his hardened facade. One tear fell onto his hand, burning like acid. He almost reached to wipe it away—only to freeze mid-motion and shove her roughly back. His face hardened with fury. "Not a word for your brother-in-law? Do you look down on me?" "Julian, that's enough," George Hugo interjected, guilt etched on his face as he glanced at his long-lost son. "Sylvia can't speak. The fire damaged her throat—she's mute. It's not that she's ignoring you." Years ago, he was forced into a loveless arranged marriage. His beloved first love vanished without a trace, and he never knew she carried his child—the bitter reason behind their long separation. Julian stared at Sylvia, stunned. Shock, guilt and raw pain warred in his eyes. How had she lost her voice? Once, her soft, sweet whispers had been his greatest weakness. Sylvia dropped her gaze, trembling all over. She'd delayed her own medical care to scrape together every penny for Julian's surgery. The toxic smoke had scorched her throat beyond repair, stealing her voice forever. "Go pay your respects to your brother," George urged, leading Julian to the tombstone. The funeral drew to a close soon after.

"Miss Tanner, are you absolutely sure you want to proceed with the targeted neural therapy? Given your specific condition, there is a ninety percent chance it will result in permanent memory loss."  Stella Tanner nodded without a sliver of hesitation. "Yes. I want to lose my memory. I want to forget everything from my past, and most importantly, I want to forget..."  She wanted to forget Jace Simpson, the man who supposedly loved her more than life itself. The doctor on the other end of the line sounded slightly taken aback but quickly gave a professional reply. "Understood. I'll book an appointment with our top specialist in Narazal. The entire process should be finalized within half a month." Hanging up the phone, Stella let the tears stream freely down her face.  Just an hour ago, she had tearfully accepted Jace's marriage proposal, and moments later, she was pinned beneath him, completely enjoying the wild sex with him.  The backseat of the Bentley was spacious enough. He had gripped her waist, pulling her onto his lap. His deep eyes were clouded with naked lust. "Baby, you're driving me fucking crazy. I'm so in love with you it hurts."  The words barely left his mouth before his lips crashed onto hers.  With practiced ease, he worshipped every sensitive spot on her body.  It wasn't until her black tights were ripped and discarded on the floorboards, and her soft moans pierced the quiet night, that their wild sex finally came to an end. Jace slowly and methodically buckled his belt, cupped her flushed face, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. "Be a good girl and head back to rest. I'm gonna go grab a drink with the boys."  "Okay," Stella replied and nodded as obediently as ever.  Even after Jace stepped out of the car, she remained in a daze. Once again, he hadn't even been able to wait until they got home.  Just minutes prior, on the terrace of the sky garden, he had dropped to one knee. Holding a dazzling diamond ring, with tears streaming down his face, he vowed to give her a home. The moment she said yes, the usually aloof and arrogant heir sobbed like a child.  And when he pinned her to the leather seats, his loss of control had been utterly absolute.  Layer upon layer of touching moments had filled her heart to the absolute brim.  Just as she was thinking that no one in this world could ever love her more than Jace did, her phone buzzed beside her.  It was an incoming call from Jace. "Hey, Jace. Miss me already when we just parted ways..." Before Stella could finish her sentence, a chaotic burst of noise from the other end cut her off. "Damn, Jace! We all saw the Bentley rocking out there. You made quite a scene! First, you proposed and promised a wedding in two weeks, and then you banged her in the car. What, are you seriously planning to marry her?"  It was glaringly obvious that Jace had shoved his phone into his pocket and accidentally butt-dialed her.  But what the hell did his friend mean by that question?  Stella frowned, her confusion spiking, right before Jace's lazy, arrogant drawl filtered through the speaker.  "Fuck no. I haven't forgotten that I only went after Stella to get back at Spencer Byrd. The proposal is just a front. I'm gonna make Spencer watch his beloved woman become the biggest joke in all of Los Angeles. That's what he gets for stealing Chloe away from me!"  A chorus of uproarious laughter erupted from the guys.

The man before me was heart-stoppingly gorgeous—his face carved like a blade, that straight aristocratic nose leading to razor-sharp lips—the kind of looks that made women flock to him like moths to a flame. But I loathed him. Because he was a carbon copy of the woman who'd murdered my mother. "How much longer will you fight me, Winnie Carter?" Anthony Bennett's brow furrowed as he ripped my nightgown apart, exposing me. The burn of his body pinned me against the bed. I thrashed wildly. "Get off me!" He gripped my waist with one hand, his voice like ground glass. "Let you go? So you can whore yourself to my brother?" "Winnie, I own you." His fingers were iron, unyielding as his scorching breath crashed over me. His tongue forced past my lips, claiming my mouth with brutal efficiency. My breath came in ragged gasps, trapped. Desperate, I sank my teeth into his tongue. He roared in pain and hurled me backward. I crashed onto the floor as he hocked a bloody glob onto the tiles. "Winnie," he wiped his mouth, "did my kindness make you forget your place?" I stayed silent, my fist clenched around the ring on my left hand. His gaze locked onto it, eyes blacker than a starless night. "What the hell does Ethan Bennett have that I don't?" Ice flooded my veins under his viper-cold stare. I forced sweetness into my voice. "Anthony, you're drunk. Tomorrow I marry Ethan. After that, shouldn't we... play nice?" His expression twisted instantly. He snatched my left hand, clawing at the ring. "Take—it—off." I clenched harder, knuckles bleaching white. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "I won't ask again." Tears blurred my vision as I shook my head. He bent my fingers back until they screamed, prying them open one by one. "Cross me," he breathed, "and you'll regret it." Everyone knew Anthony's temper. They say he smiled while whipping a stablehand to death for bringing the wrong horse. They say he was just ten years old back then. As the Inspector-General of the Three Armies, he wielded near-absolute power—enough to make the sun disappear with a snap of his fingers. Such overwhelming authority, paired with his explosive temper, earned him the fitting nickname "Demon Incarnate." But I refused to let go. This ring had been placed on my finger by Ethan himself. My fingers were pried apart with brutal force, white-hot pain shooting through me until I couldn't fight back. Anthony tore the ring off with frenzied violence, hurling it to the floor. The metal clattered against the polished tiles, a sharp ping echoing through the room.

Three years after Zachary Penrose lost his memory, Josselyn Treneer decided to end her life. She had been suffering from cancer. After taking five hundred sleeping pills, she quietly turned on the gas tap in her home. When she woke up again, Ryland Penrose, Zachary's father, and Rosina Penrose, Zachary's mother, stood by the ICU bed with cold expressions. "Give up on that idea," Ryland said sharply. "Even if you try to kill yourself ten thousand times, my son will never so much as glance at you." "I advise you to sign the divorce papers as soon as possible," Rosina cut in. "The Brock family's daughter is a famous socialite in Joltspire City. She's a perfect match for the Penrose family, and she's carrying Zachary's child—you can't compare to her at all." Those words stabbed straight into her heart. Three years prior, Zachary had loved her more than anything. He'd drive over 550 miles just to pick a mountain rose for her on a mountaintop—all because she'd lingered in front of one at a photography exhibition for three seconds. When she was in terrible pain from menstrual cramps, he walked away from a multi-billion-dollar order. He braved the heavy rain to search every herbal medicine shop in Joltspire City for a remedy, then stayed up all night to boil a pain-relieving soup for her. In the end, he caught pneumonia and had a high fever. Later, when she planned to go abroad as a war doctor, Zachary defied his family's fierce opposition. He knelt in the family shrine for three days and three nights as punishment. He was willing to risk being disowned by the family just to become a special forces soldier. When he showed up in front of her in a tight military uniform, she cried. He kissed her forehead gently, held her close, and said, "Don't cry—it hurts me to see you sad." They got married and registered their union. They were the envy of every couple in the special forces. Josselyn thought happiness would last forever. But on their final rescue mission, she was taken hostage by violent thugs, with bombs strapped all over her body. With fifty-two seconds left on the countdown, Zachary didn't hesitate to shoot himself. Covered in blood, he demanded to swap places with her, mouthing the words "I love you" silently. A single explosion tore them apart, separating life from death. Every time she thought of that moment, even breathing hurt. Josselyn waited by his grave that held no body. What she got instead was news that Zachary was alive—and that he'd lost his memory and fallen for Darlene Brock. For three years, he watched her break down in agony. Yet he gave all his tenderness to Darlene—loving her just as he'd loved Josselyn once. Josselyn didn't know if this was a gift or a cruelty from fate. She begged, she suffered, she tried to take her own life. Over one thousand and ninety-five days, she shed countless tears. But Zachary never so much as glanced at her. At first, he was cold as a stranger; later, he grew more and more disgusted with her, even letting Darlene get pregnant. Quick footsteps sounded at the door. Josselyn looked up. A cold, elegant man walked in, wearing a black suit. He'd unbuttoned one shirt collar, revealing a sliver of his delicate collarbone. Zachary grabbed her chin tightly, the force making her eyes sting with pain. His eyes were as cold as ice. "Did you turn on the gas? Don't you know Darlene's pregnant?" Her voice cracked. "I didn't know Ms. Brock would be at the villa."

"Mr. Vale… please be gentler… it really hurts…" The girl's eyes were red and swollen from crying, looking just like a frightened little rabbit. She curled up in the arms of Adrian, the heir of the Vale family, sobbing softly. Adrian absentmindedly wiped away the tears at the corner of her eyes while his other hand idly toyed with her hair. It was a surveillance video and it abruptly cut off at that moment. This was Adrian's third affair. Everyone knew that the only weakness of the Vale family's heir was his wife, Elara whom he cherished as if she were his most precious treasure. The first two girls had flaunted themselves in front of Elara. As a result, Adrian made sure they never appeared in Arclight City again. This time, the girl might have been bold; or perhaps she relied on Adrian's extreme indulgence. She even sent the video of her and Adrian together in his office to Elara. After watching the video, Elara showed no reaction. She simply closed her computer quietly. Because her heart had long since died. "Madam, if you've made up your mind, then you should leave." A voice came from beside her. She turned around. Standing there was Julian, Adrian's male secretary. His voice was low and slightly hoarse. If one listened closely, there seemed to be a subtle, indescribable emotion hidden within it. Elara's gaze softened slightly. She gently wiped the frame placed on the desk. It was a photo of her and her son. "I've already made up my mind. But I can't let go of Lucas." Lucas was the son she had with Adrian, the child for whom she had nearly died, pouring all her remaining strength into his birth on the operating table. Because of her difficult labor back then, Lucas had been weak since childhood. If she took him away from the Vale family, he would no longer have access to proper medical care. But she couldn't bear to leave Lucas behind and walk away on her own. "Let me think about it a little longer. You can go now." Elara sighed, her eyes stinging. Julian seemed to want to say something. His lips moved slightly, but in the end, he said nothing. He turned and closed the door, leaving in a hurry. The vast Vale Estate was once again left with only her; it was empty and silent, as if frozen in stillness. Suddenly, Elara thought back to her high school days. A boy stood beneath a cherry blossom tree, carefully bandaging the wounds of a bullied girl. Back then, the young heir of the Vale family had sworn he would protect and cherish Elara for the rest of his life. They had once been so deeply in love that the entire Arclight City knew about it. The heir of the Vale family had spent a fortune, buying out all the billboards across Arclight City, just to propose to Elara. Later, their grand wedding became a sensation, still fondly reported by media to this day. After marriage, they had once been inseparable, enviable to everyone. So, when did it all begin to change? That night, Adrian came home.

"Are you really marrying Ramsey Bailey? The guy took a bullet to the groin. Word is, he's completely lost it," said Yohan Hunt. He had assumed Vanessa Pearson was there to pump him for information about Watson Hayes again. But at her words, his eyes lit up. He practically shoved the contract into her hands, as if terrified she might change her mind. "This is great. Finally, you're doing something helpful for Mr. Hayes instead of stressing him out. Let me call him right now and give him the good news—" "No. Don't tell him yet. Let it be a surprise." She paused, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "But I'm not doing this for free. Taking Amber Rainer's place and marrying Ramsey? There's got to be something in it for me." The excitement drained from Yohan's face, replaced by a look of pure disgust. "Your father practically watched Ms. Rainer grow up. Can't you show her a little kindness?" Vanessa let out a cold laugh. "The daughter of a servant? Kindness? My dad died saving her. Now I'm supposed to sacrifice my marriage for her. What, the Pearson family has to all die for her?" Yohan's face flushed. He had no comeback. Vanessa snorted and turned to look out the window, her gaze landing on the high-rise across the river. "The old Pearson Group headquarters. Plus a billion dollars. Call it a wedding gift." Yohan's eyes went wide. He stared at her, stunned. "Mr. Hayes spent ten years moving us out of that building. All our secrets are still there. You're asking for the very foundation of everything." Vanessa's expression hardened. "Guess Watson doesn't care about Amber that much after all. No deal, then." Done with the conversation, she turned to leave. Yohan swallowed hard and stepped in front of her. 'The Bailey family has money and power. Guys line up to marry into that family. But Ramsey? He is a ruthless psycho. Since the shooting, he's been even more unstable. There is no way we can let Ms. Rainer go through that.' He thought about Watson's orders: protect Amber, no matter the cost. Yohan clenched his jaw and gave a stiff nod. "Fine." A few minutes later, a revised contract was in Vanessa's hands. She signed it without a second thought and stood up to go. Yohan stared at her, puzzled. "So... you're really over Mr. Hayes? You're actually gonna marry someone else?" Vanessa didn't look back. The door slammed shut behind her, her only answer. 'Over him? Funny.' Vanessa drove back to Pearson Villa. The study door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, she could hear Watson's voice—low, gentle, mesmerizing. He was teaching Amber how to write. His face held a tenderness she had never seen before. He stood behind Amber, arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, intimate, possessive.

On our tenth wedding anniversary, I uncovered my son and husband's secret. Those annual "accidents" on our anniversary were never coincidences. Ryan Scott, my son, had been staging them to keep me home so that I wouldn't interrupt my husband's meetings with his cherished first love. Through the door, the voice of the son I'd loved with all my heart came through with startling clarity. "Dad, go ahead and meet Maeve like always. I've got things covered here. This is so annoying every year. It's all Mom's fault. Why does she still make such a fuss over anniversaries? Dad, I want Maeve to be my mom. She's definitely not as dramatic as Mom." That same day, I told Andrew Scott, my husband, I wanted a divorce when he came home late, reeking of another woman's perfume. They'd both forgotten. I was not just a wife, not just a mother. First and foremost, I was myself. The voices inside gradually faded. Standing at the doorway, I felt as if someone had poured ice water over me, the chill penetrating my bones. For a fleeting moment, I wondered. 'Maybe I'm just exhausted. Maybe this is all a bad dream.' Lost in thought, I let the cup slip from my hand. Hot milk splashed across the floor, the droplets burning where they touched my skin. The door creaked open. Ryan's eyes flashed with panic when he saw me, then turned accusingly. "What are you doing? Spying on us? Dad's right. You're always sneaking around like we're criminals." At eight years old, he'd grown tall, inheriting Andrew's features and even more of his father's cold, harsh temperament. His furrowed brows and the disgust in his eyes were identical to Andrew's impatient expression, as if cast from the same mold. But on reflection, Andrew had never shown me patience. I just simply hadn't noticed it before. The once sweet and affectionate Ryan had quietly become his father's mirror image. Suppressing my turmoil, I watched him silently. For a split second, I wanted to get angry, to scream, to demand answers. But then I thought, 'what's the point?' I managed a weak smile at Ryan. "I just got here and almost fell. I wasn't eavesdropping," "Really?" Ryan eyed me suspiciously. When he confirmed there were no signs of me about to explode, he gave a light snort. "Hurry up and clean this up. Where's my milk?" Crouching down, I gathered the shattered glass, fighting back tears. Suddenly, I felt drained. "I'll ask Amanda. I'm tired." His accusation came sharply.  "You're just upset I got sick today and ruined your chance to go out with Dad, aren't you?"

The year I loved Adrian Graves the most, he vanished into thin air and let the Graves family destroy my family and ruin my life. I sent him over a thousand messages. Not one reply. His phone was dead too. I went abroad with a heavy heart. Five years later, I became an employee of the Graves Corporation. With his arm wrapped around his fiancée’s waist, he looked at me coldly. "Iris, how dare you come back to the States?" At his bidding, his fiancée was parachuted in as my direct supervisor. Everyone waited for the show to unfold. Watch as I offend Adrian’s most cherished darling, get thrown out of the company, and end up drowning in a mountain of debt. Too bad I didn't give them the satisfaction. Adrian seduced me into bed, his eyes red from crying. "Honey, don't leave me, okay? Do I have to get down on my knees and beg for you to stay?" The next time I saw Adrian was thirty-seven days after I returned to the country. I signed a valuation adjustment mechanism with a company that manages online influencers. Then HR put together a lavish welcome party for me. Beside me, Vanessa Shaw linked her arm through mine. She had also spotted the man at the center of the crowd. "That's our big boss, Adrian. The woman next to him is our future CEO's wife." Through the slightly open door, I saw him. Noticing my interest, Vanessa smiled and said, "I heard his girlfriend's family wasn't doing so well. The boss went above and beyond to help launch the Bennett family business and turn their fortunes around." 'Is that right?' So the aloof and lofty Adrian could stoop to bribery with money and favors. He dated me for five years. Not only did he never use the Graves family connections to help my father's company, but when the Graves family matriarch sent people to crush our business, he didn't even offer a single word of comfort. And right when I loved him the most, he dumped me without a second thought.

Three years into our marriage, and only after my mother died, I, Lori Ortega, finally asked Jeffrey Avalos for a divorce. He agreed with all the careless disdain I should have expected. In his mind, I would never actually leave. I wouldn't dare walk away from the Avalos family. And I definitely wouldn't be able to walk away from him. He was wrong. No matter how deep my feelings for him had once run, he had worn them down piece by piece until there was nothing left. I signed the divorce papers and left. So when I heard Jeffrey's name again, I assumed it would be because he'd gotten engaged to Camila Gomez, the woman he'd never been able to let go of. I didn't expect to hear that he was searching for me all over the world! Because if Jeffrey's wife in all those missing-person notices was supposed to be me, then what exactly was I supposed to tell the gorgeous man sulking beside me in bed? I glanced at the baby stretched out next to me, looking betrayed by my divided attention, and instantly threw myself at him. "Baby, come here. I need cuddles." Outside the operating room, I listened numbly as the doctors offered one hollow word of comfort after another. Then I calmly dialed Jeffrey's number. "Hello? Who is this?" a woman's voice answered, soft and flirtatious. "Jeffrey's in the shower. Hold on." I'd thought my heart had already gone numb. I was wrong. Pain still found a way in. "Jeffrey, your phone. Oh my God, you're still wet. Stop..." After a bout of sickeningly sweet murmurs, they finally seemed to remember the call hadn't been disconnected. A man's impatient voice came through the receiver. "What is it?" "Jeffrey, I want a divorce." "Have you lost your mind?" There was a hint of surprise in Jeffrey's voice, but only a hint. Jeffrey and I had been married for three years. We'd gone from wild, all-consuming love to the kind of exhaustion that made even looking at each other feel like work. I was tired. And I thought maybe he was too. "I'm not crazy. I've never been more clear-headed than I am right now. Jeffrey, I want a divorce." A heavy silence fell over the line, followed by his chilling voice. "Are you outside? You have thirty minutes. We'll talk when you get home." The line went dead. I lowered the phone and didn't bother thinking too hard about his deadline. Instead, I turned back to the doctor and started asking about funeral arrangements. There weren't many people at my mother's service. She had spent the last several years in a hospital bed while relatives and old friends quietly drifted away. So aside from the funeral home staff, I was alone in that dimly lit hall, keeping vigil by myself. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was Jeffrey. Apparently, he and Camila had finally finished whatever they were doing, and he'd remembered he still had a wife. I turned the phone off. The funeral hall fell silent again. I stared at the black-and-white photo of my mother, and at last, a single tear slipped free. Jeffrey and I met in college. At the time, he was already one of the city's rising golden boys, young, brilliant, rich, and impossible to ignore. He returned to campus as a featured alumni speaker at an anniversary event. I was there as a volunteer, standing outside in the summer heat for eighty dollars and a boxed lunch, greeting guests at the entrance. Our worlds should never have crossed. But they did. And somehow, against all logic, we ended up together.

A heavy iron gate scraped loudly against the ground. Beatrice Ford limped out from inside. Her three years behind bars were finally over. A Koenigsegg was parked right at the gate—its sleek luxury a stark contrast to the cold, bleak surroundings. When Zander Green saw her, he pushed himself off the car and stood up straight. He strode over, placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes glistening, and said, his voice hoarse and choked with emotion, "Beatrice, you've been through so much these past three years." Just that one sentence made Beatrice break down in tears. Three years ago, Zander had been driving drunk and had hit and killed someone. She had taken the blame for him. She'd endured unspeakable torture behind bars—they'd even broken her leg, leaving her crippled. As long as Zander still loved her the way he used to, she thought it would all be worth it. Back then, the Green family's inheritance battle was at its most intense. She still remembered Zander, his face covered in blood, saying desperately, "I can't go to jail. If I do, I'll lose everything!" Beatrice had loved him since she was seventeen—from seventeen to twenty-three, and now twenty-six. She couldn't bear to see him lose everything, so she said without hesitation, "I'll take the fall for you. I was driving. I killed that person." She would never forget the look in Zander's eyes that day. It was so full of love and passion. He pulled her into his arms and promised, "Beatrice, I'll never let you down. I'll marry you. I'll love you forever—I swear it!" After three years of living a nightmare in prison, Beatrice suddenly sat in a luxury car, feeling completely out of place. She shifted uncomfortably, and her fingers brushed against something. Beatrice picked it up—and it was a wedding photo. The people in the picture were Zander and Wenda Ford—Beatrice's half-sister. Beatrice felt as if she'd been struck by lightning. Wenda had been in the car during the crash, too. She'd gotten the least hurt, but she'd run away first, not even checked on them. It was Beatrice who had risked the car exploding to drag the injured, immobile Zander out. Beatrice stared again. Wenda wore a wedding dress, smiling sweetly as she linked arms with Zander. She wasn't mistaken. Tears flooded her eyes at once. Beatrice clutched her chest and gasped for breath. In prison, she'd been burned with cigarette butts, whipped with belts, cut with knives, and had her leg broken. There were so many times she'd felt like giving up. But Zander had visited her every month. He told her again and again that they'd get married once she was free. That was the only thing that kept her alive in prison. She'd waited and hoped, then finally waited for the day she was released.

From the time I was a child, I adored dogs—so my grandfather gifted me Julian Carter like a hound on a leash.  I learned quickly how to wield a whip, giggling as I flayed him raw, painting the ground crimson, all while mocking him with a saccharine uncle as he writhed.  But even a beaten dog learns to bite back.  In public, I played the flawless Carter heiress—ice in my veins, steel in my spine.  Behind closed doors, his hands would lock around my throat, driving me to the cold floor as he snarled, "When will you whelp my heir?"I swallowed every scream, every humiliation.  Then came the day the life inside me kicked—the same day I overheard him whisper to his heart's ghost. "Be my wife. I'll rid us of Mia Carter—you'll never see her shadow again."Trailing the raised ridges on my arm, I tallied the days like a prisoner scratching walls. No tears. Just the tally.When the seventh scar splits open my skin, I'll vanish from his world forever—without a single glance back.

"Here's two million. Enough to cover your foster mother's medical bills." Samantha Russo stared at the thin check. Acceptance would mean never worrying about those hospital fees again. "Leave Archer, and it's yours." Samantha's lashes trembled slightly. She almost thought she'd misheard. 'Wow, Archer is worth that much, huh?' Jessica Donovan's crimson lips curved into a smirk. "I can spare Archer thirty years of struggle. What can you possibly offer him? "Take the money and walk away. That's your wisest move. What I want, I get. You'd do well to remember that." Samantha nearly choked on disbelieving laughter. She didn't want to waste her time anymore. She replied, "Sorry. I don't have time for your childish games, Ms. Donovan." Jessica sneered, "Aren't you curious whether your precious love can withstand a real test?" Samantha froze mid-step. "What do you mean?" Jessica said, "Let's wager on how many times Archer will choose me over you." Samantha almost laughed. She thought Jessica was really childish. Jessica tilted her head, venom dripping from her smile. "Not getting cold feet, are we?" Samantha nodded. "Fine. One bet." As long as Archer chose Jessica over Samantha for five times within three months, Samantha would end everything with him.  Years ago, Archer had defied his parents five times for their relationship. Now, Samantha would grant him five chances in return. Yet she was certain Archer wouldn't need all five chances. Samantha trusted their bond and Archer's love for her.  ***** Returning to the hospital room, Samantha saw Archer was on the phone with Louis.  Louis asked, "Archer, you're seriously going to babysit that spoiled heiress? Over a sprained ankle?"  Archer's voice was strained.  "Jessica won't take no for an answer." "Aren't you worried Samantha will find out about Jessica's very public pursuit of you?"  "She won't make a fuss. If I have to choose, I'll pick my career. Gotta make money, right?"  "But Jessica is really hot. She's way hotter than Samantha. You're really not tempted? What if she throws herself at you?"  An invisible hand clenched Samantha's heart, stealing her breath.  She burned to know what Archer was thinking.   He gave a cold laugh. "I know the difference between a wife and a fling. Some women are for the bed, others for the kitchen."  "So Samantha's the kitchen type? Wow, Archer. You have a loyal wife at home and wild nights out!"  For a moment, the world went silent. Then Samantha's mind erupted with white noise.  She'd always assumed Jessica was the one pursuing Archer.

When Vista Airlines Flight 1082 finally made its emergency landing, every single person on board let out a long breath of relief. The entire cabin seemed to relax at once. But only Eleanor Hopkins understood the truth. Her marriage to Winslow Hamilton could never go back to what it had been. The man who once loved her with everything he had made his choice the moment the hijacker held a knife to them. He pushed her straight into danger without even hesitating. Then he pulled Nicole Hopkins tightly into his arms and said in a voice that left no room for argument, "You're the older sister. When it comes down to life and death, you should give way to her." Eleanor's lips trembled. She did not say a single word. A few days later, she quietly walked away from the job she loved at Vista Airlines. The instant the plane stopped moving, Nicole buried herself deeper in Winslow's arms and refused to let go. She raised her scratched little finger and cried out in pain, her voice small and pitiful. Winslow's heart felt like it was breaking into pieces as he watched her cry like a delicate flower beaten down by rain. He turned on Eleanor before she could even catch her breath. His words hit her like a slap. "Why didn't you protect your sister? Look at her now. She's hurt because of you. Are you satisfied? No wonder the Hopkins family always said you were an ungrateful stray that could never be tamed." His voice was vicious, his eyes burning with accusation. It felt as if the woman standing in front of him were not his wife at all, but the person he hated most in the world. Eleanor followed his gaze to the tiny smear of blood on Nicole's fingertip. A strange, bitter sense of absurdity rose in her chest. He could not see the blood covering her own hair and face. He could not see how her uniform was soaked red. In his eyes, there was only Nicole. That look of pure heartache and gentle care was almost beautiful. If Winslow had not been her husband, she might have clapped her hands and congratulated them on such deep love. Right then, her adoptive parents' call came through like clockwork. There was no greeting, no concern—only the same sharp cruelty she knew too well. As soon as she answered, the familiar voice cut in. "You worthless little tramp. If anything happens to your sister, we will never let you go. Everything you ate and every place you slept, we provided for you. How dare you abandon Nicole when she was in danger? Have you no shame at all?" The shrill coldness in that voice stabbed into her ears like invisible needles. Yet Eleanor had grown used to these unfair attacks long ago. From the time she was little, her only purpose had been to protect Nicole. Nicole was the precious flower kept safe in a greenhouse. Eleanor was just the plain leaf that stood between her and the wind. Every time Nicole shed even one tear, Eleanor was the one who got punished. That was her single role in the Hopkins family. Later, Winslow appeared. He pulled her out of that suffocating home, took her under his wing, and stood by her like a shield. But three years into their marriage, that shelter was no longer hers alone. Now Nicole stood beneath it too, and there was no place left for her. Eleanor stared at the dark screen of her phone, forcing down the bitterness welling up inside her before letting out a quiet breath. Compared to the invisible blame and insults, she was more relieved that today's incident had not resulted in any loss of life. Otherwise, two hundred people would have been gone just like that. Someone nearby must have nudged him, because Winslow suddenly realized how harsh he had sounded. He paused awkwardly and tried to soften his tone. "Eleanor, what I said just now was too much. Please don't mind it. I was only worried..." "You were worried Nicole might be hurt," Eleanor answered in a soft, understanding voice. "You were worried you wouldn't know what to say to Mom and Dad. I know. I understand everything." She looked at him with calm eyes and even gave a small smile. But inside, something twisted painfully, jealousy flooding her chest until it hurt to breathe. The corners of her eyes reddened without her noticing. Winslow opened his mouth. He tried to speak, but no words came. After several long seconds, he simply closed it again. He never noticed the self-mocking pain hidden behind her faint smile. Because in the next moment, he lifted the still-crying Nicole into his arms and rushed her toward the medical station, leaving Eleanor standing alone behind him—her face pale, her uniform stained with blood. She watched his urgent back disappear into the crowd. She could not tell whether the feeling spreading through her chest was colder than the pain.

As the sole heir to the Thorne family in Mistwick City, Liora Thorne had made two fatal mistakes. First, she had dared to develop real feelings for her arranged marriage partner. Second, she had kept offering her heart to Killian Pierce, only for him to trample it again and again. The first time, doubled over in pain from acute gastritis, she had struggled to call him, only to hear his cold reply: "Go see a doctor. I'm busy." The thirty-sixth time, dazed after a car accident, she had barely whispered, "I've been in a crash," when he cut her off. "Liora, stop with the desperate attention-seeking—it's pathetic." Then he hung up. The fifty-second time, she was overjoyed about her pregnancy—until she overheard him telling a friend, "Liora and I? Purely business. You know I only love Lila." Five years of marriage had been reduced to "purely business." She had believed even an arranged marriage could blossom with enough care. Now, she finally saw the truth. Without hesitation, she instructed her assistant to schedule an immediate abortion. As soon as she recovered, she marched back and reclaimed the billion-dollar project she had handed to Killian. The moment she acted, he burst into her office. "Keep your hands off this project!" No greeting. No pretense. His intentions were crystal clear. Liora leaned back in her leather chair, casting him a frosty sidelong glance as she spoke to him with undisguised contempt for the first time. "Oh? This has always been my family's project. Why don't you explain who you think you are to stop me?" Killian's phone buzzed. His face darkened as he read the message, his voice edged with threat and anger. "Stay out of this project, or you'll regret it!" Then he spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. Liora followed him. His car led her to a suburban villa. A slender, pale-skinned woman stepped out. Something about her felt familiar. Then Liora saw her face. She clamped a hand over her mouth, biting down so hard she tasted blood as she stifled a gasp. Lila Pierce—the adopted daughter of the Pierce family. The woman who supposedly owned Killian's soul. Eight years ago, Killian had abandoned his family for her. He had worked as a food courier, then as a street vendor. Two years later, he returned alone. No one knew why. Some said Lila was dead; others claimed she had betrayed him. After that, he never mentioned her again. Liora had never expected to run into her like this.

Everyone knew that Adrian Kingsley was deeply in love with Sophie Bennett. Not only had he built her a private island called Aurora Island, but even the dishes and tableware she used for meals were crafted from fine porcelain, and the toilets were inlaid with gemstones. The island was filled with every luxury cosmetic and designer brand imaginable. For three years, Adrian had spoiled her, and his love for her seemed neverending. On Adrian's birthday, Sophie secretly left the island, planning to surprise him. But the moment she opened the news, the screen was flooded with headlines. "The Nation's Richest Man Adrian Kingsley Marries Famous Ballet Dancer Veronica Whitmore Today!" Sophie stared at the screen in disbelief. Veronica Whitmore. The woman who had bullied her relentlessly for an entire year. Adrian knew exactly how much she hated Veronica. Why would he marry her? Besides, she and Adrian had dated for two years, and they had already been married for three. Confused and unsettled, Sophie rushed to the hotel where the wedding was being held. When she reached the dressing room, the door was slightly open. Inside, Adrian held a pair of black handcuffs. He pressed Veronica against the wall. She wore rabbit ears and a revealing bunny costume as he kissed her fiercely. When Sophie's name came up, Adrian's voice carried obvious disgust. "To stop Sophie from taking your overseas ballet scholarship, I had no choice but to fake a marriage with her. You both dance ballet, but in bed she's completely lifeless. You're the one who suits my taste. Whatever I want to do, you always play along." Veronica let out a soft, breathy laugh and said, "What if she finds out?" Adrian sounded completely indifferent. "So what if she does? I got bored of her a long time ago. Besides, she hasn't stepped outside Aurora Island in three years. She's basically useless now. There's still time. Put on the wedding dress. Let's go again." The sound of tearing fabric mixed with Veronica's low moans could be heard. Sophie bit her lip so hard it almost bled. Each word struck her like lightning. So the love he had shown her on Aurora Island had never been love at all. It had only been a prison. Back then, there had been only one ballet scholarship to study abroad. Veronica had competed with her at every turn. She placed nails in Sophie's ballet shoes. She poured disinfectant into her cosmetics. On the day of Sophie's performance, she tore off her costume and locked her in a bathroom, forcing her to humiliate herself in front of everyone. Every memory was a nightmare that still haunted Sophie whenever she closed her eyes at night. At the time, Adrian had looked heartbroken for her. He promised he would find evidence and bring Veronica to justice. Yet only two days later, he appeared with a diamond ring and proposed. "There were no cameras there, and you don't have any visible injuries. It's only a scholarship opportunity. It's not worth fighting over. Why don't you marry me and become my one and only Mrs. Kingsley?" Sophie's heart wavered. No one knew that the moment she first saw Adrian in university, she had already fallen for him. On the first day of school, she couldn't find the women's dormitory. Adrian had been sitting in a camphor tree, chewing gum. When he saw her wandering around in circles, he finally jumped down and pointed her in the right direction.

For the sake of revenge, I willingly dragged myself into the gutter and became a woman of the night. Men became nothing more than weapons in my hands, tools to be used and discarded. I once promised myself that I would cut off all feelings and never fall in love again. But when that man appeared in my life once more, I still rushed headlong toward him and lost myself completely. My devotion. My silent sacrifices. My desperate waiting. All of it only led to his careful schemes, his suspicion, and his cold calculations. In the end, I was nothing more than a pawn he threw away. Then, in the depths of despair, a single ray of light appeared. I knew I didn't deserve it, yet I clung to it like a drowning person clutching at the last straw. What I didn't realize was that I was falling into another abyss, one even deeper and darker. In that abyss, I finally fought back. I finally learned how to sever love completely. In the end, I won at life. But I lost the person I loved. Only then did I realize that you can cut off desire, but love is something you can never truly quit. ****** A woman jumped from the rooftop of Siren Lounge. At the exact moment she leapt, Kaelan had me pinned against the floor-to-ceiling glass window on the eighteenth floor. The thin strap of my dress had already slipped down to my waist. One of his hands restrained me while the other tore away my bra. My chest pressed against the cold glass, sending a chill through my body, while his rough breathing burned against my ear. "Lyra," he murmured hoarsely. "So, you finally came back." I struggled and shook my head, trying to break free, muffled protests escaping my lips. His large hand clamped over my mouth. His chest pressed tightly against my bare back, the heat of his firm muscles scorching my skin. When his hips pushed forward, my legs trembled uncontrollably. "Let go of me," I managed to gasp. "I'm not Lyra." Kaelan had no intention of stopping. His hand slid down along my waist, his fingers roaming lower, igniting sparks of desire wherever they passed. That was the moment the woman jumped. She fell from more than thirty floors above, dressed in a flowing white dress. As she passed the huge glass window, it looked as though she was plunging straight toward us. Then she vanished in an instant. A second later, a deafening thud echoed from the street below. She had landed on top of a car, leaving a deep dent in the roof. Her life ended there. For a brief moment while she fell, our eyes met in midair. In that instant, it almost felt as if she were mocking me for becoming nothing more than a man's plaything. The entire Siren Lounge descended into chaos. Someone knocked on the door. "Mr. Thorn, something's happened. Should we head down?" Kaelan finally released me. Before leaving, he gripped my chin, his gaze dark and unfathomable. "Whether you're Elara or not," he said quietly, "don't even think about running." The hallway soon filled with hurried footsteps. Several of the girls rushed downstairs to watch the commotion. Long police lines were being set up outside. I didn't go. Instead, I sat cross-legged in front of the floor-to-ceiling window and lit a cigarette. Through the haze of smoke, a cold smile slowly curled at the corner of my lips.

"Scarlett, are you really walking away from Maxwell?" In the antique-filled study, Scarlett Anderson sat rigidly on an ornately carved mahogany chair, her fingers twisted together in her lap. After a heavy silence, she gave a slow nod. "Yes, Mr. Owen. Max and I... we're done." James Owen sighed deeply, but before he could speak, a voice sharp as shattered glass cut through the air. "Done? I announce my wedding date with Grace, and you come crying to my father? Scarlett, aren't you tired of these pathetic games?" Before Scarlett could even turn, Maxwell stormed in, his long legs closing the distance between them in angry, deliberate strides. Still reeling from the tense exchange, James tried to intervene. "Maxwell, Scarlett was just saying that she—" "Saying what? That she's playing the martyr? Or threatening to make a scene?" Maxwell's icy glare pinned Scarlett in place, every word dripping with contempt. "Grace wants you to plan our wedding. You'd better not screw it up." Scarlett's fists clenched at her sides, her eyes blazing with bottled-up fury. "Maxwell, I owe you nothing." "No. But your mother did." A thick envelope slammed against her chest. Her fingers trembling, she flipped through the yellowed pages and recognized it immediately—her mother Elena Anderson's old indenture contract with the Owen family. Fifteen years of unpaid service as a live-in housekeeper. In return, the Owens had covered her daughter's private school tuition and basic living expenses. The penalty for breaking the terms? Fifty billion dollars. Her throat constricted. Fifteen days remained until the obligation would be fulfilled. "A mother's debts fall to the daughter." Maxwell spat the words like venom and turned to leave. James slammed his coffee cup onto the floor, the porcelain shattering into shards. "Maxwell! Do you realize what you're doing to her? This is monstrous—you'll regret this!" Maxwell paused at the threshold, letting out a laugh colder than winter frost. "Regret? I wouldn't care if she dropped dead tomorrow." The door slammed shut behind him. Watching his retreating figure, Scarlett felt hot tears burn her cheeks—shameful, unstoppable. Even her death wouldn't move him? Of course not. How could a man with no past grieve a love he'd completely forgotten? For three hundred sleepless nights, she'd fought this war of heartbreak alone. Yet the proof of their love was etched into her memory like scars. When she was fourteen, her alcoholic father set their apartment on fire. Maxwell had charged through smoke and flames to drag her and her mother out. When she was eighteen, shattered by Elena's death from cancer, it was Maxwell's steady hands that held her together. When she was twenty, when his family called her nothing but a housekeeper's daughter, he'd taken ninety-nine lashes across his back and spent three days kneeling on cold marble to prove she was worth the fight. Through the agony, he'd gripped her hand and declared, "I don't care who her mother was. She's mine. From now on, I've got her back."

"Ms. Winter, you are nearly six weeks along. Given your constitution, I can only give you two weeks to decide whether to terminate the pregnancy," the doctor says. Thinking of Felix Sterling, her boyfriend of five years, Celeste Winter nods without hesitation. "I'll return for the procedure in two weeks." Her complete lack of hesitation visibly surprises the doctor. "Don't you need to discuss this with your partner?" A wry smile touches Celeste's lips as she shakes her head. The man who once vowed to build a future with her is now eagerly awaiting the arrival of another woman's child in three months. Beatrice Holloway has just graduated, radiating naive innocence. She is an intern in the Food & Beverage department of one of Felix's hotels. "Celeste, she reminds me of you when you first graduated. I can't stand to see her get pushed around," Felix explains. He has taken the girl under his wing, shielding her completely. At first, Celeste deludes herself. But she can no longer ignore Felix's growing obsession. For Beatrice's birthday, he presents twenty-three belated gifts—from luxury cars to a beach house—completely forgetting his and Celeste's own anniversary. He orchestrates an extravagant graduation celebration for her, filling the sky with drones and fireworks that spell out intimate messages, while Celeste lies feverish at home, recovering from another round of fertility injections. When Beatrice offends a guest at work, Felix soothes her tears, then demands Celeste—his acclaimed executive chef—personally serve and apologize to the customer. And now, Beatrice is pregnant. ***** Returning to the villa, Celeste finds the living room transformed. Her favorite pink tulips and sunflowers have been replaced by garish red roses and peonies. Childish plush toys now litter the sofas. "Mr. Sterling asks us to change the decorations," a staff member explains quietly. Without a word, Celeste walks upstairs. In the master bedroom, Felix is directing a worker to hang a new landscape painting. Leaning against the wall in the corner is their framed photo from their seaside vacation. Noticing her cold expression, Felix slides an arm around her shoulders. "Celeste, Beatrice has been struggling with morning sickness. I don't want her staying in that shared apartment anymore. It would be safer for her to be here while she's pregnant. Once the baby is born, she'll leave. I promise." He smiles reassuringly. Celeste looks at him, a faint, mocking smile on her face. "So you're putting her in our bedroom? Won't it be a little crowded with three of us in one bed?" His smile fades at her tone. "Celeste, you know you're the only one for me. Even when my mother disapproves, I never consider marrying anyone else."

"Fear not, Lottie. Your well-being is now my eternal responsibility," declared Joshua Quinn after releasing his grip on Charlotte Miller. He planned to marry her as his second wife, with no family ties or servitude obligations standing in the way. Charlotte’s gratitude was interrupted by news of Miss Stewart's engagement cancellation. Energized, Joshua called for his attire and finest treasures to propose marriage to Miss Stewart, leaving Charlotte speechless. Reflecting on the night, Charlotte prepared for a calming bath. Despite Joshua's intense urgency, she felt an unfamiliar joy. Three years prior, orphaned Charlotte attempted to sell herself for her mother's burial. Prince Joshua's kindness altered her fate. She could serve him in his study. This unique privilege granted her privacy and a special place in his world. Once, Joshua remarked, "If you can read, prepare the ink for me from now on."

Eight months pregnant and nearing her due date, Lenora suffered a miscarriage after eating a pastry given to her by her husband, Cedric. When the child was born, its tiny body was covered in purple bruises. Lenora nearly wept herself blind.   Cedric, red-eyed, knelt before her, confessing, "I'm sorry, Lenora. I didn't know the pastry contained musk. The child is gone… but there will be others. You'll get pregnant again!"   A year later, Lenora indeed discovered she was expecting once more. Overjoyed, she went alone to a church to pray for her unborn child.   Yet, in the church's back hill, she unexpectedly saw Cedric, who should have been leading troops south to suppress bandits. He wasn't wearing armor; the muscles along his strong back flexed with each movement, sweat sliding down to wet the snow-white thigh at his waist. Hidden among the branches, a woman's eyes gleamed seductively.   "I hear Lenora is pregnant again? Too bad… if not for me, your first child would already be walking, wouldn't it?"   Cedric's large hand suddenly gripped the woman's slender waist, his low, hoarse breath brushing against her.   "Are you jealous? The Royal Observatory and Astrological Office predicted it would have been a deformed monster. Even if you hadn't interfere, I wouldn't have kept it. My child can only be born from your womb."   "Hmph! Smooth talk! When I entered the palace to serve the emperor, you drowned your sorrows in drink, then went and married some rustic village girl! You wretched man!"   Cedric soothed her gently. "Lenora is too proper and dull. If I hadn't been injured and unconscious back then, it was she who saved me. Otherwise, I would never have married her."   The woman blushed with delight, swaying her waist provocatively. "Cedric, you're heartless! I hear Lenora is carrying your child, yet you speak of her like this behind her back!"   Cedric inhaled sharply at her words, eyes darkening. He pressed his lips firmly to hers. "I only love you…"   Every breath, every soft gasp, whispered directly into Lenora's ears. She felt as if struck by lightning, frozen in place.   What was Cedric saying? What child?   Her mind spun as if hit by a hammer, and for a moment, she could barely comprehend his words.   When she came to, tears had unknowingly streaked her face. Lenora felt as if her heart had been torn apart by a wild beast, her whole body trembling with pain.   She had never imagined that Cedric, the man who once promised her a lifetime together, could be involved with another woman. And that woman wasn't just anyone; she was Selene, the imperial consort!   She also couldn't fathom that the death of her first child was at Cedric's hands.   How could he… how dare he?   No wonder, when she had hemorrhaged and lost consciousness during her miscarriage, Cedric had held her, whispering "I'm sorry" over and over, each time dripping with guilt.

Ten years of love, and Serena had always been Julian's secret lover, hidden from the world. She had believed his refusal to go public was out of circumstance until she saw the message on his phone.   Julian: Just playing around. Does she even deserve to be my official girlfriend?   ******   It was two in the morning. The top-floor suite at Langford Residences was still lit. Serena curled up under the covers, her whole body feeling as if it had been taken apart and reassembled.   Her wrists, waist, and inner thighs were covered in purple bruises and kiss marks. Some places were even broken, tiny beads of blood seeping out.   The sound of running water came from the bathroom; Julian was showering.   This was their usual pattern. He demanded fiercely, then left as soon as it was over, leaving her alone amid the lingering chaos and scent.   A phone on the bedside table vibrated. It was Julian's phone; he never took it into the shower.   Serena hadn't intended to look. But the screen was lit, and WhatsApp messages kept popping up, the contact name glaring at her.   Evelyn was the heiress of the Sutton family in Havenport, Julian's childhood friend.   Some force made Serena reach for the phone. The screen wasn't locked, and she easily opened the conversation.   At the top was a voice message from Evelyn. Serena hesitated, then tapped it. The soft, teasing voice of the woman rang out immediately.   Evelyn: Julian, I tried on the third wedding dress today! Mom says it looks perfect! You have to come help me choose tomorrow, or I'll be mad. Evelyn: By the way, Dad finalized the guest list for next month's engagement party. Do you need to invite Serena? I mean… you've only… well, but she's been with you for so many years. Would it be rude not to invite her?   A playful emoji followed.   Serena felt her mind go blank. Her blood froze instantly, yet her fingers unconsciously scrolled upward.   Evelyn: You went to her again tonight? Didn't you say you'd watch the musical with me?   Julian's reply came quickly.   Julian: Just killing time. Been stressed lately, needed to let off some steam.   Evelyn sent a pitiful emoji.   Evelyn: Then be gentle with her. In the photos, she always has bruises… looks so pitiful.   Julian: Be gentle with her? She doesn't deserve it. You're different, Evelyn. You're the one I'm going to marry. I wouldn't dare be rough with you. As for Serena… she's just a tool for release. Men have needs; someone has to satisfy them. Don't be jealous, I only have you in my heart.   ******   Serena couldn't see the rest of the messages clearly. Her vision blurred, and the phone slipped from her hand, hitting the soft carpet with a muffled thud.

The pathology report was crumpled into a damp, trembling wad in her fist, its edges curling like the leaves of a dying plant.   "Stage IV gastric adenocarcinoma... I'm so sorry, but we're looking at weeks, not months."   The oncologist's measured delivery still reverberated through her skull, each syllable a scalpel carving into Evelyn Green's chest.   With hands she couldn't quite steady, Evelyn dug her phone from her coat pocket. That number, memorized in seventh grade and never forgotten, still occupied the top spot in her contacts, exactly where it had been for fifteen years.   The ringing stretched into eternity before the line clicked live.   "Evelyn." Aiden Cross's voice filtered through, calm and unhurried, the same steady rhythm she'd been measuring her heartbeat against since childhood. "Everything alright?"   Her throat closed like a fist. She forced air past it. "Aiden... hypothetically, if I didn't have much time left, what would you do?"   The silence that followed wasn't empty, it was dense, pressurized, filled with everything she couldn't bring herself to say. She could hear her own pulse thundering in the hollow of her ear pressed against the phone.   When Aiden spoke again, his tone hadn't shifted by a single degree. "Don't think like that. I'll be here. However long it takes."   Of course. Rock-solid. Dependable. As always.   She knew, with the cold clarity of a woman staring down her own mortality, that this promise had nothing to do with love. This was duty, the same ingrained decency that made him hold doors for strangers and return stray wallets. But even so, those two words, I'll be here, wrapped around her ribcage like a temporary shelter.   At least he wouldn't leave her alone.   She tried to summon a smile. Her mouth bent into something that probably looked more like pain.   That expression didn't survive the next ten seconds.   Commotion erupted at the hospital's main entrance, the squeak of rubber soles against polished linoleum, raised voices, the chaotic percussion of an emergency in motion.   And then she saw him.   The man who had just promised to stay until the end came barreling through the automatic doors with a limp, ghost-pale woman cradled against his chest. His face, usually so composed it might have been carved from marble, was twisted into something Evelyn had never witnessed. Genuine terror. His temples gleamed with sweat; his shirt had come untucked; his entire body radiated desperation.   "Doctor! Somebody, please, she needs a doctor, "   His voice cracked on the last word. Actually cracked. The Aiden Cross who never raised his voice, who never showed weakness, who moved through life with the unshakeable certainty of gravity, he was shaking.   Evelyn's blood flash-froze in her veins.   She retreated into the shadow of a support pillar, shrinking against the cold concrete as she watched Aiden lower the woman onto a gurney that materialized from nowhere. His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, medical history, symptoms, name, repeated pleas, each syllable soaked in a thickness of worry that seemed to physically choke the air around him.   So. Aiden could fall apart after all.   He could lose his composure completely, spectacularly, entirely, for someone else.   Just never for her. Never for Evelyn.   A different kind of pain lanced through her chest, sharper than anything cancer could manufacture, deeper than any surgical incision. This one carved out something vital and left her hollow.   She watched them disappear through the double doors to the emergency ward, and with them went whatever thread of strength had been holding her upright.   Evelyn made her way home like a woman walking underwater.   From the back of her nightstand drawer, beneath old receipts and forgotten lists, she pulled their marriage certificate. Red cover, gold embossed lettering. It weighed nothing and held approximately the same amount of warmth.   The photograph showed a woman with eyes curved into crescents of manufactured joy, her entire being tilted toward the man beside her like a flower starved for sun.   Aiden stared directly at the camera. Distant. Composed. Impeccably courteous. Looking anywhere but at her.   Twenty years. Since childhood, she'd been running after his retreating silhouette, and she had never, not once, managed to close the distance.  

A blindfold covers my eyes as I am led into Finch Manor, my heart hammering with pure terror. I know why I am here. The Finch family acquires me through discreet channels to serve as a secret mistress to their patriarch, CEO Victor Finch. The requirements are specific: youth, beauty, higher education, and above all, innocence—no prior romantic experience whatsoever. Virginity is non-negotiable. Victor, the wealthy young head of the Finch Group, is a man shrouded in dark rumors. Publicly, he is a business titan. Privately, whispers speak of cruelty and a taste for destroying young women. Periodically, a new girl is secretly delivered to the manor. Most are returned the same night, vanishing without a trace afterwards. A few foolishly believe love can redeem him. They, too, disappear completely. Thus, Finch Manor earns its reputation: a place more terrifying than hell, with Victor as its soul-collecting demon. The most recent rejected girl is carried out horizontally. Her grave is still fresh. Yet, here I am, stepping into the lion's den. My mother's hospital bills demand payment, leaving me no choice but to take this desperate gamble. What awaits me inside is a terrifying unknown. Seven girls have entered before me, who have all been carried out. I expect to face this alone, but upon removing my blindfold in the assigned room, I find myself among a lineup of ten other young women. Each is stunningly beautiful. We are all "special selections." A collective flinch passes through the group as the steward, Arthur Sterling, enters. I instinctively retreat further into my corner. Arthur gives a signal. A stern-faced doctor with glasses follows him in, leading the girls one by one into the adjoining room before closing the door firmly behind them. As I wait outside, my hands begin to tremble. Horrific stories swirl in my mind—eccentric billionaires who seek youth through transfusions of young blood, men with sadistic appetites who enjoy breaking the innocent, or those who follow archaic practices, believing the vitality of a pure young woman can rejuvenate their own. The room beyond the door is eerily silent. No one emerges. It is as if they have all vanished into thin air. 'What is happening in there? Will anyone who enters ever leave alive?' My panic climbs until Arthur's footsteps halt before me. "Lillian Lockhart, you're next." Clenching my fists, I follow him into the room. Inside, the doctor discards a pair of disposable gloves. He faces me without expression. "Remove your clothes." "Pardon?" I ask. My disbelief earns an impatient frown. "How can I examine you otherwise?"

In a moment of passion, Simon Gray reached for a sexy outfit from the bedside. With an expectant look, he gazed at Chloe Shaw and said, "Chloe, put it on. Make it more exciting."   Chloe felt a wave of shyness wash over her. She had never experienced anything like this before, but she eventually nodded and tried it on, though the outfit was a size too large. She didn't think much of it, but little did she know, things were about to take a turn. Simon then unexpectedly tied her hands with a rope, catching her completely off guard.   In the midst of her protests, Simon pushed her onto the bed, and she helplessly succumbed to this unexpected storm.   Afterward, with tears in her eyes, Chloe watched as Simon patted her back and headed into the bathroom. In a daze, she noticed a faint bite mark on his shoulder that didn't seem to be left by her.   Feeling a pang of suspicion, Chloe quietly followed him to the bathroom door. Through the crack, she overheard Simon talking on the phone.    "Hey, babe, she put it on. But she's still not as sexy as you. She's dreadfully boring in bed."   Chloe stood frozen, her heart sinking into a cold abyss. The happiness she once believed in was about to shatter. As the call ended, she heard another woman's teasing voice.   "Why not bring her over next time? I'll help you train her."   Simon laughed without hesitation and said, "No, we've only been married a few years. I don't want her to find out yet."   Chloe was heart-broken. She never imagined that behind the marriage she cherished lay such unfathomable deceit.

"You have about a month left," the documentary filmmaker said quietly. "How would you like your final video to be recorded?" The woman sitting across from Katherine Rivera looked as if she were fighting back tears. Katherine didn't answer right away. She sat there for a moment, thinking. Then she said firmly, "Release the videos after I'm gone. It'll be the only thing I leave behind for Spencer." More importantly, she didn't want Spencer thinking she was staging some dramatic farewell just to compete with another woman. Nina's eyes instantly filled with tears. "How could you say that? You and Mr. Hopkins have been together for ten years. Everyone knows how much he loves you. People talk about you two like you're a fairy-tale couple." Katherine gave a small, humorless smile. She used to believe that too. That was before she learned Spencer had a four-year-old child with another woman. "Nina... Let's start here. I already know what I want the first episode to be called." She looked directly into the lens. Her voice was calm as she spoke, sorrowful in her eyes. "Spencer... if you're watching this, I'm already gone." The room fell silent. For a long moment, the only sound was Nina quietly sniffing while trying to keep the camera steady. Katherine reached over and squeezed her hand. "Such a crybaby... You still chose this job? If you keep filming people's final stories, you're going to cry through every single one." Nina sniffled, trying to hold back her tears. "That's not it. It's just... You and Mr. Hopkins love each other so much. I can't stand the thought of something tearing you apart." Katherine didn't reply. Everyone believed Spencer loved her more than anything. They had been together for ten years, married for five. Spencer remembered every tiny thing about her. He held her hand every time they left the house. When he came home from work, he wrapped his arms around her before he even took off his coat. Once, years ago, there had been a fire. Spencer ran straight into the flames to pull her out. She survived without a scratch. He almost didn't. That was the man everyone believed in, the man who supposedly loved her more than his own life. And yet that same man now had a child with someone else who was already four years old. Katherine let out a quiet breath. "Come on," she said to Nina. "Let's go film episode one." 'November 20, 2024. Episode One of my Final Record.' Katherine drove Nina to an office building downtown. Inside, they sat across from a clerk behind a desk. Nina had no idea what Katherine was planning to do, but she kept the camera rolling. "Ms. Rivera, are you certain you want to file for divorce and have your identity records erased?" He looked stunned.

" Jasper, I agree to go abroad, just like you suggested."   It was lunchtime. Nia hid in a corner of the Cardiology Department stairwell, quiet and withdrawn.   On the other end of the line, her sworn brother Jasper exclaimed "Good!" three times in surprise, then asked abruptly, "Were you treated unfairly at the hospital? I told you from the start… coming out of prison, not everyone can accept you. Come with me to Cerulean City. I'll send you abroad first to polish your skills. Three years later, when you return, my private hospital will be fully prepared. On my turf, no one dares to bully you. But back then you said you had a fiancé and refused to go abroad. Why have you decided to leave now?"   At that, Nia glanced at the redness and swelling on her wrist. She paused, then forced a bitter smile. "I'm not talking about him."   Jasper immediately understood, his voice growing sharp with anger. "Did he bully you?"   "No, it's not like that," she murmured.   "You must have been wronged and couldn't hold it in, so you called me. I'll make arrangements immediately—send a few people to watch over you. I'll also set up your trip abroad. Within a week, you'll be on your way."   Nia had intended to chat with Jasper a bit more, but then a voice behind her asked, "Who are you talking to?"   She recognized the voice immediately. It was Adrian, her fiancé, the person who had caused her the most pain in recent months.   Nia quickly hung up, turned around, and composed herself. She replied calmly, "No one. Just a cellmate, wanted to talk."   Adrian didn't question her obviously flawed answer. He simply reached out and asked, "The lunchbox?"   Nia's nails dug into her palms as she looked away, noticing in the window's reflection that her white coat was streaked with dirt and water, looking completely disheveled.   "It's gone."   "Gone?"   "Yes. Gone. And there won't be more."   Seeing the confusion in Adrian's eyes, Nia's thoughts drifted back to recent months, and all the accumulated grievances surged forth.   Two years ago, she had been a star in the department, the most outstanding among all the residents.   But during Adrian's first surgery as lead, he made a major mistake. The patient's family called in reporters, threatening to expose the hospital.   Terrified, Adrian knelt before her, begging her to take the blame. He bore the weight of his parents' expectations, while she had been alone in the world.   And so Nia stepped forward, kneeling before the patient's family to apologize, taking on the two years of imprisonment for Adrian's mistake.

Adrian Hawthorne, the unassailable genius of criminal profiling. Three years ago, a sudden tragedy struck him down. He developed prosopagnosia, face blindness, a cruel condition that stole his ability to recognize faces. The world became a blur of indistinguishable features. So she became his eyes. Day after day, she guided his fingers over her face, tracing the arch of her brows and the curve of her lips, her voice steady and unwavering. "I'm Vanessa Sullivan. I'm your wife. These are my eyes. These are my lips." The day of his triumph arrived. He stood on the stage beneath blazing lights, the crowd roaring as he accepted an award for cracking an impossible case. Camera flashes stabbed at his vision. She leaned close and whispered through the noise, "Don't be nervous. Remember my voice. I'm right here." Then high heels clicked across the stage. A woman stepped forward and handed him the trophy. "Congratulations, Adrian," she said with a smile. His body froze. For a moment everything stilled. Then his eyes reddened and his lips began to tremble. "Selena, you're back." His voice cracked. In full view of everyone, the two of them embraced tightly, as if no one else existed. Vanessa stood rooted to the spot, her mind suddenly blank. For three years he had failed to recognize anyone. Even her, who had lived beside him and patiently introduced herself every day. And now whispers rippled through the audience. "It's Selena. They were the precinct's legendary pair." "How many major cases did those two profilers solve together?" "After that accident she disappeared. Is that why Adrian can't recognize anyone anymore?" Each remark fell into place like a piece of a puzzle, forming an image of Adrian she had never known. Those words cut into her again and again. She had never imagined her husband had such a past.  

"Honey, My Buddy Swears This Position Is Amazing—Just This Once, Please Humor Me?" Elena Carter's hand trembled as she stared at the Japanese adult video star her husband Ethan Hale had sent her. Her jaw clenched as she clicked 'order'. The day the package arrived, the usually composed Elena shoved down her embarrassment and reluctantly slipped into the nurse's costume. That night, she indulged Ethan, letting the cold stethoscope explore intimate places. Her lips pressed tight as she played along, the taste of blood sharp on her tongue. When it was over, Ethan kissed away the tear at her eyelid, his fingers gently massaging the red marks on her wrists. "You must be exhausted," he murmured. "I'll draw you a bath." The bathroom door clicked shut, and Elena finally exhaled. Lately,Ethan kept suggesting steamy new experiments—each one bolder than the last. And every time, she couldn't refuse, not when she imagined the disappointment in his eyes. She flopped onto the mattress, limbs heavy. Seven years of marriage needed some spice. He just wanted something fresh. Then Ethan's phone buzzed urgently on the nightstand. Thinking it might be work, she reached for it. They'd registered each other's fingerprints long ago, but trust meant they rarely snooped. A new message glowed from his WeChat's pinned chat—labeled Lila. "Ethan, did you try my suggestion tonight?" "How was it? Still as boring as before?" "If you're not satisfied, you know where to find me~" Elena's fingers froze. The wrist he'd just soothed began throbbing again. So this was the 'buddy' he meant? Her thumb scrolled up on its own, each text carving deeper into her heart. "Ethan, why won't you try it with me?" "Come on, Lila, you're better than that. You're not some casual fling." Then who was? Her?

Charles Johnson, the CEO of the Johnson Group, had gone missing. His phone was off, and there had been no word from him. A month later, Charles reappeared at the company, his face cold, his presence exuding a deadly aura. Silence fell over the office. Everyone was afraid to breathe. Leo, his secretary, mustered the courage to ask where he had been. Charles shot him a sidelong glance, a silent warning. That night, he was drinking with friends. Daniel, his best friend since childhood, pressed him for answers. Loosening his tie, Charles's gaze turned stormy. "I was… scammed." The lively chatter around them instantly died down. Daniel gaped, then finally managed to ask, "What did they scam you out of?" Charles gritted out two words. "My body…" Everyone's eyes widened, wondering who had dared sleep with Charles and then vanish. Charles downed his drink in one gulp, teeth grinding audibly, his mind seething with a single thought: 'Just let me run into that woman again!' Far away in Barion, another city, Meredith Brown sneezed. Not long ago, she had met a man at a bar, kept him for a month, and recently dumped him. Returning home, she was greeted by the housekeeper, Sarah, while her husband, Mark Perry, was predictably absent. Meredith glanced at the antique clock in the living room—just past eight, the time when Joanna Harris attended her evening classes. Mark was undoubtedly waiting eagerly to walk her home afterward. A month earlier, while organizing Mark's clothes, Meredith had stumbled upon a box of ibuprofen in his coat. Before she could even ask about it, he had said, out of the blue, "I remember you said you don't get bad cramps during your period, right?" It hit her like a lightning bolt. He was seeing someone else—someone whose cramps were severe enough to need painkillers. Meredith dug her nails into her palm but kept her face neutral, quietly putting the pills back. Later, she followed Mark. The woman, Joanna Harris, was a university student. She wasn't exceptionally beautiful, but her eyes held a pure, unguarded innocence. Before visiting Joanna, Mark would drive to a secluded spot, shed his expensive suit in the car, and change into a plain white T-shirt and jeans. He'd wipe the gel from his hair with a wet wipe, tousling it casually to appear natural. Then he'd walk a distance before taking the bus to Joanna's campus. The whole act left Meredith in shock. In Barion, the Perry family was elite. Mark had been pampered his whole life. He had probably never even been on a bus. If his family found out, they would be furious.

After a decade of marriage to Dominic Hawthorne, Amelia Sutton was finally pregnant.   During a checkup in her seventh month of pregnancy, she accidentally caught a glimpse of the doctor's computer screen.   Her unborn child was registered as a bone marrow donor.   Amelia was filled with confusion. How could her baby, not yet full-term, be registered in advance as a donor?   Distraught, she pressed the wrong elevator button and ended up on the eleventh floor.   Just as she was about to leave, she suddenly heard voices coming from the stairwell, her husband Dominic and his assistant.   "Mr. Hawthorne," the assistant's voice carried a hint of hesitation. "Are we really going to keep Caleb's leukemia diagnosis from your wife? If she finds out you plan to use her unborn child to save Mrs. Sutton, she might…"   Caleb? Her twin sister, who had gone abroad ten years ago and had just returned less than a year ago.   Then came Dominic's familiar but icy voice. "If Amelia hadn't gotten sick, I never would have had a child with Amelia."   The blood in Amelia's veins seemed to freeze at that moment, pierced by a bone-chilling cold.   Dominic seemed to recall something, his tone tinged with resentment. "Back then, Grandfather's dying wish was to fulfill the marriage pact between the Sutton and Hawthorne families. But with my left leg crippled, what right did I have to go abroad and bring Amelia back? How could I bear to have her spend her life taking care of me? Amelia was quiet and obedient. I thought I could just muddle through a lifetime with her."   He added. "Then who knew Amelia would develop a disease like myelophthisis, requiring regular infusions of hematopoietic stem cells. Amelia has a kind heart; she doesn't want to put her family through suffering. But I couldn't just watch her die. My only option was to get Amelia pregnant. They're twins, their genetic match is the highest. The child's hematopoietic stem cells will definitely save Amelia. As long as it can save Amelia, nothing else matters."   Amelia's vision blurred and darkened, her whole body trembling uncontrollably.   No wonder, after so many years of marriage, she only became pregnant shortly after Caleb returned.   Everyone said Caleb was her lucky star. It turned out Dominic was so cruel he had turned her love, her marriage, and even her unborn child into mere bargaining chips to save another person.   The three had grown up together. Amelia had always secretly loved the steady and outstanding Dominic, but the one in his heart had always been her twin sister, Caleb.   They were deeply in love, and everyone assumed the marriage pact made by the older generation would eventually be fulfilled by them.   Then, on the eve of the wedding, Caleb resolutely fled to pursue her dream of dance abroad.   Dominic, frantic, went after her but got into a car accident on the way, permanently crippling his left leg. Grandpa Hawthorne, stricken by this turn of events, suffered a heart attack and was on the verge of death. To fulfill his grandfather's last wish, Dominic ultimately married Amelia.   At that time, he was no longer the gentle and refined man he used to be. His leg disability made him moody and irritable.   It was Amelia who silently stayed by his side, accompanying him through rehabilitation, caring for him meticulously, and little by little helping him stand again and walk normally. Later, Dominic gradually pulled himself together, and they settled into a cold but peaceful married life.

"I'd like to arrange funeral services for myself," she said calmly. "One month from now. The burial will be at Hillcrest Cemetery, plot 301."   The funeral director looked up from his paperwork, pen hovering mid-stroke. "Ma'am, did you say for yourself?"   Liora Carter nodded, her expression serene and unwavering. After completing the necessary paperwork with steady hands, she rose and walked out.   The director watched her go, shaking his head. As the door clicked shut behind her, he murmured to the empty room, "Not a soul to even claim her body. How terribly sad."   The moment the agency door closed behind her, a sharp pain lanced through her chest—precisely where the artificial heart had been implanted three years ago.   Thirty days. That's all the time she had left.   And she wouldn't be ordering a replacement.   For Liora, death wasn't something to fear. It was deliverance.   Three years earlier, just days before her wedding to Jayden, she'd taken his younger sister Evelyn out on the boat. A simple afternoon excursion, nothing more.   Then the boat capsized.   In the chaos of churning water and desperate gasps for air, Evelyn had pushed her—shoved her with surprising strength toward the shore before disappearing beneath the surface.   They recovered Evelyn's body the next morning. The autopsy revealed what Liora hadn't known: Evelyn had been two months pregnant.   That day marked the beginning of her personal hell.   Jayden's grief transformed into something monstrous, and he aimed every ounce of it at her. He called off the wedding. Evicted her from the home they'd shared. Then came the systematic cruelty—the late-night calls, the public humiliations, the constant reminders of what she'd cost him.   When she'd learned Jayden needed an emergency heart transplant after a catastrophic car accident, she'd volunteered without hesitation. She'd donated her own heart, slipped out of the hospital before he regained consciousness, and accepted the mechanical replacement ticking away in her chest as penance.   But her sister Isabella had other plans. She'd claimed the donation as her own heroic act, and within months, she'd moved into the space Liora had once occupied—both in Jayden's home and in his bed.   Now two people devoted themselves to her torment.   What neither of them understood was that Liora had been dying by inches for three years. The guilt, the self-recrimination, the clinical depression that had settled into her bones like ice water—all of it had extinguished any desire to continue.   So when the specialist told her the artificial heart had one month of reliable function left, she'd felt something she hadn't experienced in years: peace.   Her phone buzzed sharply against her hip. She glanced at the screen—Jayden's name, still saved from a lifetime ago.   "I sent you for groceries two hours ago," he snapped before she could speak. "Isabella is starving. Get back here. Now."   His voice cut through her like a winter wind—bitter, unrelenting, familiar.   Liora knew perfectly well that the villa's pantry overflowed with snacks and gourmet ingredients. But she turned the car toward home anyway. Some habits couldn't be broken, even with only weeks left to live.   She found them in the living room. Jayden held Isabella's hand in his, tracing the lines of her palm with exaggerated concentration. Isabella giggled, leaning into him.   Liora stopped in the doorway, the grocery bags suddenly heavy in her arms.   The scene pulled her backward through time, three years collapsing into a single heartbeat.   Their first date. Spring, still cool enough for jackets. Jayden had been so nervous his palms had sweated through his shirt. Neither of them had known how to begin—until he'd grabbed her hand with sudden determination.   "Let me read your palm," he'd said, cheeks flushing. "I learned how."   She'd laughed at his transparent excuse to touch her. "Jade, what does my palm say about my future?"   "A future where we grow old together," he'd answered, voice soft with certainty. "Obviously."   The spring breeze had stirred the hair around their faces, and they'd both blushed like the teenagers they barely were anymore, and everything had been perfect.  

It was an open secret in their circle that Adrian Blackwood, president of Blackwood Corporation, kept a woman he only looked at, never touched. Elena Vale was merely a living portrait in his study—a quiet keepsake to remember someone by. Then came the night that should never have happened. He pinned her beneath him, but the name he gasped was her twin sister's—Sophia Vale. From that night on, she became his hidden, frequent lover. The sofa in the CEO's lounge, the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the edge of a luxury hotel pool… they clung to each other in feverish passion. After another night spent together, he held her from behind, his chin nestled in the damp hollow of her neck, his breath ragged, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. "Elena, Sophia is coming back tomorrow." For once, he actually said her name. The moment the words left his lips, Adrian's phone buzzed to life on the nightstand. Sophia: [Adrian, my flight back is tomorrow. It's been so long… How have you been?] Elena could almost hear the frantic drumming of his heart. In the next instant, he flipped her beneath him, his gaze burning with desperate fire. That night, Adrian seemed driven to pour out every drop of pent-up desire he'd harbored for years on her again and again, insatiable, until they'd emptied a whole box of condoms. Elena turned away from him, gazing silently at the neon-lit cityscape. Her muscles were heavy with fatigue, but her mind was cold and still. She had been waiting for this day far too long. "I understand." Her tone was flat as she gently pulled away from his embrace. "I'll get my things together and be out quickly." The silk sheets slid off, baring her smooth back. His eyes darkened. "Good." He reached out, mussing her hair like she was a well-behaved pet. "Don't worry. The deal with your family still stands." He liked how she knew her place. In three years, she'd never been any trouble. "Thank you, Mr. Blackwood." She lowered her lashes, hiding all emotion. He didn't notice her coolness, his thoughts already racing toward Sophia's return. His phone rang again—Sophia's special ringtone. He answered immediately, his voice oddly gentle. "Sophia? You just landed? Tired? Good, I'm coming to get you now!" He sprang from bed and headed for the bathroom. The shower's roar drowned out everything. Elena rose efficiently, dressed, and made quick work of the tangled sheets. Only then did she pack. She took so little that it all fit in one suitcase.

"I'm not leaving Felix for money! We love each other!" The girl sprawled across the master bed looked thoroughly ravaged, clothes in disarray, lips swollen from kissing. Her face bore a striking resemblance to Felix Garza's long-lost first love, Stephanie Wallace, close enough to be painful. "You're the ninety-ninth woman who's said that to me." With a calm glance, Jade Woodard signaled for the bodyguards to set the items down, five hundred thousand dollars in cash and two non-disclosure agreements. "Sign. Take the money and disappear." The girl gave a sharp, mocking laugh. "Jade, everyone knows you're just Felix's pet. Don't tell me you actually think you're his wife! Felix told me he's never even kissed you, not once, because he thinks you're disgusting!" Faced with the girl's vicious curses, Jade remained expressionless, because it was the truth. In Terravale's upper circles, everyone knew the same story. On paper, Jade Woodard was Felix Garza's wife. In reality, she was the pet he kept on a leash. And as far as the world was concerned, she had only herself to blame. After all, she had done whatever it took to marry him. At Felix and Stephanie's engagement party, she had drugged him. Then, when he was too far gone to think clearly, she climbed into his bed. And when the truth came out, she made sure the press got there first. By the end, with a questionable pregnancy and Felix's father, Austin Garza, choosing mercy over scandal, she succeeded in taking Stephanie's place. Felix had no choice but to marry her. Stephanie fled in heartbreak and humiliation, disappearing without a trace. For a man like Felix, cold, ruthless, and impossible to corner, it was the deepest humiliation of his life. He hated Jade for it. Right after the wedding, while she was still wearing her gown, Felix shoved her down a flight of stairs. The public story was that she had suffered an accidental miscarriage. "You're only fit to be my pet." And Felix had spent the next five years proving he meant it. When he wanted her, he summoned her. When he was done, he discarded her. She was his beast of burden, his servant, and the toy he used to vent his lust and anger. But the truth was, everything Jade did had been forced upon her by Chloe Wallace, Stephanie's mother. The year she graduated from college, her grandmother fell critically ill and needed a liver transplant. Jade had no money, no connections, and no way out. That was when Chloe found her. "Stephanie is still young. She isn't ready to settle down, but the marriage alliance between the Garzas and the Wallaces cannot be broken by the Wallaces. If you do exactly as I say, Jade, your grandmother lives." For her grandmother's life, Jade completely sold her soul and dignity. And while she paid the price, the Wallace family spent the next five years quietly profiting off Felix's guilt. The girl sneered and slapped the agreements straight into Jade's face. Then she turned and tried to leave. A bodyguard stepped in front of her. "Just wait, Jade!" Forced at last to press her fingerprint onto the documents, Naomi Kelley threatened her before storming out. Jade barely spared it a thought. That night, Felix had her grandmother taken, her only family for many years.

When Cutler Jenkins had loved Audrey Lawrence the most, he had been an atheist. Yet he once climbed the thousand-step church staircase one step at a time, murmuring a prayer with every step, begging for only one thing—that the gravely ill Audrey Lawrence would make it through safely. But when he hated her the most, he could force her—the woman fighting a terminal illness—to apologize a thousand times, all for another woman's sake. "Nine hundred ninety-one, nine hundred ninety-two… nine hundred ninety-seven… nine hundred ninety-nine!" After Audrey had bowed her head and apologized a thousand times, Cutler's bodyguard finally released the hand that had been pinning her down. Without anything holding her up, she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, sprawling out like a helpless turtle. The pathetic sight made everyone around her burst out laughing. Cutler stared down at her, his eyes filled with pure contempt and resentment. "Audrey, do you get it now? If I ever catch you trying to poison Maura again, I'll make sure you regret being alive." Audrey's face was already smeared with blood. She lifted her eyes toward him, her lips trembling as she tried to speak, but not a single word came out. For seven whole years, she had dreamed of seeing him again every single day. Yet when they finally reunited, he already had a fiancée by his side—and he hated her guts. Before all that, though, they had been madly in love for five passionate years. Back then, Cutler had treated her like his most precious treasure. He'd given her every ounce of his love. Hell, if she'd asked for the moon and stars, he would've found a way to pluck them right out of the sky for her. In the eyes of others, they had been the perfect couple. Everyone envied how happy they were. But everything had been destroyed by the disaster seven years ago. The Jenkins family had been framed, and overnight, the entire family empire collapsed into bankruptcy. Unable to bear the blow, Cutler's parents jumped off a building together. Cutler's life fell straight into the mud overnight, and he was suddenly saddled with an overwhelming mountain of debt. To pay it all off, he worked several jobs at once, stretching one day into five and turning night into day without a break. But right when he was at rock bottom and needed her the most, Audrey vanished. All she left behind was a divorce agreement. Cutler had tried everything to find her—even swallowed his pride and begged her to come back and see him just once. But Audrey never showed up. Everyone had called her ungrateful and heartless, but no one knew that at the time she had been lying in a hospital bed with not a single inch of her skin left unscathed. She hadn't dared tell Cutler that, on the night he passed out from exhaustion, she'd gotten into a car accident while rushing him to the hospital. Her internal organs had been smashed to pieces in the crash. Without immediate treatment, she would have died—but the medical bills were astronomical. She had thought Cutler was already exhausted enough just trying to survive. She didn't want to drag him down any further. She never imagined she would actually survive this long. And she definitely never imagined that after clawing his way back to the top, Cutler would track her down, force her to stay by his side, and make her watch while he showered another woman with affection. She knew it was all revenge. An hour earlier, Maura Lloyd had eaten the breakfast Audrey prepared, and suddenly started vomiting and having severe diarrhea. She immediately accused Audrey of putting something in the food. Cutler had flown into a rage and forced her to apologize to Maura. Even when the corners of her mouth were bleeding, he hadn't let her stop. Audrey's heart felt like it was being sliced apart. She looked straight into Cutler's eyes and said word by word, "I told you, I didn't poison Maura!" Cutler's face darkened. He slapped the medical report right onto Audrey's face and said coldly, "The evidence is right here, and you're still making excuses? Looks like I went too easy on you. Lock her up. No one lets her out of the room without my permission—and don't give her a single bite to eat." Before Audrey could even fight back, someone grabbed her like a helpless chick and tossed her into the pitch-black room. Audrey panicked instantly. She pounded on the door with all her strength, her voice full of despair. "Cutler, I swear I didn't poison her! Please let me out! It's too dark in here. I'm scared! Please, just let me out!" But Cutler didn't budge. He turned to leave, only to accidentally step on something under his foot. He looked down. It was Audrey's phone, which had fallen to the floor. The screen was still lit up, showing a text message from her doctor, Henry Wilson. Henry: Ms. Lawrence, your checkup results are in. Multiple organs in your body are severely damaged beyond repair, and there are already signs of cancer. I'm afraid you don't have much time left.

Everyone in the capital knew that the heir, Dorian Montague, was deeply in love with Isabella Everett, the daughter of a minister.   Isabella once accidentally drew a divination at Cloudspire Monastery that declared she was "destined to be childless," and from then on no one in the capital dared to marry her.   Dorian then claimed that he had also drawn a fortune at Cloudspire Monastery saying he too was destined to have no children. He knelt in the ancestral hall for three days and nights, endured thirty-three lashes, and nearly lost half his life before finally bringing Isabella into the Montague family as his wife.   On their wedding night, though he had never believed in God, he sought out a priest for guidance and obtained a way to avert the calamity. Willingly renouncing the world, he went to cultivate in seclusion at Cloudspire Monastery, where he donned the robes of a priest and spent three years striking the wooden fish in prayer.   For those same three years, Isabella lived as a wife without a husband.   Yet she never complained. She had always been waiting for the day they would be reunited.   For 999 days, regardless of wind or rain, Isabella climbed the mountain every single day. From the foot of the mountain she would kneel and bow once every three steps, making her way up all 999 steps to Cloudspire Monastery at the summit. When she arrived, she would copy the Diamond Sutra in her own blood and burn it on the spot as a prayer for blessings.   The senior priest had told her that sincere devotion would bring a response.   Today was the final day, and Isabella arrived especially early.   It was the depth of winter. Even the rain in the sky had frozen into pellets of snow that turned to ice upon touching the ground.   "May my husband Dorian live in joy and peace and reach a hundred years of age."   Isabella bowed devoutly to the ground. Step by step she climbed upward, kneeling and knocking her head every few steps, repeating the same prayer again and again.   Rosie Banks held an umbrella over her, yet it was of little use. Snow pellets covered the fox fur cloak, and white mist escaped from Isabella's lips as she shivered. Still she continued the motion of standing and kneeling without pause.   The endless steps stretched upward without end. One careless slip would send a person tumbling down to certain death.   When she finally reached the Cloudspire Monastery's gate, she stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. A large bump rose on her forehead, and her fox fur cloak was stained with dark mud.   Isabella hurriedly climbed to her feet. It would be disrespectful to copy the sutra in such a disheveled state.   Rosie quickly found her a warm meditation room to change clothes.

Late at night, Adeline Campbell sensed the restraint in Casper Buckley lying beside her. She reached out and placed her hand over his. "Honey, the doctor said we just have to be careful. It should be fine." No matter how hard Adeline tried, though, just like the last few times, she couldn't stir any desire in him. After a long while of trying, she was drenched in sweat, her nerves shot. "Maybe we could try this instead... You used to like it." Casper's voice sounded tired. He caught her gently as she moved lower toward his waist. "Forget it, Adeline. We don't want to hurt the baby." She was seven months pregnant. They hadn't succeeded once during the entire pregnancy, even though she could tell he'd been holding back for a long time. "I'm sorry, honey." Casper rested his hand on her swollen belly. "Don't be silly. You've been through hell carrying our baby. The last thing I want is to make it worse for you. That stuff doesn't matter." Her nose stung, but her heart felt warm and full. She burrowed into his arms. "Sweetheart, there's something I want to tell you." Casper patted her back like he was soothing a baby. His eyes were filled with affection. "Shh. Get some sleep. Whatever it is, we'll talk about it tomorrow." In the middle of the night, Adeline jolted awake from a nightmare. She reached out, but Casper wasn't there. The sheets beside her were cold. She was about to call his name when faint, muffled sounds drifted from the guest bathroom downstairs—breathy, restrained moans from a man and a woman. Stumbling out of bed, she yanked open the bedroom door. Her heart skipped. Under the dim bathroom light, two figures were tangled together. Casper's eyes were red with desire as he pressed a woman against the frosted glass door. He yanked up her nightgown and thrust into her from behind. The woman's pretty face was smashed flat against the glass, all twisted, soft, satisfied moans slipping out between her teeth. "Casper, you're so good." Casper had completely lost control, like a wild animal, slamming against the glass door with loud thuds. The woman was Jessica Campbell. On paper, she was Adeline's younger sister—but she wasn't the biological daughter of the Campbell family. Adeline had been brought home by her parents at eighteen. Back then, Jessica had knelt on the floor, sobbing her heart out, refusing to leave no matter what. Adeline had felt bad for her and begged her parents to let Jessica stay. She never dreamed that the man who couldn't even get hard for her would be unleashing all that raw hunger on Jessica right now. Adeline watched them reach their peak. Her whole body trembled, her temples pounding. Five years of memories with Casper flashed through her mind. When she first met him, she had just returned to the Campbell family as their true daughter, newly stepping into high society. At the time, the Buckley Group was on the verge of bankruptcy after a massive upheaval. They crossed paths at a fancy cocktail party. Casper got stopped at the door because he didn't have an invite. In a panic, he grabbed her and pretended to be her boyfriend to slip inside. It was Adeline's first time at that kind of event, and she was a nervous wreck. Casper stayed right by her side the whole night, playing the perfect gentleman. She, in turn, helped him secure a crucial contract. They grew closer after that. Her father, Elliott Campbell, didn't want her to suffer by marrying into hardship and firmly opposed the relationship. But she had left home for him. She had worked alongside Casper to rebuild the Buckley Group from the brink of collapse. To land contracts, she drank with clients until she ended up with stomach bleeding. One stormy night, she drove out to meet a client and got into a highway accident that nearly cost her life. Even now, a shocking scar remained hidden in her hairline. Casper, a tough man through and through, had held her and cried like his heart was breaking. "Adeline, I swear, I'll only ever love you in this lifetime. You're everything to me. Without you, I don't even know how I'd face the future." Those words had been enough for her. He hadn't let her down back then. The Buckley Group slowly regained its footing. A year ago, when her parents died in an accident, and she inherited the Campbell family business, she devoted herself entirely to supporting him. Casper rose right back to the top. "Adeline, without you, there would be no me today. I'll make you the happiest woman in the world." After she became pregnant, she handed the company over to him and stayed home to focus on her pregnancy. She truly believed she was the happiest woman alive. But he had just ripped her perfect dream to shreds with his own hands. The man who had sworn to love her forever was cheating on her with her sister right under her roof. Adeline staggered, her foot catching the edge of the entry table, and knocked over the glass vase by the door. It hit the floor with a deafening crash and exploded into pieces. Inside the bathroom, the two of them jerked apart instantly.

Claire Smith and Arthur Miller had been together for three years, having sex in every conceivable place.   Arthur had promised that once Claire endured a full 99 punishments, he would marry her. Consider it penance for what she'd done three years ago, for driving away his one true love. For this reason, over those three years, Claire had yielded to Arthur's every demand, enduring even the most outrageous punishments without protest. Now, she had already endured 95 punishments. Just four more, and she could marry Arthur.   Under the dim light, Arthur gripped Claire's waist, his cold, sharp eyes clouded with desire. "Baby, you're too stiff in bed. How about we try something new?"   Before Claire could react, her vision suddenly went dark.   A lace ribbon swept over her eyes. Along with it came Arthur's scorching body weight pressing down on her.   With her sight gone, Claire pressed her face against Arthur's chest in the darkness, listening to his rapid, galloping heartbeat.   "Okay," she whispered.   Arthur thrust into her.   She closed her eyes and let him take control, let him move her body however he wanted, riding the rising tide until she was drowning in it.   Just as they were both about to reach climax, Arthur groaned, his eyes shut tight. "Julie..."   Claire froze, her entire body turning cold.   Julie—that was the name of Arthur's true love, the one he whispered in his sleep. Afterward, he lay there, satisfied, spent. She slipped out of bed, murmuring something about a shower, and fled to the bathroom. As soon as she reached the living room, his laptop screen flickered to life. WhatsApp was still logged in.   She walked over. A message popped up in his group chat with the guys. It was a photo that showed Arthur's large, well-defined hand, a lace blindfold still tied around his wrist.   Arthur: The 96th punishment. Thirty seconds ago, this was tied over Claire's eyes.   He'd shared it, their most private moment, thrown into a group chat like cheap entertainment. She stood there, frozen, ice water in her veins. The chat exploded.   A: Holy shit, the punishments are getting kinky! Claire's really going all out to marry Arthur!   B: Arthur, only three more punishments left to hit 99. Are you really gonna marry Claire in half a month?   C: Come on, she's just some boring housewife type. How can she compare to our Julie, a medical school graduate doing volunteer work everywhere? Don't screw this up, man. The computer showed that Arthur was typing a message. A few seconds later, his message went through on WhatsApp. Arthur: Never. After what she did to Julie, you think I'd let her off that easy?

"Ms. Mariner, your condition has deteriorated significantly over the past five years. Without immediate hospitalization, the consequences will be catastrophic." "How soon until I start forgetting?" Selena Mariner remained eerily calm. She paused only briefly before asking with a faint smile. Quentin hesitated, his expression pained. After a moment, he laid out the truth. "Your Alzheimer's has reached its advanced stages. Within two weeks, the memory loss will take hold. It could become so severe that you might wake up unable to recognize even your closest loved ones. You're running out of time. Here is your prescription—it's only enough for two weeks." Selena showed no surprise, as if she had long accepted this. She nodded her thanks and turned to leave. Quentin watched her go, his face a mask of conflict. He couldn't fathom her composure. To her, life and death seemed as insignificant as a daily chore. Outside the hospital, she checked her phone. A message from Austin waited. The moment she paused at his office door, a rough hand dragged her inside. She was pinned against the wall, his burning breath scalding her neck. "Take care of me. Now." His voice was hoarse. "A wife's duty. The least you could do is act like it." His calloused fingers were already roaming beneath her blouse, making her shiver. Selena gasped. She held back for a moment before whispering, "Can I just use my hands?" Austin stiffened. Then came a harsh, mocking laugh, his eyes blazing. "What, am I too dirty for you now?" No sooner had he spoken than he slammed his lips onto hers in a fierce, ravenous kiss, as if he wanted to devour her whole. What should have been intimacy felt like a ruthless, mechanical act of punishment. It was devoid of tenderness, fueled only by resentment. The air thickened with his ragged breaths and the messy, biting clash of their lips. The metallic tang of blood bloomed between them. He finally tore himself away, his eyes burning with contempt. "Go wait at the door." Selena lowered her gaze. She adjusted her collar like a numb puppet before stepping out. Another pretty young thing, all giggles and practically bouncing with barely-contained innocence, was ushered past her into the private lounge. Within moments, the rhythmic creak of the bed and breathless gasps left nothing to the imagination. Her back hit the wall as her legs gave out. Cold sweat soaked through her clothes. That old, gnawing pain coiled tight in her ribs again. Half a year. A new girl each dawn. She had personally delivered over one hundred and eighty of them to her husband's bed. All under the banner of being his wife. Outside, the office buzzed with barely hidden scorn. Snide whispers cut through the air. "Now there's a model wife. Other CEOs' wives handle home-cooked meals and luxury watches. But our Mrs. Nash handles a revolving door of bedmates. Now that's wifely duty."

After five years of IVF, Whitney Thorne went into early labor at twenty-eight weeks. The bleeding wouldn't stop. Her life was in danger. Her husband, Sebastian Cole, who'd always loved her more than anything, had vanished. So had Brenda Gardner, the college girl he'd been keeping around as a backup blood donor. Whitney tried to ask where he was, but another contraction hit her hard. The pain was so intense that it felt like her body was being torn apart. "Sebastian... where's Sebastian?" Arielle Thorne, her younger sister, watched her face go pale as a sheet. Through tears, she called Sebastian thirty-two times. Yet each call went straight to voicemail. "She's got a rare blood type, and we're running out. Her blood pressure's still dropping. What about Mr. Cole? He was supposed to have the backup blood ready. Where the hell is he?" the doctor shouted. Arielle's voice shook as she faced his anger. "I can't get through to Sebastian..." Before anyone could respond, another wave of pain hit Whitney hard. Right before she blacked out, she looked toward the operating room door one last time. Sebastian still wasn't there. When Whitney finally woke up, she didn't know how long she'd been out. Her hand went to her stomach. It was empty. Panic and grief crashed over her like a wave. "The baby..." She tried to sit up, frantically looking around for her child. All she found was Arielle, eyes red from crying. "Whitney... I thought we lost you..." "The baby... Where's my baby?" Whitney's voice was weak as she grabbed Arielle's sleeve. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "The doctor said they couldn't save the baby. Things got so bad—if they hadn't done the C-section, you wouldn't have made it either..." "Where's Sebastian?" Arielle's face went tight. "I've been here three days straight. He never showed up." The room started to spin. Whitney's heart clenched so hard she thought she might pass out. She had cherished every moment of those twenty-eight weeks, dreaming of the life growing inside her. Now that life was gone—gone before she could even open her eyes to see the world. Sebastian had wanted this child so badly. He talked about it all the time. But now? He hadn't even bothered to show up. Whitney sucked in a shaky breath and dialed his number again. This time, his assistant Zane Stone picked up. "Where's Sebastian?" she asked. Zane hesitated. "Mr. Cole is... busy..." Something about the way he stumbled over the words made Whitney's blood run cold. "Tell Sebastian to get to the hospital. Now." She hung up, wiping the tears from her face. Arielle stayed with her when she went to the morgue. There, in that cold, sterile room, was her baby—a tiny girl.

When Steven Jones personally sent me to prison, the daughter I carried was only two weeks along. I hated him, but the sins of the father fell upon the daughter. This was my debt to him. Eighteen years ago, Owen Shepard, my father, embezzled the Jones Family's project funds, strangling their lifeline. Steven's father had every bone in his body broken and was forced to watch as his wife was violated until she died. It wasn't until the day I was imprisoned that I learned all this from Steven himself. He said, "Maeve, if your father could see you begging for his touch from the son of his enemy, wouldn't he die of rage?" His revenge had been complete: my father was left half-paralyzed and incontinent, while I took his place in prison. Ours was a cursed bond from the start. But Hailey, my daughter, was innocent. I was willing to sacrifice everything to ensure she grew up safe and happy. Yet fate had one last cruel twist in store. Just one week after my release, Hailey was diagnosed with leukemia. The genetic match from Steven's registry sample had failed, leaving Hailey on the brink of death. A mother in the patient support group told me the quickest fix was to have another child with her biological father. The newborn's cord blood could be used for a bone marrow transplant. To save Hailey, I was willing to do anything. I had to use every means to seduce Steven and get another child from him. I changed into my old uniform from when I was Steven's assistant: the tight white blouse, pencil skirt, stockings, and heels—all the things that used to drive him wild. I slipped into the interview line, rode up to the 33rd floor, and headed straight for the CEO's office. At my light knock, Steven's familiar voice came from inside. "Come in." I walked to his desk, lifted my hips, and perched lightly on the edge. Steven's hands, previously sorting through documents, stilled. He looked up, fury simmering. "Maeve Shepard." His voice was calm, but I noticed the faint tremor in his fingertips. Steven fixed me with a piercing glare. "Not enough prison time? How dare you show your face before me?" I slid off the desk, lowering myself onto his lap. "Mr. Jones, the whole city answers to you now. Who would dare hire the daughter of your enemy for honest work?" I blew softly on his earlobe, swaying my hips lightly. His breathing instantly grew ragged. Seven years together had trained me into the perfect temptress, skilled at fulfilling his desires. Now, it was my greatest weapon. Steven narrowed his eyes, voice hoarse. "What do you want?" I giggled coyly. "Money, Steven. Since I'm selling myself anyway, I'd rather sell to someone who knows what he's doing." The words lit a fire in him. His gaze burned with fury, as if stabbed by a blade.

One month before her wedding to Ryan, Cynthia made a decision she never thought she would make. "Victoria, I want to cancel the engagement." She was sitting alone in the dim studio, the cold glow of the monitor casting a pale light over her face. "What? Haven't you liked him for nine years? The wedding is only two weeks away. Why back out now?" Cynthia drew in a slow breath, trying to steady the emotions threatening to collapse inside her. "It's nothing. I just… suddenly don't like him anymore." Victoria fell silent on the other end of the line. After a moment, she sighed softly. "Alright. I'll talk to them for you." When the call ended, the studio returned to silence. Cynthia turned back to the screen and pressed play. Ryan and Chloe appeared on the monitor, locked in a kiss. She had always known Ryan was a moderately well-known wildlife documentary director, someone whose passion for work and animals seemed to surpass everything else. "In my camera, nothing exists except animals. Don't compare yourself to my work." He had said those words more than once. And yet, the same man who claimed nothing mattered more than his career had created a ten-episode documentary entirely devoted to Chloe. Under his lens, Chloe was sweet, shy, playful, annoyed, every fleeting expression captured with meticulous tenderness. Ryan recorded everything about her. Even the moments they shared in bed. As Cynthia watched their naked bodies entwine on the screen, a cold shiver crept through her limbs and settled deep in her bones. Ryan had once tried to persuade her to film similar intimate videos. That had also been the only time he ever told her he loved her. The memory pierced her like a blade heated red in fire, driving straight through her chest. Her heart seemed to splinter apart, each shard embedding itself into her flesh. Tears streamed down her face unchecked, but she felt too numb to wipe them away. She forced herself to keep watching until the final frame faded to black. Only then did she understand. On the day of their blind date, she had carefully prepared a confession, rehearsing it countless times. Yet before she could speak, Ryan had cut her off. "Let's get married." That was all he said before turning away. At the time, she had thought it was sudden, awkward, even romantic in its bluntness. Now she knew the truth. Chloe had attended that same family gathering that day. The words had not been a proposal. They had been a decision. Cynthia's face drained of color as she opened another file titled "Chloe." The moment she clicked on it, she froze. Ryan's writing was astonishingly gentle, so gentle it felt unreal. The document read like a love diary, chronicling the years from their first meeting to the slow, quiet way they had fallen for each other. He had written about her favorite foods, her habits, the things she disliked. He had carefully recorded every place they had gone together. Even the smallest details. After only a few pages, Cynthia felt as if an invisible hand had wrapped around her heart and tightened mercilessly, stealing the air from her lungs. They had left traces of their love everywhere. In empty parks. In silent classrooms. At the turn of staircases. And even that day when she had gone to deliver documents to him. Only a single door had separated Cynthia from Ryan and Chloe as they tangled together in passion.

After the fire that destroyed the Flores family, I fell from a spoiled rich girl to a kitchen runner in a hotel's back kitchen. Meanwhile, my ex-boyfriend rose from a servant's son to the heir of the richest family in the city. His mother died because of me. He hated me with a vengeance. Every chance he got, he found a new way to humiliate and torment me. What he never knew was that even before the fire, I was already carrying his child. Now he was happily preparing to get engaged to his new girlfriend. My heart had long gone numb. All I wanted was to give birth safely and somehow make it through the rest of my life. What I never expected was that he would secretly lock me up in his house and treat me like some twisted toy. His fingers brushed across my cheek. "Jocelyn, even if you die, the only place you're allowed to die is by my side." In the end, he got exactly what he wanted. Kidnappers dragged me and his fiancée to the seaside and tied us up. The whip lashed across my body again and again. Covered in blood, I begged him to save me. But Wyatt Clark simply pointed at his perfectly unharmed fiancée. "Let her go. Whatever you want, name your price." My heart finally turned completely cold. In a desperate attempt to survive, I jumped off the cliff and plunged into the ocean below. Wyatt, who had always been cold and indifferent, suddenly had red-rimmed eyes. Then he dove in after me. Four years later, I was raising the child I had nearly died bringing into this world and finally had a new life. Then Wyatt showed up again—and dropped to his knees, begging me to forgive him. At Cloudveil Hotel in River City, everyone was running around like crazy. "Jocelyn! Get those utensils into the banquet hall. Move it!" "Jocelyn! Put the fruit trays on the tables first. And stop being so clumsy!" Orders flew at me from every direction. My head spun. But I didn't dare slow down. If I made even the slightest mistake, I'd be fired on the spot. Working odd jobs in this hotel kitchen was already the most decent job I could get. The temperature in the kitchen was pushing 118 degrees, yet I still had to wear long sleeves, long pants, and a mask pulled tight over my face. The heat and sweat made my skin sting and itch unbearably, but I didn't dare take it off. Because my face and body were covered in large, ugly burn scars. I was afraid of scaring people. When things finally slowed a little, I grabbed a moment to drink some water. I asked the supervisor, "Who's the VIP today? Why is everyone so worked up?" Even the manager, who usually sat in his office enjoying the AC, was standing in the banquet hall personally directing people, afraid something might go wrong. The supervisor looked at me like I was an idiot. "Are you blind? Didn't you see the sign outside? It's the engagement party for the eldest son of the Clark family—Wyatt Clark." My pupils shrank instantly. Wyatt… was getting engaged? To Sherry? I usually entered through the back door where there were fewer people, so I had never seen the sign at the main entrance. I had no idea Wyatt was actually getting engaged to Sherry.

In the middle of the night, Evelyn's cervix had already dilated to three centimeters, but the baby in her womb had the umbilical cord wrapped three times around its neck. "Where is the husband? Where did he go?" The head nurse was near tears as she frantically searched for Daniel Vaughn, who had been standing outside the delivery room just minutes before. She thrust the consent form into Evelyn's trembling hands. "We can't reach your husband. You need to sign this yourself. We have to perform an emergency C-section." "He couldn't have gone far. I'll... I'll call him." Five consecutive calls. Each returned the same cold, merciless dial tone, and her heart dropped to the floor. 11:58 p.m. Between ever-worsening contractions, Evelyn saw a new post from Ivy Shaw, the girl she had sponsored for years: Mr. Vaughn said he'd give me a coming-of-age gift. 11:59 p.m. Ivy updated again: Mr. Vaughn says he can barely hold back now. Evelyn pounded the messenger, crying into her phone, "Daniel, where are you?" 12:01 a.m. Her screen lit up: He's in. A lick, a soak. Adulthood is wonderful. In agony, Evelyn signed the form with shaking hands and slipped into unconsciousness under the anesthesia. Those few delayed minutes were fatal. The baby suffocated. She hemorrhaged and teetered on the edge of death. At dawn she woke from the anesthesia. Her flattened belly and the raw, numb pain of the wound told her the truth: the child was gone. On Ivy's profile, pinned to the top, was a blurry photo of the girl kissing a man: The coming-of-age in adult is really a plunge. Thanks for seven unforgettable gifts. Even blurred, Evelyn recognized him: Daniel. "That high-profile lawyer nearly died fighting that gang-rape case for his wife. And this baby? It took six rounds of IVF. He adored her. How could he be missing at such a critical time?" someone murmured. Whispers filled the corridor. Daniel burst in, eyes swollen from crying. He already knew the worst. But the messy hickeys on his neck made last night painfully clear. Evelyn stared at him, opening her mouth several times but unable to force out a word.

Once, the love story of Elara Bennett and Silas Voss was the most dazzling fairy tale in Havenbrook.   Silas, the city's golden boy, defied all odds—family objections, social barriers—to marry an ordinary girl like her. He spoiled her rotten, turning her into the envied "Mrs. Voss."   Yet on their seventh anniversary, Silas threw a lavish birthday bash at their villa. The guest of honor? Not Elara, but his childhood sweetheart, Lila Cross.   They moved in sync, the picture-perfect couple, surrounded by admirers whispering about their chemistry.   Leaning against the bar in a plain white tee and jeans, Elara watched with icy calm.   Lila glided over, champagne in hand, her smile honeyed. "Elara, it's my birthday. Aren't you a little underdressed?"   With a wave, she summoned a maid carrying a gift box. "I had this made just for you. It's so you."   Inside lay a vulgar lingerie set—scraps of fabric barely covering anything, printed with humiliating words.   Elara arched a brow. "How fitting. Your taste is as trashy as your intentions."   Lila's face stiffened. She turned to Silas with wounded eyes. "Silas, I was just joking!"   "Elara." Silas's voice cut like a whip, his expression dark. "Apologize. Now."   "Apologize?" She let out a brittle laugh. "The only reason I haven't shoved this garbage in her face is out of respect for you, Mr. Voss."   Gossip hissed around them, laced with mockery.   "She's still acting proud? Does she think he still cares?"   "Open your eyes! Mr. Voss only has time for Miss Cross now. She's lucky he hasn't dumped her!"   "A delusional upstart. How pathetic."   Silas's gaze burned into her, his tone deceptively soft.   "Elias Bennett's next chemo payment is due, isn't it? Don't push me, Elara."   At the mention of Elias, her gaze turned stormy.   Her nails dug into her palms, but she held her head high.   "How predictable. Threatening me? Fine. If it's just a piece of clothing."   In one motion, she ripped off her shirt, revealing black lace beneath.   The crowd gasped, eyes darting away.   Without flinching, she reached for her jeans.   Smack!   A slap cracked across her cheek, snapping her head sideways. The blow split her lip, blood trickling down her chin.   Silas clamped down on her wrist, his grip so crushing it felt like he wanted to pulverize her bones.   "For your family, you'd debase yourself like this?"  "Why?" His eyes burned with a roiling storm of fury and hatred, as if he wanted to consume her entirely.   "Sybil Voss treated you as her own, yet you left her comatose—and still refuse to admit your guilt?"  The sting on her cheek might as well have been nothing.   Elara wrenched free, swiped the blood from her lips, and bit out each word like a hammer blow. "I did nothing wrong."  Five years. Five endless years since that night, and no amount of pleading had ever swayed him.   The man who'd once stood against the world for her, who'd cherished her every breath, had transformed into a stranger in the blink of an eye.  Drawing herself up, she leveled her gaze. "You stopped me from wearing that trash. So you will ensure my brother's medical fees are paid—on time."  Not that it mattered anymore.  Just one more month. When she was finally free, Elias would receive that life-changing insurance payout.  No more humiliation from these two vipers. And Elias—he'd have every resource to continue his treatment.     Chapter 2   Silas's chest rose and fell like a storm as he sucked in a sharp breath, his face twisted with rage. "Get out! I never want to see your face again!"   "Like I even want to be here?" Elara shot back, spinning on her heel and striding away without a second glance.   Alone in her second-floor bedroom, she collapsed onto the bed, but sleep was a distant dream.   The silence pressed in around her, broken only by the ragged sawing of her own breath.   Five years ago, she'd come home from work to a nightmare—Sybil sprawled at the foot of the stairs, her body pooled in a crimson puddle.   Above them stood Lila, Silas's childhood friend-turned-rival, her face ghostly pale.   Elara had lunged forward, screaming at Lila to call an ambulance.   But the other woman just curled her lips into a venomous smile. "You asked for this by sticking your nose in, Elara."   Lila vanished—only to return minutes later dragging a frantic Silas behind her.   "Silas!" she cried, voice dripping with false distress. "I saw everything! Elara was yelling at Sybil, then pushed her down!"

Quinn Miller ruled Sutherton as its most infamous bad girl. At eighteen, she had her father thrown in prison. The next year, she had her stepmother arrested right behind him. By twenty, she had cut ties with her father's family and taken her mother's maiden name. Brash, reckless, and proud of it, whispers claimed she had slept with every A-list male model in the city. Her reputation was so toxic that men steered clear of her like the plague, terrified that even being seen with her would spell their ruin. Yet Ethan Bennett laughed in the face of her reputation. He pursued her with a relentless, almost obsessive determination. When no one remembered her birthday, he lit up the night with fireworks and hired hundreds to film birthday messages, blanketing every screen in the busiest parts of the city. When rivals spread vile rumors about her, he dug up every dirty secret they had, tanked their stocks, and left them gasping on the brink of bankruptcy. The moment she glanced at a limited edition sports car, he had it delivered to her doorstep before she could even blink. But no matter what he did, Quinn remained frozen solid, like a glacier that refused to melt. Then, three years ago, the Carter family stole her mother's keepsakes. That night, Ethan crashed the Carter family's gates with a dozen men, hell bent on revenge, and reclaimed what was hers. Blood dripped from his knuckles, yet he stood there grinning like a madman. And in that moment, the ice around her heart finally cracked. For the first time, she reached for him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, clumsy but real. It was a first embrace, a first spark of something terrifyingly unfamiliar. Bit by bit, she shed her vicious socialite act. No more drowning in neon-lit clubs. Instead, she found herself longing for home, for the one light he kept glowing just for her. She had believed, at long last, that one of those countless glowing windows truly belonged to her—until the moment she accidentally stumbled into Ethan's hidden room. Her heart lurched as she discovered a woman lying motionless on the bed. The woman's face was ghostly pale, her body wasted away to skin and bones. Quinn's legs buckled, sending her collapsing to the floor as overwhelming shock swallowed her whole. Who was she? Why was she here? What was her connection to Ethan? Questions stormed through her mind when suddenly, hurried footsteps pounded outside the door. Quinn flinched violently, instinctively scrambling beneath the bed and clamping a hand over her mouth. The man flicked a switch. The room, once pitch black, blazed to life, revealing that the wall opposite the bed had transformed into a clear window, framing the very bedroom she shared with Ethan. Quinn's mind went blank, her veins turning to ice. Before she could process the horror, his voice—hoarse and broken, unlike anything she had ever heard—cut through the silence. "Vivian, the doctors said you need stimulation to wake up. For three years, I've lost myself in passion with Quinn every night, and still, you show no sign of coming back to me."

Everyone in Jadeport City was waiting for a farce to end—waiting for Zayne Palmer, heir to the Palmer Group, to break up with the frail Aurora Shaw. For three whole years, they had tried to get a marriage license twenty times. Aurora walked into City Hall full of hope every time, then walked out with her head down after seeing the note that said her medical exam had failed. Even so, Zayne treated her like the most precious person in the world. When she wanted to see the first sunrise of the New Year, he dragged himself up a mountain with a fever of 103 degrees just to wait with her all night. He almost ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. When she won first place in a national painting competition, and the rumors started flying—that she'd slept her way to the top—he put the Palmer Group's hundred-year reputation on the line to defend her. "Aurora's talent speaks for itself. Anyone who says otherwise answers to me." The Palmer family gave him an ultimatum. There was no way they were letting some penniless, sick girl marry into the family. It was simple: ditch Aurora and inherit billions of dollars, or keep Aurora and get cut off without a dime. Zayne didn't even hesitate. "I choose her." His hand didn't shake when he signed the papers. His eyes never wavered. Aurora stared at those twenty failed medical reports, and guilt gnawed at her. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe people like her didn't deserve to marry someone like Zayne. Every time she said that, he'd pull her close and whisper like it was a prayer, "Aurora, I don't care what the papers say. I love you. A license doesn't change that. Nothing comes between us." His voice was low and warm, like honey dripping into her soul. Aurora let herself drown in the world he'd built for her, told herself she'd be fine without the ring, without the title, as long as she had him. Then came the twenty-first time. Aurora walked out of the hospital with her latest results, murmuring, "This is it. This time." She made her way across the parking lot and spotted Zayne's car in the distance. He was standing next to it, looking as sharp as ever in his expensive suit. She was about to call out to him when she noticed the doctor in a white coat standing nearby. The look on Zayne's face was cold and distant. The doctor handed him a medical report; his brow furrowed. "Zayne, I don't get it. Everyone's been jealous of you and Aurora for years. That proposal you pulled off—flowers flown in from God knows where, all that 'she deserves the best' speech. It was legendary." He paused. "So why are you dragging your feet now? I've faked these reports twenty-one times for you."

"Mommy, you're really awful. I wish Lily were my mom instead." On Audrey and Nathaniel Bennett's seventh wedding anniversary, their son, Colin Bennett, was hospitalized due to an allergic reaction, and Audrey cared for him tirelessly for three days. To her horror, the first thing Colin did upon waking was call the police, accusing Audrey of kidnapping and insisting she wasn't his real mother. Cold handcuffs snapped around Audrey's wrists. Her mind went blank. The police ordered a DNA test for both of them. During this time, she was detained in the interrogation room and subjected to relentless questioning while being denied sleep, food, and water. Just as her emotions were about to collapse, the test results finally came in. "It has been confirmed that you and the boy share no biological relation," the officer declared sternly. "Colin has accused you of kidnapping, deliberately feeding him foods he's allergic to, and abusing him. You need to explain everything clearly!" The officer's words reached Audrey's ears distorted and muffled. Her head spun, and her hands and feet trembled violently. Even worse than the physical exhaustion was the crushing realization that the child she had cherished for six years wasn't biologically hers! 'This is impossible!' She had carried him for nine months and endured three days of excruciating labor before giving birth to Colin in a luxury maternity ward. After losing a lot of blood and falling unconscious for hours, Nathaniel had stayed by her side, never leaving for a moment. After her uterus was removed during surgery, apart from Colin, she could never have another child in this lifetime. Nathaniel had never held it against her. The billionaire CEO willingly cared for her and Colin himself, steadfastly for seven years. "I need to contact my husband..." Audrey suppressed the churning in her stomach, aching to see Nathaniel immediately. The police exchanged glances and allowed her to communicate with the outside world. Her fingers trembled as she dialed, mistyping the number multiple times. The first call rang out. So did the second call and the third... On the ninth attempt, just before the phone disconnected, someone finally answered. Audrey's lips quivered, but before she could speak, a sweet, unfamiliar woman's voice cut her off. As an adult, she instantly understood what was happening on the other end. Her husband was fucking another woman. Her mind went blank. Eventually, her family's lawyer, James Walker, arrived with all the documents proving their identities and hurried Audrey out of the police station. "Ma'am, are you returning to the hospital to take care of Colin?" "No, to Bennett Group." She clenched her teeth, biting into the soft flesh inside her mouth. Only the sharp pain could keep her from collapsing. She was desperate to find Nathaniel, to confront him and demand the truth. The office door stood wide open, revealing Nathaniel with his shirt disheveled and a hickey on his neck.

Anthony Hester had Liliana Jennings pinned beneath him, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he unclasped her bra. Liliana melted against him, dizzy with desire, her body arching into his touch as his hand moved over her. The rhythm between them grew faster, hotter, harder to control. Just as the tension coiling inside her was about to snap, a soft sound slipped from her lips. Anthony paused at once, his beautiful eyes dropping to meet hers. "What's wrong?" A faint blush crept across Liliana's cheeks. She looked away, shy and a little breathless. "It hurts..." Anthony smirked. He lowered his head and brushed a kiss against her ear. "Then I'll be gentler." Just as he was about to send her over the edge, a shrill ringtone tore through the heat between them. It was Jayden Chambers, Anthony's friend. Anthony frowned. He had no intention of answering, but the phone kept ringing, over and over, relentless. With obvious irritation, he grabbed it, pulled away from Liliana, and strode to the floor-to-ceiling window. "This better be important," he said in a low voice, warning clear in every word. "Because if it's not, you already know what happens when you ruin my night." Jayden's voice came through the speaker, all grin and mockery. "Come out for a drink, man! It's still early. Don't tell me you're already in bed. Or are you busy? You with your girl right now? Bring her too. It's about time we finally met her. You're getting married anyway, aren't you?" A beat later, his tone turned teasing. "What are you hiding for? One of my friends saw you at the jewelry store today. Said you customized a ten-carat ring. What, the great Anthony Hester is really settling down?" He chuckled. "Hurry up and bring Lyla over. We need to have some fun with this. Maybe she can finally be the one to keep you in line." Liliana had quietly slipped out of bed and moved toward the door. She stood just behind it, barely breathing. Liliana's heart slammed hard against her ribs. She had been with Anthony for five years. Was he finally going to give her a real title? Was he proposing? Then Anthony answered. His voice was flat. Cold enough to freeze her where she stood. "Not her." Two words. That was all it took. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head, dragging her from hope straight into something dark and bottomless. Jayden exploded on the other end. "What do you mean, not her? Then who the hell are you marrying? After all these years, there's been someone else?" Then Jayden lowered his voice in disbelief. "Wait... Savannah Nolan?" Anthony dropped his gaze. He didn't say a word. The silence was answer enough. Jayden's voice sharpened immediately. "Anthony, don't tell me you still can't let go of Savannah. Back then, she..." "Shut up." Anthony interrupted him sharply, his voice practically dripping with frost. "I know exactly what I'm doing." He paused, then said in a tone so cold it made every word feel merciless.

Everyone in Willtown knew how Vincent Stevens spoiled Gloria Swanson. Yet few realized she was merely a substitute for the one he could never have. But Gloria understood perfectly. After all, she had begged for this herself. At eighteen, she was a bottom-tier hostess at the club, everyone's punching bag, often crouching bruised and broken in shadowy corners, simply grateful to see another dawn. Until one late night, she accidentally caught the managers' hushed conversation. "You know what? That big shot's got someone special in his heart!" "No wonder he never shows interest in women. How'd you find out?" "Last time he got drunk and let it slip. If his assistant, Andy, hadn't shown up so fast, I'd know who it was!"  "She can't be in Willtown, or we'd have heard rumors." "But I heard that person has a tiny mole, right where Gloria's is..." Gloria stopped listening then. She knew her moment had come. So when Vincent next tormented her half to death, she crawled and clutched Vincent's trousers. "Please, save me. I'll do anything." Vincent looked down dismissively, then froze at the mole on her cheek.  Gloria knew her bet had paid off. From that moment, she became Vincent's shadow, burying all defiance, ready to be his perfect marionette. But Vincent had other plans. He personally taught her to read, to shoot, to command authority with the demeanor of those born to power. He pulled her from the mud, washed away her lowly origins with his own hands, and shaped her into Willtown's most dazzling, thorn-covered rose.  She knew she shouldn't cling to this tenderness that was never hers, yet she couldn't help but fall deeper.  Everything went well until that day, when Gloria and a stranger were taken hostage together.  At first, Gloria thought little of it. She'd weathered such situations before, and Vincent always came for her.  But when the basement door was kicked open, and Vincent burst in, his gaze swept right past Gloria pinned form on the floor, locking onto the unfamiliar girl in the corner.  Staggering forward, he untied the ropes around her wrists with trembling hands, his fingertips gently brushing the angry red marks. His voice held a panic and tenderness Gloria had never heard before.  "Dora, I'm sorry... Don't be scared..."  That tone terrified Gloria more than his initial disregard. Instinctively, she reached for Vincent, but a single playful voice froze her mid-motion.  "Uncle Vincent," the girl spoke.  Only then did Gloria remember that the Stevens family did have a reclusive young girl, Vincent's niece in name, Dora Stevens.  Suppressing her discomfort, Gloria steadied herself and stepped forward to help.

Aaron Moore hadn't switched his personal secretary in five years.   Everyone whispered that it was because Evelyn Williams, this young girl, was just that good.   Good enough that he craved her anywhere, anytime.   She was only in the conference room, setting up the speakerphone for a meeting, when he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, his burning hands already roaming. She pushed him.   "Stop, the meeting is about to start."   Aaron didn't stop, pressing her onto the sofa and leaning down to breathe heavily in her ear.   "Don't you like it?"   Her eyes grew dazed, lost in the man's fervent madness.   He never got tired of it for five years.   Over the years, they had tried many places: in the car, outdoors, in the bathroom, and even in the office like now.   Whenever he wanted, it was always a yes. She could never bring herself to refuse him. It was as if she were bewitched, hopelessly addicted. Aaron gripped her soft waist, his rhythm relentless. "Sweetheart." he breathed. "There can't be anyone else. You're mine. Only mine." Evelyn's nails dug into his sweaty back as she clung to him, whispering sweetly as always.   "Only you, always have been."   Evelyn went limp in his arms, begging for mercy, and only then did Aaron finally have his fill.   She personally dressed him in his suit and tied his tie for him.   She returned to being the diligent secretary, handling everything herself.   "Mr. Moore, it's time for the meeting."   His gaze fell on the microphone headset lying nearby, still switched on. A flicker of a frown crossed his face, but he said nothing. He simply reached out to turn it off, then pulled her close and kissed her on the lips.   "Evelyn, just wait a little longer. Once I take over all of Moore's industries, I'll announce our relationship, okay?"   Did he think she did that on purpose?   A hint of disappointment flashed in Evelyn's eyes, but she nodded obediently nonetheless.   She was willing to wait.   Five years had passed, and she didn't mind waiting a little longer.   But having just been broadcast live, she was too embarrassed to stay in the meeting room, so she hurriedly left under the pretense of getting materials.   On her way out, she indeed heard people whispering.   "Evelyn really is something else. No wonder Mr. Moore can't let go; that sound just now was so captivating."   "What does it matter? It's been five years and Mr. Moore hasn't acknowledged her identity. Is it possible now? I heard Fiona Jones is back."   Fiona Jones?   It wasn't the first time Evelyn had heard this name as people in the company often mentioned it.   But she was Aaron's sister-in-law! "Back then, Aaron was willing to give up the company for Fiona and insisted on fighting with his brother, but she left anyway. He hasn't forgotten her all these years. Otherwise, why else would he still not have a girlfriend?"   "And now, with his brother gone. Well, I guess he gets the company and the woman after all."

At the wedding of Christina Clayton and Hector Larson, Hector's older sister, Bianca Larson, suddenly spiraled into a severe depressive episode and tried to take her own life right there in the venue. To calm her down, Hector made a desperate choice. He took the wedding ring meant for Christina and slipped it onto Bianca's finger, replacing the bride with his own sister. Later that night, his eyes bloodshot and raw, he dropped to his knees before Christina and begged for her forgiveness. "She's my sister, Christina. I had no other choice. But I swear on everything I am, I will never touch her. The moment she's well again, I'll divorce her immediately and marry you. Just wait for me a little longer, please?" Christina saw the agony etched across his face and knew how much this was tearing him apart, too. So she chose to wait. Three long years passed. She never received the divorce news she had been promised. Instead, she saw him standing at the entrance of the prenatal clinic. ***** Christina stood frozen, staring at the man just a few steps away from the clinic doors. A storm of emotions swirled in her eyes. He had wrapped himself up completely, scarf and hat hiding everything except his eyes, yet she instantly recognized the vivid red mole at the outer corner of his left eye. A beloved face flashed through her mind. The same man carried that exact mark, and every time passion carried them away, he would softly coax her to kiss it. Just then, the clinic door swung open, and Bianca stepped out, radiant and smiling. "Hector, we're having a baby. The doctor says I'm already six weeks along." Hector peeled off his mask, revealing the familiar face she had once loved with her whole heart, and spoke in a voice warm with tenderness. "That's wonderful news. From now on, you have to cooperate fully with your treatment, all right? We can't let your condition risk our child." Christina stared at the face that perfectly matched every cherished memory. She felt as if she had been dropped into an icy abyss. One single sentence screamed inside her head: Hector had broken their vow. Suddenly, he seemed to sense something. He turned his head sharply in her direction. But the crowd between them was too dense, and his gaze swept past without landing on her. "What are you looking at?" Bianca asked, following his line of sight. "Nothing important." Hector shook his head, then laced his fingers with Bianca's. "Let's go home. Mom and Dad are going to be over the moon when they hear this." Christina stayed hidden behind the nearby pillar, watching their retreating figures until they disappeared around the corner. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them. Memories flooded her mind like scenes from an old film reel, playing one after another. Eight years earlier, she had left her hometown to start university. The moment she stepped off the train, a thief snatched her backpack, taking every dollar of her living expenses and her only phone. In that strange, crowded city where she knew no one, she had no idea what to do. Panic rose so fast that she cried until her eyes were swollen and red. That was the exact moment Hector appeared. He told her crying would not fix anything, took her straight to the security office, and together they reviewed the footage until they caught the thief and got everything back. Before they parted, Hector teased her with a playful grin. "I just saved your whole day. Aren't you at least going to say thank you?" Christina's cheeks burned scarlet. Awkwardly, she began signing with her hands. Hector could not understand a single gesture, yet he waited patiently until she finished every motion. Finally, he gave a soft, helpless laugh. "So you're mute? That's actually really adorable. I accept your thanks." Not long afterward, they ran into each other again on campus, and only then did Christina learn he was a year ahead of her. The reunion pulled them together like magnets. Soon, Hector confessed his feelings. Under the shade of a tall sycamore tree, the young man blushed and told her he liked her. Christina, who felt the same rush of affection, turned bright red and signed back in a flustered hurry. She thought he would not understand, but the next second, he leaned down and brushed the gentlest kiss across her lips. Smiling softly, he said, "I could tell. You like me too." From that day on, they shared a sweet campus romance, and in the first month after graduation, they held their wedding. Yet on the wedding day itself, Christina discovered that Hector's sister Bianca had secretly loved him for years. The shock of watching him marry someone else triggered such a violent depressive episode that Bianca tried to end her life right at the ceremony. Hector had been adopted into the Larson family. Desperate to protect Bianca, her parents insisted that he marry her instead. Caught between the woman he truly loved and the family that had raised him, Hector faced an impossible choice. After weighing every heartbreaking option, he set Christina aside and married Bianca. Overnight, Christina became the laughingstock of Eldoria City. But that same night, Hector came to her, his hair already streaked with new white strands, eyes red with exhaustion, and told her he had struck a deal with his family. The marriage would last only three years. At the end of those three years, he would divorce Bianca, and during that time, no one could force him to be intimate with her. Even though only one night had passed, Hector looked years older. Seeing the raw pain in his eyes, Christina's heart softened, and she agreed. Now, with the three-year mark almost here, Hector had shattered their promise. He had not only become intimate with Bianca, but they were expecting a child of their own. No matter how much it tore her heart apart, Christina knew she had to honor the vow she had once made to him. She pulled out her phone and sent a message to a saved number. Christina: Hannah, does that offer to join your design team still stand? If it does, I want you to know I'm ready to accept. On the other end of the line, Hannah Fuller answered with delighted surprise. Hannah: Of course, it still stands. You're a once-in-a-lifetime design genius. Our company has been waiting for you. When can you get here? Christina: I need to sort out my passport. It will probably take about two weeks. She had once promised Hector that if he ever broke his word, she would leave him forever.

Everyone said Ava was a dog Eric picked up—an obedient, fawning lapdog. When Eric wanted a personal bodyguard, she risked her life to earn the right to stay by his side. After that, she took bullets for him, did all his dirty work, and over eight years, her body became a map of scars. One time, he casually mentioned wanting fresh fish, and Ava disregarded her period to wade into the river and catch one. Even when Eric was accidentally drugged, she selflessly offered herself up to "help" him through it. From that night on, publicly, she was his female bodyguard, but privately, she was the one he turned to in the dark. But Eric grew tired of it. He was tired of her obedience, tired of how she never challenged him. She'd become predictable, stale. So at the shareholders' meeting, when they debated who should be sent to seduce their biggest rival and stir up a media frenzy, Eric ignored the predetermined candidates. Instead, he pointed straight at the woman standing behind him. "I choose her." Those three words threw the meeting into chaos. Shareholders exchanged glances before whispering among themselves. "Are we serious? Sending a female bodyguard to seduce that old fossil?" "Isn't Mr. Harris afraid his bodyguard might run off? Rumor has it that the boss is his equal in every way." Eric overheard and couldn't help but laugh. "After eight years, and people still say stupid things like that." The room fell silent instantly, everyone grasping his implication. Ava could never leave him. She was an orphan from the slave markets, with no one to rely on but him. As long as he lived, Ava would forever be a dog prowling around him. Eric was very satisfied with everyone's reaction. Now, just one thing left. He lazily lifted his gaze. "Can you do it?" No name. But everyone knew who he was talking to. Ava remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking under Eric's increasingly impatient gaze. "Yes." A single word triggered a wave of applause, yet Eric's eyes darkened. Once the crowd dispersed, Eric advanced step by step, pinning her to the wall before stopping. "No wonder you're Norbridge's top female bodyguard. You handle things effortlessly both in and out of bed. Since you're so obedient, let's see how well you can act this one out." Ava didn't immediately grasp his meaning—until he took her to a remote club in the outskirts. The moment she spotted the "D" on the club's sign from afar, she froze. Eric was perversely intrigued. In eight years, this was the first time he'd ever seen resistance on her face. And honestly? He liked it. "What, got an ex here or something?" he teased. It was meant as a joke, but Ava looked away. He was half right. They weren't lovers. It had only ever been her one-sided affection. 

For three long years, I have been the partner of Julian Ashton, the wealthy heir in Coston City. Not once in all this time has he made a single intimate move toward me, and I naively convince myself it is love—that he holds back because he cherishes me too deeply to rush things. All of that delusion shatters on our engagement day, when he leaves me alone, abandoned in front of every guest and reporter in the city. I finally learn the brutal truth—he stays chaste not for me, but for his childhood best friend, the one person he has truly loved all along. The grand ballroom erupts with hungry stares and sharp, unkind questions from the press the second Julian's absence becomes undeniable. Just as I stand frozen, drowning in humiliation, a voice cuts through the chaos—smooth, confident, and belonging to the last person I expect. It is Finn Ashton, Julian's younger brother, the notorious playboy of the Ashton family, whose wild reputation has been splashed across tabloids for years. He steps in to shield me from the reporters' prying lenses, his tone warm and reassuring as he tells the crowd he will take me to find his missing brother. I am so desperate for an escape from the nightmare of the engagement party that I take his kindness at face value. I do not realize I have walked into a trap until the sleek black car pulls up to a gated private villa in the remote suburbs, far from the city lights. Before I can react, Finn slings me over his shoulder, carries me inside, and locks the bedroom door behind us. What follows is a day and a night I can never erase, tangled and raw, leaving me sore and shaken in every sense of the word. In the aftermath, Finn strikes a bargain with me: he will spill Julian's darkest secret in exchange for what has happened between us. That secret breaks me completely, turning every last bit of affection I have held for Julian into searing, unrelenting hatred. Tragedy strikes again, not long after: a crippling financial crisis hits my family's business, threatening to collapse everything we have built. With no other options, I make a deal with the devil himself. I agree to team up with Finn—the man who seems harmless and unassuming on the surface, but hides a sharp, calculating mind beneath his playboy facade. Together, we will turn the tide of my family's failing business and pull them back from the brink of ruin. Once the crisis is resolved and our business deal is done, I tell Finn it is over, that our partnership ends here. I expect him to walk away without a second thought, but his reaction is nothing like I anticipate. Finn's face darkens with anger, and he kisses me hard and possessively. "Eleanor, I forgot to tell you. I have been head over heels for you... not just admiring from afar... for ten long years." ***** Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life: the day I get engaged to Julian Ashton, the man I have loved for three years. But as the clock ticks closer to the ceremony start time, there is no sign of him anywhere. I dial his number for the twenty-eighth time, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and dread, and this time, the call finally connects. A beat of silence passes before Julian's voice comes through the line, breathless and strained, laced with sounds that make my blood run cold. "Eleanor, I am so sorry. I cannot make it to the engagement today. I have something far more urgent to handle right now." Low, muffled sounds echo in the background, and I do not need to ask to know exactly what he is doing. Rage and humiliation crash over me, but I force a stiff smile for the hundreds of eyes and flashing cameras staring up at the stage. "Julian, this is your final warning. No matter where you are, you get back here right now to go through with this engagement. If you do not, this is over—we are done for good," I say, my voice tight with barely contained fury. There is no hesitation in his reply, not a single flicker of regret. "I cannot do that. Just let Finn handle the guests for you; he will keep you company." The line goes dead immediately, and every subsequent call goes straight to voicemail; his phone switches off entirely. In that single moment, I go from the belle of the ball to the laughingstock of the room. Flashing camera bulbs blind me, and aggressive reporters close in, shouting invasive questions that cut deeper than any knife. "Ms. Sterling, have you been abandoned by Mr. Julian Ashton?" "Is this engagement just a one-sided pursuit from your family, as the rumors have claimed?"

I spent ten years seducing Mildred Fuentes' son, Philip Fuentes. Then I spent another three years at Kenneth Fuentes' side, until I became the woman he couldn't stop wanting. Mildred had torn my family apart. She was shameless. She was the reason my home was destroyed, the reason I lost everything. And I was going to make her pay. If I had to sell my soul, so be it! If I had to walk hand in hand with the devil, so be it! I would drag her down to hell with me. Philip burst up from the water and caught my ankle in one swift movement. The instant my skin touched the icy pool, a shiver ran through me. "Rita, come in and play!" As he spoke, Philip tugged at my leg and pulled me straight into the pool. "Ah!" I cried out as I fell into the water. Losing my balance so suddenly, I had no choice but to grab onto Philip in a fluster. He let out a chuckle, his broad hand bracing me securely against his chest. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, sliding down past his throat, over his collarbone, and disappearing beneath the surface. Through the water, I could make out the faint lines of his lower abdomen. Annoyed, I smacked his chest lightly. "You scared me!" "Well, whose fault is that?" Philip said. "You kept sitting up there and wouldn't come in." I leaned closer and let my breath brush his ear, soft and sweet. "Swimming is exhausting..." Philip swallowed hard, and for a split second, some memory flashed across his mind, one of those fevered dreams where our bodies were tangled together. The skin beneath his hands seemed to turn scorching hot, so hot he didn't know what to do with himself. His lips parted, as though he wanted to say something, but before he could, I shoved him away. With one turn of my body, I slipped several feet away through the water, then looked back at him with a sly smile. Watching me glide through the pool like a mermaid, free and untouchable, Philip couldn't help chasing after me. I was never going to outswim him, and it wasn't long before he had me boxed back into his space. "Rita... You're being naughty." Philip's clear voice sounded above me, and I deliberately pressed my body against his chest. His whole body locked up. I could feel something hard pushing against me. The moment I realized what it was, I slid my arms around his neck on purpose and pressed myself even closer. As the water rose and fell around us, my body brushed against his in helpless little strokes. My hands rested behind his neck, my fingertips skimming his skin as lightly as feathers. My body glided along the cut of his lower abdomen. Even though I couldn't see it clearly under the water now, I could imagine those lines standing out even more sharply. Philip let out a muffled groan and went completely still, too afraid to move, too afraid I'd notice what was happening to him. But I saw it clearly, the veins standing out along his neck. His breathing had grown heavier too, and every hot exhale landed against my cheek. We just looked at each other like that.

Back when I was nineteen, my gambling-addicted father drugged my mom and handed her straight over to his creditors to cover part of what he owed them. When my mom woke up the next morning and realized what had happened, she couldn't live with it. She took her own life. The creditors refused to count it as payment, saying he'd delivered a corpse instead. While I was still numb with grief, that worthless excuse for a father grabbed me and dragged me off to settle the rest of his debt. He looked those men dead in the eye and said, "My daughter—nineteen, untouched, and prettier than her mom ever was. That ought to wipe the whole slate clean, right?" The men there stared at me with hungry eyes, like they might tear me apart and swallow me whole at any second. I had a pair of scissors tucked up my sleeve, already imagining the cold steel against my skin if any of them laid a hand on me. Just as that thought crossed my mind, a low voice drifted out from the shadows in the corner. "Is she really clean?" In the bathroom, warm water slid down my skin, washing over the faint marks he'd left all over me—marks that told a story I didn't want anyone else to read. A sudden draft hit my back as the door swung open from the outside. Eldon Haywood stepped in completely naked. I was used to this by now, so I played the part. I lifted my hands to cover my chest, turned halfway away, and gave him my best pouty little whine. "Come on, Eldon, I'm still in the middle of my shower." Before I even finished the sentence, his strong arms pulled me against his solid chest. His wide hands moved over me with practiced ease, and a rush of heat shot through my whole body like electricity. "Eldon, we've already gone twice today. I'm seriously done." "Three years ago, when I bought you from your dad, you gave up the right to tell me no." His words ripped open the old wound inside me, raw and ugly, just like the day it first happened. My name is Alisson Mendez. I'm twenty-two now, and for the last three years I've been Eldon's bed companion. It all started when my father gambled away every last thing we owned and still came up five million short. That night, he knocked my mother out and delivered her to those creditors. The next morning, she woke up, realized everything, and ended her life. The creditors tossed her back, refusing to accept a dead woman as payment. So my father decided to sell me instead—his own nineteen-year-old daughter. That was the night I first saw Eldon. He sat right in the center of the room, wrapped in a black overcoat that made him look cold and untouchable. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but I heard his low, calm voice cut through the noise. "I'll take her." He dropped a five-million-dollar check on the table without blinking and walked out with me. ***** A sharp pain suddenly flared across my shoulder as Eldon sank his teeth into the spot that still hadn't healed. The sting yanked me right back to the present. "Pay attention," he growled, voice low and rough. He knew every sensitive place on my body like a map he'd memorized. In seconds, he had me trembling, lost in that dizzy rush. But just as I started to melt into him, his next words sliced straight into my heart like a blade. "Tomorrow I'm getting engaged."

We'd been married for three years when I saw a message from a college student named Adara Thorne on my husband Randall Scott's phone. Adara: Randy, if she gets pregnant, are you gonna leave our baby and me? My normally calm and rational husband had sent her a cute kissing emoji in reply. Something inside me snapped instantly. It was clear—the three-year relationship I'd fought so hard to keep alive was finally over. ***** Adara: Randy, if she gets pregnant, are you gonna leave our baby and me? I'd bent down to pick up his underwear, but froze the moment I saw the message on his screen. Today was my ovulation day. It was the only chance I had to be intimate with Randall. He was in the shower, but his phone held messages from another woman. I unlocked his phone without thinking. A young girl's profile picture stared back at me. She looked innocent, with a bright, bold smile—full of youthful energy and carefreeness. One cute emoji in their chat caught my eye. It wasn't sent by her, but by Randall. A dull, heavy ache settled in my chest. Randall had always called himself a straightforward guy. In three years, he'd never given me a single rose. It turned out he could be romantic—just not with me. My fingers trembled as I scrolled up. I read every message between him and Adara. She called him Randy affectionately. She'd asked him to pick her up after class. They'd even eaten authentic Buffalo wings together. In a few scattered photos, the girl wore workout clothes. She smiled brightly, sweat glistening on her forehead, and her hand rested casually on his neck. My breath grew quicker with every photo I swiped past. Randall was well-known for being a clean freak; he hated being touched by anyone. It had taken me three full years to get him to let me near him at all. Randall disliked spicy food. He said he hated feeling sweaty and messy, and he hated sticky skin. So even though I loved spicy food, I'd always cooked mild dishes for him. Yet in the photos, he hugged the sweaty girl willingly. He couldn't stand spice, but he'd eaten spicy wings with her. I realized the truth. It wasn't that he hated touch or spicy food. He just hated me. I forced a smile, but my eyes stung bitterly. This girl was pregnant. She was carrying Randall's child. And one word from Randall dealt me the final blow. Randall: No. Attached was that same cute kissing emoji I'd seen first. We'd been married three years. I'd never checked his phone before—not out of trust, but because I knew I didn't have the right. I'd thought I would break down, scream, or throw things.

A severe childhood fever had ravaged Cynthia Parra's brain, permanently trapping her cognitive abilities in a state of childlike innocence. She simply couldn't understand the complex, twisted games of the adult world. That night, she pushed open the door of a private bar lounge. The first thing she saw was her husband, Russell Shelton. He was kissing his secretary, Jessica Galvan. Cheers exploded around the room. Cynthia froze. Her fingers twisted nervously in the hem of her dress as she stood there for a long moment. Finally, she spoke in a soft, uncertain voice, "You're my husband... You're not supposed to kiss other people." The room fell silent so quickly that the hum of the air conditioner became audible. Jessica recovered first. She flashed a quick smile. "Oh, Cynthia, don't misunderstand. We're playing Truth or Dare. Russell just happened to draw that one." Russell frowned, impatience creeping into his tone. "You're not seriously upset about a game, are you?" Cynthia pressed her lips together and hurriedly shook her head. "No, no... It's just a game. I understand. Games don't count." Even if it hurt a little, games had rules. And rules had to be followed. Someone nearby snorted with barely suppressed laughter. Several people exchanged knowing looks. 'God, she really is stupid.' The next round of the game began. Cynthia drew a card. Her dare read: Kiss the most handsome man in the room. Russell's expression instantly darkened. He had never liked showing affection toward Cynthia in public. Now he just wanted the moment over with. "Hurry up," he said impatiently. But Cynthia didn't even glance at him. Before anyone could react, she had already walked over to a young man at the neighboring table. She said something quietly to him. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. When she returned to her seat, her eyes sparkled. "I did it!" she said proudly, looking at Russell. "Was I brave?" A collective, suppressed gasp echoed through the room. "Holy shit... That's a real dare." Russell shot to his feet. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room. "What the hell was that?" He snapped. "You're my wife! Do you know how embarrassing that was?" Cynthia stumbled after him, confused. "But... Weren't we playing a game?" His sudden anger frightened her. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Russell opened his mouth, then stopped. His face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "You don't get it!" he said harshly. "You're an idiot. You can't just do something like that!" The word idiot twisted like a rusted blade in Cynthia's heart. Her body trembled uncontrollably. She didn't understand what she had done wrong. She only knew he looked at her with pure disgust. "Am I too stupid...? Do I embarrass you?" She lowered her head. "If that's the case... Then maybe we should separate." Cynthia had always been painfully sensitive to rejection. Ever since she had become different, people laughed at her, mocked her, and bullied her. Russell had always stepped in front of her. He had always said gently, "You're not stupid. You're just purer than everyone else." She remembered his worn-out sneakers. She remembered the patched shirts he used to wear. She remembered the shocked look on his face when she bought him new clothes. "I don't know why..." she had once told him shyly. "But I want to be good to you."

For five long years, Margaret Hart's world consists of mountain slopes and the medicinal herbs she gathers. Basket by basket, she collects them, each one a small step toward a distant dream. Finally, the day comes. The last herb is sold, and she holds enough for a plane ticket to Barion City. The capital's chill is of a different kind. No car awaits her, no familiar face. Instead, she meets the piercing gaze of Victoria Bloom, Elliot Novak's girlfriend. Disdain and disgust swim plainly in the woman's eyes. Without a word, Margaret is ushered into an opulent private club suite. Through a sliver of an open door, she sees him. Five years have reshaped Elliot. He stands clad in a tailored suit, his handsome features as sharp as ever. Yet the clarity she remembers—the warmth from three years past—is utterly absent from his eyes. They hold no recognition, no trace of her. A conversation drifts out, cold and casual. "You can't seriously be marrying that herb collector, right? Your family agrees to the union with Ms. Bloom," a male voice argues. His tone is cool, detached, as it was when they first met, but now layered with indifference. "It was just a verbal promise. She was a curiosity in the village. But after returning... after meeting Victoria... I realize she's nothing special. Although Grandpa arranged it before he passed away, I can't be bound to that promise. My future is with Victoria. If we must, we settle Margaret at Duskmoon Villa. She has every comfort—good food, a soft life. But no children. It ends there," Elliot states flatly. "Duskmoon Villa? The place where your father keeps his mistresses? So the rumors are true. The sabotaged opportunities, even the village bridge burned down... all to delay her. To keep her away," his friend says, a sigh in his voice. Elliot's expression darkens. "I want her to move on. Our world would eat her alive. She belongs in the mountains. The city... it's no place for her." A pause, then a quiet, brutal justification. "She saved my life. But her background... it's unsuitable. I can never have a wife like that." "You need to resolve this. That childhood vow ties you, and she has the debt of your life. What if she insists on the marriage? What if she uses that to cling to you?" Margaret hears no more. A glacial numbness spreads from her core, freezing her blood. The pieces snap together with terrible clarity. Every setback, every closed door over five years—Elliot's doing. All to keep her in the dark, away from him. And she, fool that she is, has fought through every one, believing he waits at the end of her struggle. The irony is a physical pain. Trembling, she follows Victoria back out into the hallway. Victoria says, her voice dripping with false pity, "You hear him. To Elliot, you are a passing distraction. He only entertains you because he feels obligated." She produces a checkbook with a flourish. "Let's be practical. I give you money. Take it and disappear. Is a million enough?" Margaret's voice, when it comes, is eerily calm. "Thirty-seven dollars and sixty cents." Victoria frowns, suspicion flashing. "Don't play games. What more could you possibly want?" "Give me thirty-seven sixty. Then we're even," Margaret repeats, her eyes now pools of still, dead water.

"Vesper, have I been too soft on you? Who gave you permission to go near Luna?" After Vesper Lynd had Ethan Grant's precious soulmate blacklisted and sent overseas, the man completely lost it. "You're hurting me." Vesper tried to pull away, but Ethan's bloodshot eyes locked onto hers with something feral lurking beneath. Instead of letting go, he clamped down harder. "Hurting you? You don't know the first thing about pain. Luna sliced open her wrists, and you had the nerve to ship her off. Did you stop to think about what she was going through?" "Tell me exactly what you said to her when you met." Vesper's face went pale, but stubborn pride flared in her chest. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let tears surface as she glared right back at him. 'What do I care about her life? What do you care? I'm your fiancee, the future Mrs. Grant.' "Oh, you'll make some wife, all right." His voice dripped with contempt. "You really think forcing this engagement would work? That some piece of paper could lock me down?" "Please. I've clearly spoiled you rotten. How else would a grown woman stay this delusional?" Ethan's lips twisted into a sneer. Without warning, he dragged her toward a stunt rig, cinched a blindfold over her eyes, and hoisted her dozens of feet into the air. Vesper thrashed wildly, the thin cable above her groaning under the strain. "Stop." Her voice tore through the air, raw and desperate. This was the man who used to wait for her coffee to cool before handing it over. Now he stood below, watching her beg with cold indifference. Vesper was the sole legitimate heir to the Lynd family fortune. Unfortunately, she'd been born a girl, and Arthur Lynd had never believed women belonged in positions of power. So Ivy Lynd took matters into her own hands, carefully selecting six eligible bachelors for her daughter. "Whoever Vesper chooses to marry will inherit the family empire." Those six young men catered to Vesper's every whim. As children, they'd trailed behind her, stirring up trouble with classmates. As they grew older, they became her personal enforcers, keeping the Lynd bastards firmly in their place. Ethan had always stood out from the pack, the first to throw a punch and the one who hit hardest whenever those half-siblings stepped out of line. To Vesper, that was real masculinity. So when her coming of age ceremony arrived, she didn't hesitate for a second before naming Ethan as her fiance. She even dropped a fortune, hundreds of millions, blanketing the world with announcements of their engagement. But when those glossy ads reached Luna Ashford, the fallout was devastating. The heartbroken girl tried to end her life by slitting her wrists. That was when Vesper uncovered the truth. Ethan already had a soulmate. Those tender kisses, the way he murmured in quiet moments, none of it had ever been meant for her. Vesper thought about fighting for him, until Luna took matters into her own hands. The confrontation came without warning, face to face.

After five grueling years of IVF treatments and seven months of pregnancy, Violet Shaw's body betrayed her with sudden premature labor. Bleeding uncontrollably, she teetered on the brink of death. Her husband, Cedric Stone, who had vowed to love her unconditionally, was conspicuously absent. He had disappeared with that college girl—the one who was supposed to be her emergency blood donor. Violet tried to scream his name, but another vise-like contraction seized her. The pain stabbed so deep she swore her bones were splintering. 'Cedric... Where are you?' Watching Violet's face turn ghostly white, Celia Shaw desperately dialed Cedric's number thirty-two times. Each attempt met only with the taunting blare of a busy signal. "She has a rare blood type. The blood bank reserves are critically low." "Her blood pressure is still crashing." "Where is Mr. Stone's backup donor? Damn it, where is she?" Facing the doctor's roar, Celia stammered through her tears. "He... he's not answering." Before she could explain, another contraction ripped through Violet's abdomen like a serrated knife. Her vision swimming, her final desperate gaze fixed on the operating room doors. Cedric never came. Hours passed, or maybe days. She lost track in the fog. When consciousness finally returned, her trembling hands flew to her stomach. It was flat. Empty. A tsunami of panic and loss overwhelmed her. 'My baby.' She struggled upright, her fingers grasping at empty air. Only Celia's tear-streaked face answered her. "Violet... We almost lost you." 'My baby... where is my baby?' Her voice was a broken whisper as she weakly clutched Celia's sleeve. Tears overflowed like a shattered dam. "The doctors... they couldn't save the baby." Celia's hands trembled. "It was life or death. Without the C-section, you wouldn't have survived." 'Cedric?' Violet's cracked lips formed the name like a curse. Celia's expression turned grim. "I kept vigil for three days. He never came." The words struck Violet like a thunderbolt. Her vision blurred, and the room spun as a visceral pain ripped through her chest. She nearly blacked out from the agony. She had spent seven months carefully nurturing that life. She had whispered countless lullabies to her swelling belly. All those dreams of first steps and birthday candles were gone before her child could even take its first breath. This was the miracle Cedric had begged for, the heir he had obsessed over in boardrooms and bedrooms alike. Yet when their world crumbled, the man who should have been a father couldn't even bother to pick up his phone. With ragged breaths, Violet grabbed her phone with shaking hands and stabbed at Cedric's number. This time, his assistant answered. "Where. Is. He." Her voice was a blade. "Mr. Stone is... tied up right now." The stammering reply turned her blood to ice. "Tell that bastard to get to the hospital. Now." She swiped at her tears and hurled the phone onto the bed with a thud. Later, leaning on Celia's shoulder in the morgue's fluorescent glare, Violet faced the truth. On a stainless steel tray lay her child. Tiny. Still. Gone.

Hazel Moore had scared off 107 blind dates in her lifetime.   She smoked. She drank. She sat across from them and coolly recounted her late-night escapades picking up male escorts at clubs, watching their faces shift from curiosity to discomfort to outright horror.   She was an unquenchable fire, burning through every constraint her father tried to place on her.   Then she met Christian.   A prodigy who had claimed medicine’s highest honor by the age of twenty, he was nothing like the men her father usually trotted out.   Their first meeting was anything but proper.   Fresh from an illegal underground race, reeking of motor oil and sweat, Hazel had answered her father’s desperate call, his usual theatrics, threatening to end his life if she didn’t show.   "Last chance! Screw this up, and I’m cutting you off for good!"   "I’d rather die than live with this shame at my age."   The 108th attempt.   She was tired of the charade.   She pushed open the door to find him standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. Calm. Composed. Unbothered.   Hazel smirked, walked over, and slammed her mud-caked gloves onto the table between them.   "Let’s get one thing straight," she said. "I drink. I smoke like a chimney. And I order male escorts for fun. So if you think for one second we—"   She waited for him to flinch. To walk out. To do what they always did.   "I don’t mind," Christian interrupted, his voice even. "Whatever makes you happy."   He stood, nodded to his assistant, who poured a cup of steaming coffee and slid it toward her.   "You pull all-nighters practicing," he said. "This will do you good. It’s my grandfather’s favorite health coffee blend."   For the first time in years, Hazel had nothing to say.   Everyone had called her worthless. Shameless. The Moore family’s disgrace.   But this man saw something else entirely.   She didn’t believe anyone could truly accept her, not all of her recklessness, not all of her defiance. So after they married, she pushed harder. She tested him. Relentlessly.   She got blackout drunk at a bar, started a fight, and trashed the place.   At 3 a.m., Christian showed up. No anger. No judgment.   He simply told his assistant, "Handle it."   Then he carried her, completely drunk and barely conscious, to the car, drove her home, and gently cleaned her up and changed her clothes.   By morning, the bar had been compensated, and not a single news outlet had printed her name.   Another midnight, during an illegal street race, she lost control of her sports car and slammed into a guardrail. The front end was obliterated.   Christian pulled her, bloodied, from the wreck seconds before it exploded. Then he personally operated to save her life.   When she woke, he was sitting by her bed, his face as calm as ever.   "Next time you want to race," he said quietly, "take me with you."   Indeed, Christian tolerated everything Hazel did, patient, unflappable, the perfect husband by anyone’s standards.    

"Ms. Nelson, these fertility injections will accelerate the spread of your cancer cells. At this rate, your body may not hold out for more than six months. Are you absolutely certain you want to proceed?" the doctor asked, his brow furrowed with concern. Nina thought of her child overseas, the one whose life depended on the stem cells she could provide. She nodded without hesitation. "I'm sure, Doctor. Let's do it." He sighed softly before administering the injection. As she gathered her things to leave, he made one final attempt. "If you focused on treatment instead of pregnancy, recovery would still be possible." She appreciated his concern, truly. But time was a luxury she no longer had. 'Just hold on,' she silently pleaded with her own body. 'Long enough to conceive. Long enough to carry this baby to term.' From the hospital, she went straight to the hotel where Xavier always stayed. Inside the room, her pulse thundered in her ears as she watched him. His mind was clouded now by the sedative she had slipped into his drink. Five years had carved him into someone else. The warmth she remembered had hardened into something cold and unyielding. Her trembling fingers reached for his belt, but before she could touch the buckle, his hand clamped around her wrist like a steel trap. She looked up and met his eyes. There was nothing foggy or confused in that gaze. Xavier's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Nina. Are you trying to get yourself killed? Slipping me a mickey takes a special kind of audacity." After five years of silence, these were the first words he had spoken to her. Shame burned in her chest, but she forced it down. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she leaned in, desperate to kiss him. He shoved her back so hard she nearly fell off the bed. Before she could recover, he sat up, his face flushed with barely restrained fury. His hand closed around her throat, and his eyes blazed with contempt. "What is this? Couldn't handle the loneliness after your poor husband died? Nina, you're pathetic." The crude words stung her eyes with tears she refused to shed. Those beautiful eyes of his, the ones that had once looked at her with nothing but adoration, now held only frost and disgust. Memories crashed over her like waves, stealing the air from her lungs. Just as the edges of her vision began to darken, he released her throat and flung her back onto the mattress. Fabric ripped, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. Tears soaked into her hair as he took her with a brutality that felt like punishment. Their bodies still remembered every curve, every familiar scent. But the love that had once lived between them was long dead. Even through the fog of the sedative, his revulsion was unmistakable. It radiated from every harsh touch, every clipped breath. At the peak, his breath scalding her ear, he growled three words. "Nina, you disgust me." Once, in moments like this, he would have whispered breathless promises, his voice rough with wanting. Now there was only poison. The words wrapped around her heart like a noose and pulled tight. And then the past came for her, merciless and complete.

The day Wyatt Lum won the Open title and completed his Grand Slam, I couldn't even get him on the phone. I was his fiancée, after all. But his phone went straight to voicemail. Meanwhile, his childhood friend Rosalind Jones was busy posting trophy selfies all over social media. Her caption practically screamed off the screen. Rosalind: [You promised we'd share this moment.] There it was, barely visible in the corner of the frame. Wyatt's hand resting on her shoulder. Casual. Possessive. Deliberate. I typed out a comment before I could stop myself. Clover: [What a perfect pair. Should I go ahead and order the wedding invitations?] My phone rang within seconds. Wyatt's voice came through tight and cold. "Delete it. Right now." Funny how things work out. I had walked away from my own tennis career to support his dreams. Every early morning practice. Every tournament across three continents. Every time he doubted himself, I was there. But somehow I ended up being the crazy ex. Empty hands and a broken heart were all I had to show for it. When I tried to start over in a new city, a semi-truck made sure I never got that chance. As the world went dark around me, one thought kept circling back. 'That damn tennis court. Why did I ever walk away from it?' Then a miracle happened. I opened my eyes and I was twenty years old again. My fingers wrapped around the familiar grip of a racket. This time around, the world would remember my name. I planned to claim every title alone. Then some cocky rookie named Ian Bright crashed into my life and messed up all my plans. Jovannia Tennis Academy. Present day. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I stared at the ball sitting dead on the baseline. My lips felt cracked every time I tried to swallow. I wiped my palm on my shorts, grabbed another ball, and took a swing with everything I had. This was my first month back at twenty years old. My first month returning to tennis after more than a decade away. My father had passed away when I was young. My mother, Sylvie Green, worked as a tennis coach and poured everything into my younger brother Lucas Hill. All the funding went to him. The elite coaches, the international training opportunities, the expensive equipment. Everything. I got stuck being his hitting partner. The problem was that I kept beating him every single time we played. Then my mother would blow up at me like I had committed some terrible betrayal. The few tips I ever got came from her colleagues, thrown my way when she wasn't watching. Talent has a way of refusing to stay buried. Even with barely any training compared to everyone else, I fought my way to my first title in less than two years. By sixteen, I had earned my spot on the Jovannia regional squad. They called me the rising star. I dominated the provincial championships without breaking a sweat. When the national qualifiers came around, the coaches set up practice matches to prepare everyone. I was in the middle of my swing when my racket shattered. No warning. No slow crack. Just a snap that left me standing there with half a handle in my hand. My mind went completely blank. I looked around at the crowd, searching for someone to help. Every single person looked away. A teammate finally tossed me a backup racket, but my shots went wild. It felt like swinging a lead pipe. That match ended in total defeat. I spent days trying to retrain my muscle memory. The harder I pushed, the worse I played. After that, the losses piled up one after another. Nobody cared why I had started losing. They just decided the prodigy had fallen, and that was the end of it.

On their seventh wedding anniversary, Renee discovered a divorce papers tucked inside Adrian's nightstand. The paper was scrawled over and edited repeatedly, as if someone had wrestled with it countless times.   "If I fall in love with another during our marriage, I willingly give up all my property and leave empty-handed. The following are the asset details..."   He had once sworn he would leave everything behind. Yet the asset list was full of scribbles. The house he promised her was crossed out. The fifty million he had pledged was reduced to half a million. And finally, in a confession-like note, he wrote another line.   "Let Renee leave empty-handed. No choice. Vivian is pregnant."   Renee sank onto the bed, unable to believe it. The signature on the agreement was neat and decisive, without a trace of hesitation. And that agreement had been drafted seven years ago, the year they married. That year, Adrian had been willing to leave everything for her.   But each passing year, he crossed out more and more of what he had promised. Seven years later, the one leaving empty-handed was her.   Her phone buzzed suddenly. It was a message from Adrian.   Adrian: I'm on a business trip. Don't wait for me.   She tried calling back, only to find he had already turned off his phone.   Then another message popped up, a screenshot sent by a friend. The poor student she had sponsored, Vivian, had posted on social media.   Vivian: [Wow, getting praised! To celebrate my first period without leaks, my CEO said we had to make it special.]   In a nine-photo collage, Adrian's eyes sparkled with amusement as he lovingly placed a dazzling gemstone necklace around Vivian's neck. The location tagged was the Lover's Haven Hotel.   Renee's breath caught.   He couldn't even remember their seventh wedding anniversary, the years they had weathered together. But he had remembered to celebrate Vivian's period going smoothly.   And that gemstone pendant—it was the one she had spotted at an auction last week. The necklace had belonged to her mother and had been lost. Just as she was about to bid, she was told her bank card had been frozen. She had asked Adrian why.   After a long pause, he had replied with a single text, telling her not to waste money on useless things.   She gripped the number card tightly, helplessly sitting in the auction hall. She had finally resolved to sell her own creations to raise enough money. But someone had placed the winning bid remotely.   Renee had hated herself for it, hated that she couldn't keep her mother's relic. She never imagined who had snatched it in the auction.   It was Adrian. He knew how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he had given it to Vivian.   Even on their seventh wedding anniversary, Adrian lied, claiming he was busy, spending the day indulging Vivian.

Jenna was volunteering at the animal shelter when she ran into her ex-husband, whom she hadn't seen in five years. Lucas had long shed his former shy, sensitive self. Now in a perfectly tailored, expensive suit, he carried himself with calm confidence, the image of an elite.   The moment he saw Jenna, he froze, shock evident in his voice. "Jenna? What are you doing here?"   Jenna lowered her eyes and continued gently brushing the little cat's fur, ignoring him.   Lucas stepped forward two paces. His tall figure cast a shadow that enveloped her completely.   "I went to Oakridge Correctional Facility to see you. The guards said you were released three months ago," he said, his voice deeper than she remembered, carrying a subtle tension. "Why didn't you contact me when you got out?"   Jenna placed the little ginger cat into its cage and slowly pushed herself up against the wall. Her left leg sent a familiar sharp pain through her. Five years in prison had left her with a disability in that leg and had completely erased all her feelings for Lucas.   She tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes held no warmth. The atmosphere froze around them.   Lucas furrowed his brow, his gaze complex as he stared at her, his Adam's apple moving as he spoke. "I know you're still angry with me, but back then…"   "It's all over," Jenna cut him off coldly, limping to step around him.   Lucas's pupils shrank as he saw her walk with a limp. His eyes flickered with a hint of pain. "Your leg…"   He was about to move closer when an innocent child's voice rang out. "Dad, I want to keep that puppy! It lost a leg and it's so sad. You said we should be kind!"   Jenna paused and looked over.   The little boy was about four or five. His features shared a strong resemblance to Lucas. He pointed at a small dog with hopeful eyes.   Lucas reached out to pat his head, his voice soft. "Okay, we'll take it home."   Jenna's hand clenched involuntarily, her nails digging into her palm. Her gaze shifted from her slightly crippled left leg to the puppy's injured leg. Her eyes stung.   The same kind of brokenness.   But the puppy could be cared for and brought home, while her leg, and everything she had lost, would never come back. If her child from all those years ago had survived, perhaps it would have been just as vibrant.   For five years, she had dreamed of that unborn child, calling to her in the darkness, over and over, "Mom."   "Lucas, I've made a reservation at Cloudview Restaurant," a gentle female voice said.   It was Stella, once Jenna's closest friend.   Lucas didn't move, his gaze still fixed on Jenna.   Frowning, Stella followed his eyes and saw Jenna's face. Her pupils widened, and she covered her mouth in shock. "Jenna? You're out?"

During the years she spent as Adrian's kept woman, Lucia worked especially hard. She even signed up for an etiquette course for socialites.   On the very first lesson, the instructor handed everyone a banana. The others burst out laughing, but Lucia studied it with complete seriousness.   Using everything she learned, Lucia did everything she could to please Adrian. In the end, she conquered him with her body.   From that day on, she became the one Adrian favored most. For her, he even stopped touching other women.   One of his friends once teased him. "Don't tell me you've actually fallen in love."   Three years passed, and nothing changed. Even Lucia began to wonder whether Adrian might truly mean it.   But by chance, she overheard a conversation between Adrian and his friend.   "Viv will be back soon. Are you going to get rid of the substitute?"   "Not yet. She still has her use. With her around, Viv will come back to me."   Only then did Lucia realize the truth. She had always been nothing more than a substitute. A substitute meant to be used.   Still, it did not matter.   Looking at the admission letter from Northbridge Institute of Technology in her hand, Lucia smiled faintly. After all, she had already saved enough for tuition.   ******   On the first day Vivian returned to the country, Adrian brought Lucia to a welcome banquet.   Ever since overhearing that conversation, Lucia had already done her research.   Three years ago, Vivian debuted as a model and quickly grew close to Adrian. Later, she left for overseas opportunities and abandoned him.   At the banquet, Adrian sat with Lucia far from Vivian, as if deliberately keeping his distance.   Vivian came over several times to propose a toast, but Adrian pretended not to see her.   The last time, Vivian spoke with obvious sincerity. "Adrian, I'd like to talk with you alone."   Instead, Adrian let Lucia respond in his place.   "I'm afraid I must refuse. Lucy doesn't like me talking to other women."   To everyone watching, Lucia seemed like the woman Adrian treasured most. Only Lucia herself knew the truth. Adrian was simply putting on a show.   Vivian's eyes reddened instantly, as though countless grievances were hidden behind them. She bit her lip and glanced at Lucia before speaking in a trembling voice.   "Fine. Then I won't disturb you anymore."   Vivian turned and walked away. Yet there was no joy on Adrian's face.   He stared at her retreating figure for a long moment before finally coming back to himself and draining the glass in one gulp.   Lucia quietly poured him another drink. Adrian did not notice and accidentally knocked the glass over.   He frowned. "What's wrong with you?"   Someone nearby quickly spoke up for Lucia.   "Come on, she definitely didn't mean it. Let it go."

Ten years after Dominick Swanson saved Charlotte Lindsey from severe depression, she decided to divorce him. To everyone around them, Dominick was the perfect husband. They all said no man had ever loved a woman the way he loved Charlotte. And once, that had been true. In high school, Charlotte returned to the Lindsey family, but Evelyn Lindsey, the fake heiress, targeted her relentlessly, pushing Charlotte into depression. At her lowest point, she had walked to the lake and thrown herself in. In the dead of winter, with temperatures below freezing, Dominick had jumped in after her without hesitation and pulled her out. He held her shivering body against his chest and said, "If the world has given you nothing but pain, then let me be the one person who gives you hope." Dominick had always been distant by nature, cool and untouchable to everyone else. But for Charlotte, he had saved every ounce of his patience and tenderness. When her depression got so bad that she dropped from second in the class to nearly the bottom, Dominick helped her catch up, making notes for her, tutoring her over and over without a hint of impatience. "Don't worry," he had told her. "As long as I'm here, I'll get you back to number two." And when a video of Charlotte being assaulted spread all over campus, even Dominick, always composed, finally lost control. He tracked down Evelyn, the one who had leaked it, and forced her to kneel before everyone and apologize to Charlotte. "How are you still alive, when you're this disgusting?" It was the first time Charlotte had ever heard him curse. With Dominick protecting her so fiercely, Charlotte's depression slowly began to ease. They were both accepted into Jivalis' most prestigious university and became the couple everyone envied. The moment Charlotte was old enough to marry, Dominick proposed. "I want you to be the moon that belongs only to me. Marry me?" To prove how much he loved her, Dominick, the brilliant, aloof golden boy who had always seemed too perfect for ordinary life, spent the next ten years cooking for her. Even though Charlotte never had his child, Dominick never complained. He respected every choice she made. He always put her feelings first. Until today, Charlotte believed Dominick loved her. If not for the car accident, she might have believed it forever. Charlotte was an attending surgeon. When the emergency call came in, she rushed straight to the scene. The second she stepped out of the car and ran toward the wreck, she saw her husband. Dominick, who was supposed to be overseas attending a conference, was at the scene with blood on his hands, desperately trying to tear open a car door with his bare hands. And inside the car, Charlotte recognized the woman instantly, Evelyn. The same Evelyn who had driven her into severe depression! Charlotte went cold all over. She told herself it had to be a coincidence. But then Dominick pulled Evelyn out of the wreckage, cradling her blood-soaked body in his arms, and shouted at the doctors rushing over, "Save my wife! She's more than four months pregnant, nothing can happen to our baby!" His voice roared in Charlotte's ears. So did the pounding rush of blood. And suddenly, she remembered the way Evelyn had smirked a few days ago, one hand resting on her stomach.

For six years, Violet McCarthy had been Percival Leblanc's mistress, the heir of Morvani's powerful Leblanc family. After another night of passion, Violet watched Percival asleep beside her. Certain he wouldn't wake, she slipped from bed, walked to the living room, and made a call. "Violet?" The woman on the other end spoke in a low, authoritative voice. "Six years already. Haven't you had enough fun? It's time to come home." "Mom. I'll be back in Iskavia in a month," Violet replied calmly. "I'll go through with the marriage alliance... With the blind heir from the Coffey family." Her mother, Joyce McCarthy, fell silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had softened into something almost warm... Though to Violet, it sounded faintly unreal. "I'm glad you've finally come around. What time will you land? Which airport? I'll have someone there to pick you up..." It seemed that only when family interests were involved did Joyce sound anything like a real mother. After giving her a few brief details, Violet hung up. She stood by the window, looking out over the dazzling night view of Brooklyn Bridge Park, then slowly lit a cigarette. This was Violet's sixth year with Percival, and the first day she resolved to leave him. ***** Six years ago, trying to escape a marriage arranged by her family, Violet had fled to the chaotic, unpredictable city of Morvani. On her very first day there, she was kidnapped. Her captors had mistaken her for Cynthia Farley, the woman rumored to be the one Percival Leblanc had never gotten over. They planned to use her as leverage against him. No matter how Violet tried to explain, they refused to believe she wasn't Cynthia. Just when she was certain she would die there, Percival showed up. "Where're you from?" he asked. Blood splattered through the air as he stepped in front of her, taking it on his back without even flinching. Yet in the middle of the chaos, he wore an almost amused smile. "I don't have a home," Violet said. "Guess that makes you a stray." His gaze, sharp and unapologetically intrusive, lingered on her face for a long moment, as though he were seeing someone else through her. "You're lucky," he said at last. "You look a lot like someone I used to know. I'll take care of you. But I have one condition." Percival flicked ash from his cigarette, his voice smooth, persuasive, and impossible to refuse. "Learn the violin. Once you do, you'll play a piece for me every day." The most reckless thing Violet had ever done in her otherwise quiet life was agreeing to go with Percival that day. Under his indulgent protection, Violet enjoyed every privilege that had once belonged to Cynthia, and for the first time in her life, she tasted real freedom. But Morvani was a city full of dangerous undercurrents. Over time, many people began to see her as the perfect leverage against Percival. Violet knew the truth herself. She was nothing more than a decoy, standing in the open to protect the real Cynthia. Until that day... "Let her go." Percival had barged in alone, and the tremor in his voice betrayed how tense he really was. "Mr. Leblanc," one of the kidnappers sneered as he loaded a bullet into the chamber, "get down on your knees and beg, and we might let her go." 'Kneel?' That was impossible. Percival Leblanc was a man built on pride. The word kneel had never existed in his world. The cold barrel of a gun pressed against Violet's temple. She felt a wave of cold despair wash over her.

The name Samuel Wesley is known throughout Kingston City as the ironclad protector of Rebecca Summers, the treasured daughter of a distinguished general. He gave nearly his life for her once, taking bullets meant for her without a second of hesitation. Defying the vast divide in their social standings, Rebecca insists on spending her life with this man who values her above his own survival. Samuel, in turn, proves worthy of her choice, cherishing her with a devotion that runs deep in his bones and blood. After their marriage, the Summers family is suddenly struck by tragedy, plummeting Rebecca from her pedestal into the dust. Many in Kingston City, quick to turn their backs, seize the chance to kick her while she is down. It is Samuel who silences them all. He slams his gun onto a table before the crowd and declares, his voice cutting through the noise without mercy, "As long as I, Samuel Wesley, draw breath, the Summers family stands. She will always be its heiress. Anyone who shows disrespect will have to get through me first." Yet now, this very man who loves her so fiercely holds a gun aimed directly at her head. "Call Nick. Tell him to release Mr. Barnes," Samuel says, his voice devoid of any warmth, edged with sharp impatience. Nick Wayne is the final safeguard Rebecca's father secures for her before his death — her ultimate ace in the hole, the one guarantee of a safe exit from any danger within their circles. Even during the family's darkest downfall, her father never calls in that favor, preserving it solely for his daughter's protection. Now, Samuel forces her to surrender that last, precious card. And for what? For a man like Leonard Barnes — a man whose wicked deeds make him deserving of death a hundred times over. All because Leonard is the father of Natalie Barnes, the girl Rebecca herself brought back from the battlefield three years prior. A hot tear traces its way down Rebecca's cheek, her eyes growing glassy and teary. She steps closer to Samuel, her hand rising to grip the cold barrel of the gun. "Samuel, do you even know what kind of man you're pointing this gun at me to save?" she says, her voice low but tight with suppressed emotion. Her eyes widen, and her tone rises despite herself. "He's vile. A coward who only preys on the weak. His hands are stained with the blood of the innocent..." Samuel does not pull the gun away. Instead, he pushes it forward slightly, his thumb settling firmly on the trigger. "What kind of man Mr. Barnes is isn't for me to judge, Rebecca. In our line of work, everyone has blood on their hands. It's hardly unusual." His gaze stays unyielding, unwavering. "But I make a promise. I have to get Natalie's father out. I owe her my life." That same reason, again and again. Rebecca hears it so many times over the years that the words wear thin, fraying at the edges every time they leave his lips. Because Natalie saved his life. It is the reason Samuel leaves their bed in the dead of night, disentangling himself from her without a second thought, barely pausing to dress properly, whenever Natalie calls. It is the reason he, who breaks out in hives and struggles to breathe with a single sip of alcohol, publicly drains glass after glass meant for Natalie whenever she claims her period prevents her from drinking. Rebecca knows a man like Samuel can be trapped by a debt of gratitude forever, bound to a promise he will never break. A bitter smile touches her lips as she tightens her grip on his hand wrapped around the gun.

Behind the gilded walls of Sinclair Manor, every servant knew the story of the disgraced seventh son and his unwavering devotion to his beloved, Josephine Beaumont. He had sworn on his honor that if he ever claimed the family estate as its rightful heir, she would stand beside him as his lawful wife. On the very day he first knelt before the King, his opening request was for their union. Though his mother's lowly station had left him scorned by the aristocracy, he defied tradition to wed a mere servant, sparking outrage among the noble families. Back then, she was the only one he saw. But when the decree named him heir, he returned with Lady Clarice Darcy, a woman spouting radical notions like "dignity for every soul." With her silver tongue, she had charmed every servant in the manor before the sun had set. On her first morning, she audaciously handed out Josephine's prized possessions—every jewel and trinket Alistair had gifted her, even their cherished mementos—to the staff. "We are all family under this roof," she declared, flashing a smug smile. "Let us share our good fortune." Josephine's vision blurred with rage and heartbreak. Alistair stood beside her, pretending not to notice. In their darkest days, when they had barely scraped by on stale bread and watery coffee, he had forbidden her to sell even a single hairpin. Now he let this stranger toss their treasures away like kitchen scraps. When Josephine turned to him, her voice trembling with betrayal, he merely shrugged. "Clarice makes a fair point. This is how we earn their trust." His tone turned icy. "As the future mistress of this household, you will need to set the standard." Then the assassins struck. Josephine lunged, taking the arrow meant for him straight through her chest. Chaos erupted. Guards fell, blood spilled across the marble floors, but her body hit the ground first. When only one life-saving remedy remained, Clarice suddenly spoke up. "Is a guard's life worth any less? If he does not take this medicine, his hand will surely be crippled. But Madame Josephine's wounds are too grave. This remedy may not save her anyway." Gently taking Alistair's hand, she coaxed in a soft voice, "Your Lordship knows which choice will earn the people's loyalty." And so Josephine watched helplessly as the elixir, already at her lips, was taken back by Alistair. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, but he only met her gaze with cold detachment. "Clarice is right. 'The tide that lifts the boat can also drown it.' You know better than anyone how hard my journey has been. Whether you live or die today lies in heaven's hands." With that, he turned and left with Clarice, his honeyed whisper carried back to her on the stale air. "As always, Clarice proves wise, easing my burdens at the most critical moments." Watching their retreating figures, Josephine felt an agony in her chest too fierce to endure. But what hurt more than the arrow wound was her heart, turning to ice in her chest. Her body trembled, wracked with chills, as life drained from her like a fading ember. 'In her dazed state, memories of the days before Clarice surfaced in her mind.' Back then, Alistair had been nothing but a cast-off nobleman's son, scorned by all. His lowly birth as the child of a kitchen maid earned the King's disdain and endless humiliation from the peerage. It was she who had stolen food to drag him back from death's door when he lay gasping on the edge of the grave. And on her deathbed, his own mother had pressed his hand into Josephine's, entrusting his very life to her keeping.

Noelle Mason had won ten awards in five years—the design world's undisputed genius. Then she got married, quit her job overnight, and everyone started whispering she'd just married up. After her ninety-ninth rejected submission, Noelle collapsed and coughed up blood. When she came to, all she wanted was comfort from Oscar Pearson. Instead, she found him pinning Seren Knox against the wall, kissing her like crazy—the same woman who'd destroyed Noelle's right hand. "You made Noelle a cripple," Oscar whispered against Seren's lips. "But I kept you out of jail. I signed those papers. Don't you owe me? I want you to be mine." Seren wore a black dress, muttering curses at him even as her body pressed tightly against his. "Oscar, you animal... What about Noelle?" Something dark flickered in his eyes as his hands roamed lower. "Noelle? She was useful for getting me through the hard times, so I gave her the Mrs. Pearson title, the respectability. But for events? I need someone with real class like you. She's an orphan—I'd be embarrassed to take her anywhere. All her design submissions? I've been entering them under your name and trashing her reputation. She'll never make it now." Seren's body went limp against him, her eyes gleaming. "Wait—all those awards she got over the years are mine now? She really just gave me everything she worked for?" Oscar let out a scornful laugh. "Are you kidding? She has no idea. Three years of marriage, 99 designs—every single one won awards, not one rejection. The one that made her collapse? Just won gold at an international contest." He grabbed a gleaming trophy and handed it to Seren. She broke into a smile, and together, they tumbled onto the bed. Through the doorway, Noelle watched, feeling like she'd been hit by a truck. Her blood ran cold. She remembered lying in that hospital bed with her hand ruined, Oscar at her side with red-rimmed eyes, swearing, "Noelle, I'll make Seren pay." So "making her pay" meant sneaking her out of trouble, bringing her home, and sleeping with her. So he'd always resented her for being an orphan. Not only had he lied about her designs failing, but he'd also handed her trophies—earned with blood and tears—to the woman who'd hurt her. The room spun. Noelle grabbed a pillar to keep from falling, tears streaming silently down her face. 'If Oscar wants a kept woman, he has plenty of women to choose from. Why Seren? Is she just a kept woman, or his true love hidden deep in his heart? I, the orphan Oscar kept dismissing, have saved him, again and again.' Memories flooded her mind and stabbed her heart painfully.

Now, Wesley Cirrus, her husband of five years—a secret they had guarded from the world—sat across from her. His voice was deceptively gentle, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Zoe, the doctors say your father can last three minutes without oxygen." He glanced at his phone, then back at her. "Three minutes. So decide. Will you post the video and take the blame for the DUI?" On the screen, her father, Henry Shaw, lay in a hospital bed. He was wasting away from ALS, his face a pale, sickly gray. A masked nurse stood beside him, her hand resting on the oxygen mask, waiting for Wesley's signal. "Wesley, that is my father," Zoe said, her voice trembling violently. Her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Tears blurred her vision, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. 'He is the man who has loved me more than anyone in this world.' Wesley sighed and reached out to wipe her tears away. She flinched and jerked back from his touch. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before he retreated, his usual polished and composed expression firmly back in place. "I know," he said calmly. "So you have to choose. Your father's life, or the lead in Nightingale?" Her voice turned razor-sharp. "This isn't about some stupid role. Lyra Raine was drunk when she hit that person. They might still die. Even if I confess, do you really think the police will just drop the entire investigation?" Wesley stood up slowly, towering over her. The sheer force of his presence made her stumble back a step. "Leave that to me," he said. "I'll spin the story." He picked up a tablet from the coffee table and turned the screen toward her. It showed a grainy, zoomed-in photo of a woman's profile in a car. "Someone caught her profile in a photo," he explained. "You look enough like her. We just say it was you." He set the tablet down and stepped closer. "Zoe, this won't touch you. You're already an award-winning actress. You have an Oscar. You have a legacy." His voice dropped to a lover's whisper. "Why not let me take care of you here at home? Let me pamper you. Lyra is different. Her career is just starting, and she's desperate for Nightingale. She sobbed all night, terrified that her dream is over before it even began." "So you'll destroy me to pave her way?" Zoe shouted. She shoved him hard in the chest, her voice splintering like glass. The memory hit her suddenly, a sharp and unwelcome flashback. It was that glittering night five years ago, the night she had won her first Best Actress award. After the celebration, Wesley had proposed to her on the hotel rooftop, the city lights sprawling beneath them. He had vowed then to always support her dreams. His eyes had held entire galaxies of adoration as he called her his muse, his inspiration, his everything. For years, he had been the perfect husband. He mastered complicated nutrition plans for her roles. When she filmed on location overseas, he would hop on a red-eye flight every few nights just to hold her for a few hours before flying back. After every award ceremony, he would post photos of her on his social media, crowing that she was his pride and joy. But now, staring at the cold, hard lines of his face, she saw no trace of that man. His gaze turned to ice. He picked up his phone and flashed a quick signal to the person on the other end of the video call. On the screen, the nurse reached down and yanked the oxygen mask away from Henry's face. Henry's pale features twisted into a sickening shade of purple. His chest heaved violently, his body convulsing on the bed as he fought for air, like a drowning man. "Wesley, no, don't do this!" Zoe lunged for the phone, but he sidestepped her with an infuriating grace, holding it just out of reach. "Try saying no," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were glacial. "I dare you. Let's see if your father can last three minutes without oxygen." The heart monitor on the video feed began to screech an urgent, high-pitched alarm. Zoe's voice dropped to a broken whisper. "Why... why are you doing this to me?" For a fraction of a second, his polished mask seemed to slip. Something dark and unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by an expression colder than before. "Don't overcomplicate this, Zoe," he said flatly. "It's really nothing. Barely a blip for someone like you. Lyra... she's someone I need to protect." The word 'protect' drove into her ribs like a shard of glass. The tears she had been holding back finally broke free and streamed down her cheeks. On the phone screen, she watched her father gasp like a fish thrown onto dry land. His body seized and twitched, and she felt utterly and completely powerless. On screen, she was a chameleon. She could become anyone. But in this moment, she could not even save the man who had given her life. Her voice cracked and splintered. "Fine."

The day Celia Hartwell walked out of prison, a cold rain poured down mercilessly. An icy wind howled, driving the rain sideways as reporters descended like vultures upon the prison gates. "Ms. Hartwell! Your client lost the Clearwater Manor case and jumped to her death six months ago," one shouted, shoving a microphone in her face. "Her mother swears to make you pay. Care to comment?" Another journalist elbowed forward. "Your law license got revoked, your mentor was forced into retirement. How does it feel to lose everything?" Celia kept her head down, shouldering through the sea of shouting reporters with quiet determination. At the curb idled a sleek black G-Class, where Xavier Landry leaned against the hood, taking long drags from his cigarette. Iris Hartwell yanked his sleeve impatiently. When he finally turned, his gaze locked onto the prison entrance. Together, they moved to block Celia's path. "Yikes!" Iris gasped with theatrical horror, pointing at the jagged scar marring Celia's forehead. "Oh honey, did they do that to you in there? It looks like someone took a knife to your face!" Celia's fingers instinctively brushed her bangs forward, but the brutal reminder of prison life was too large to conceal. Xavier remained silent, his expression as cold as the rain around them. With a smug grin, Iris produced a gaudy gift box. "Here's your welcome back present, Celia," she cooed. "Xavier and I picked out these lovely shoes to help you keep your nose clean from now on." She leaned in with mock sympathy. "No more missteps, okay?" That word, missteps, burned worse than the scar. As if these two didn't know exactly how she had ended up behind bars. Celia was a lawyer, an undefeated legal star with a flawless five-year streak, the kind every firm dreamed of having. Iris, however, was the family's secret illegitimate daughter, dragged into the Hartwell family two years ago. She also practiced law, but after three years of embarrassing losses, she had become the laughingstock of the legal world. Then came the scandalous Clearwater Manor case, the one that changed everything. Celia represented a young victim, taking on the wealthy tycoon Zachary Stone in court. Iris was his defense lawyer. The evidence was ironclad, and victory seemed certain until the night before the trial, every shred of evidence mysteriously vanished from Celia's computer. The case collapsed. The aftermath was devastating. The media tore into the victim, smearing her as a prostitute. Soon after, Celia was accused of forging evidence. Her license was revoked. She got slapped with a year in prison. Just like that, her career was over. Meanwhile, Iris rode the wave of her courtroom win straight to the top. For ages, Celia could not wrap her head around how things had gone so sideways, until she accidentally found a secret group chat on Xavier's phone. Just three members were in it: him, Iris, and their father, Henry Hartwell. Iris: Celia has fame, status, everything, yet she showed me no mercy in court. She just wanted to humiliate me. Henry: Celia went too far, Iris. I'm on your side. Iris: What do you think, Xavier? Xavier: Iris, tell me what evidence and documents you want gone.

It was the seventh year of Serena Williams and Raymond Scott's union. Serena felt more like a bed-mate for Raymond to relieve his physical needs than a lover. After another round of sex, Raymond nonchalantly brushed past the top of Serena's head. "When I turn thirty, if I still haven't found her, I'll settle down with you." Serena knew who the figure in Raymond's heart was. It was the little girl who had pulled him out of the sea over twenty years ago. Raymond said he had promised her back then that he would marry her when they grew up. Serena had asked him more than once, what if he never found that girl? She'd asked for seven years. However, Raymond never responded. But today, she finally got the answer she had longed for. Because after midnight today, Raymond would be thirty. Serena couldn't help but feel a surge of elation.      Tonight, Raymond held a grand banquet at the manor on the outskirts of the city. Right now, they were in the castle's penthouse, making love. An hour from now, they would stand hand in hand before the castle gates and embrace their future together! Serena held her sore waist, gently kissed his Adam's apple, her eyes dreamy. "Wait for me." An hour later, she wore a fishtail dress, clutching a pair of prepared couple rings. She thought, after tonight, they could leave the past behind and truly begin. But when she turned around, she saw Raymond tightly embracing another woman. The man, usually so aloof that he was even stingy with smiles, now had eyes filled with the ecstasy of finding something lost, his voice trembling. "I finally found you!" The woman wore a white dress, her eyes like a startled fawn. Serena stood in place, the warmth in her fingertips instantly turning cold. It was Irene Miller, the daughter of the Williams family's maid. Irene had lived with her mother at the Williams estate since she was young, and Mark Williams, Serena's father, had always treated her kindly, even sponsoring her to study abroad seven years ago. However, their personalities didn't match, and their relationship had always been lukewarm. Irene timidly said, "Mr. Scott, you... you must have mistaken me for someone else." Raymon released her, his fingers gently brushing the emerald pendant hanging around her neck. His voice was gentle, as if he were afraid of disturbing a precious treasure. "Back then, this is the token I gave you when you saved me. Why have you never come to find me?" Irene looked bewildered. "I... I nearly drowned as a child and ran a high fever. I forgot some things. I don't remember who gave me this pendant." "It was me." Raymond's eyes shone brightly. "I told you back then—you would be my only bride." Those words stabbed into Serena's heart like a knife. Irene's gaze went past Raymond's shoulder, looking directly at Serena. "Mr. Scott, you're already married to Ms. Williams."

By her tenth year with Julian, his investment had failed, and he was left with nothing.   Vivian tore up her late-stage cancer test reports, sold off everything she owned, and moved with her daughter into a cramped rental. To beg a rival company for funding, she sat in a private room at a bar and forced down one glass of high-proof vodka after another.   "Please, Hawke Holdings needs this money," she pleaded.   Her head swam. She braced half her body against the table, barely holding herself upright as she begged.   The men on the sofa let out mocking laughs. One of them tapped a finger on a bottle of red wine that had just been opened.   "You're not done drinking yet. What makes you think you can make demands?"   Before the words had even settled, she grabbed the bottle and tipped her head back, drinking as if her life depended on it.   A burning pain surged up her throat. Vivian covered her mouth and rushed out.   When she returned, voices drifted from inside the room.   "Jules, that's enough. If this really ends with someone dead, none of us will get out clean."   Vivian froze. The cold, familiar voice on the phone hit her like a thunderbolt.   "It's fine. I'll handle it. Don't let her know Sandy has come back."   Someone hesitated, clearly uneasy.   "Dolly is still young..."   Julian cut him off, irritation sharp in his tone.   "There was no marriage. Who knows who she had the child with?"   The others rushed to smooth things over, crowding around Julian with flattery.   "This woman is devoted enough and cheap enough. To get our investment, there's nothing she wouldn't do."   "The first time, we took her bungee jumping. Right as she jumped, the instructor told her the rope was about to snap. When she came back up, her face was drained of color, and her eyes were completely blank."   "The second time, we dumped her in a slum full of vagrants. She was so scared, she lost her heels and ran until the soles of her feet were torn open."   "The third time, we had someone knock her out and throw her into an underground casino. The way she looked on the surveillance feed, terrified out of her mind, it nearly killed me laughing."   One incident after another. Only then did Vivian understand. From the beginning to the end, Julian had never gone bankrupt.   The man who had been calling nonstop, slashing prices while buying property, had been a friend of Julian's.   Every step of this ruthless, merciless revenge had been carried out under Julian's instruction.   "If she hadn't used the pregnancy to force the issue back then, Sandy wouldn't have been heartbroken and left for ten years."   "All this pain, I'll make her repay it a hundredfold, a thousandfold."   "As for that bastard child, break the arms and legs and sell her off to the mountains."   The disgusting, cold-blooded words turned Vivian ice-cold from head to toe. She spun around and hurried out.   When she reached the rental, toys were scattered all over the floor. In that instant, she lost all reason.   He had truly been this ruthless. Dolly had called him Dad for five years, and he had actually gone through with it.   In her ears, she seemed to hear her daughter crying out in pain.

I was the mistaken daughter of the Hartwell family, the fake heiress who never should have belonged there. In Harborfell City, everyone mocked me as the "Little Stutter." Yet somehow, a woman no one wanted became the secret lover of the Prince of Harborfell for five years.   We kissed at the summit of Frostpeak Range, chased thrills in the Harborfell Oceanarium, and lost ourselves beneath the stars in the Harborfell Astral Observatory. Every private property Adrian owned carried traces of our love. Just moments ago, at the welcome banquet for Adrian's long-awaited first love, we had finished another reckless encounter.   "Mr. Cross, I'm curious. What does the Little Stutter sound like in bed?"   "I know. Probably like this—ah… ah… ah…"   The man's exaggerated performance sent the entire room into laughter.   "Damn, now I'm getting excited too. Mr. Cross, since Vivian is back and you don't want the Little Stutter anymore, how about letting me have a turn?"   Adrian slowly rotated the ring on his thumb, a piece of jewelry that seemed completely out of place with his elegant temperament. He exhaled a stream of smoke, his tone calm and indifferent. "Vivian will be here soon. Don't say things that ruin the mood."   The others quickly agreed. "Right, right. Vivian is the first love in Mr. Cross's heart. Pure and untouchable, like the sacred snow lotus blooming atop Frostpeak Range. We can't let filthy words pollute her ears." As they spoke, they tidied their clothes and carefully wiped down the seat reserved for Vivian until it was spotless, afraid of offending her in the slightest.   Outside the decorative screen that separated us, I stubbornly tugged at the broken zipper Adrian had just torn open, as if pulling it up again might restore the dignity scattered all over the floor. After trying again and again without success, the tears finally burst from my eyes. I crouched down, biting my nails so hard they hurt, refusing to let myself cry out.   Fifteen years ago, I endured inhuman torture to help Adrian escape a kidnapper's den. The ordeal left my body weakened and my speech broken into a stutter. After we were rescued, my defect slowly became something the Hartwell family disliked. Then five years ago, when the real Hartwell heiress was found, they removed my name from the family register without hesitation.   Adrian was the one who kept me. "You've got nowhere else to go anyway. Why not stay with me?" I knew he only needed someone to fill the emptiness left by Vivian's departure, but years of secret love made me accept without hesitation. I believed that one day Adrian might come to love me.   But what he said tonight made me realize that for five years, I had only been fooling myself. "Vivian is back," he told me. "You know I can't marry you. There are plenty of outstanding men around me. If you're willing, I can find you a new patron… or even arrange a marriage." He spoke without the slightest emotion, as if negotiating a deal he was certain would succeed. He was sure I would refuse. Sure I would beg to stay by his side, continuing to live as a hidden canary in a gilded cage.   "Miss, are you alright?"   The voice belonged to Vivian.

"Fifty thousand each time. When I get bored, you disappear." Julian hurled a thick stack of cash at Seraphina's face.   She bent down and picked up the bills one by one.   Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed her throat like a wolf. "Seraphina, how can you be this cheap? You would do anything for money. A woman as vain and greedy as you deserves to die. You should have died at your purest, at eighteen."   In Julian's heart, Seraphina was the most contemptible woman in the world. She had left him for money. Then she had come back to him for money.   What he did not know was that seven years ago, she had traded her life for his. She had been gravely injured. She was dying. Every day he humiliated her, she silently counted how many days she had left.   ******   "Ms. Vale, are you certain you want to sign the posthumous organ donation agreement?" Seraphina looked at the diagnosis report in her hands and made her decision.   "Yes. I'm certain." The report clearly stated that a blood clot in her brain was compressing her optic nerve. Once it reached the brainstem, there would be no chance of survival. In other words, she had only one month left.   When she walked out of the hospital, her phone buzzed with a message. It was from Elara.   Elara: Sera, I accidentally stained Julian's trousers. He asked you to bring a clean pair.   A shy emoji followed the suggestive wording. This was not the first time Seraphina had received such a message.   She did not reply. She simply put her phone away with numb detachment. After only a few steps, her phone rang again.   This time it was Julian. "What are you doing? Didn't you see Elara's message?"   "I saw it."   "Go home, get a clean pair of trousers, and bring them to my office." Julian ended the call without waiting for a response.   Half an hour later, Seraphina arrived at Croft Holdings.   Julian was not in the CEO's office. His gray trousers were draped over the sofa. White stains marked the fabric in glaring contrast. The air carried an unmistakable scent of intimacy.   Seraphina felt as though something had struck her chest. She stiffly picked up the soiled trousers and placed them into a bag.   The office door opened. Elara walked in with a deliberate sway.   "Sera, you took long enough. You almost delayed Julian's meeting. Luckily I had his spare pair." She leaned close to Seraphina's ear, smiling sweetly.   "Do you know where that spare pair came from?" Elara's voice lowered. "It was the one he left at my place the night of your birthday."   Seraphina's face grew even paler.   Elara's smile widened.

Seraphina Gray's husband, Cedric Fox, had recently taken up golf. She asked about the weekly expense, but Cedric brushed it off as necessary—networking with bosses and colleagues at his new job. One rainy day, Seraphina went to the club to bring him an umbrella. Instead, she found him in the luxurious bathroom. Through a crack in the door, she watched Cedric with his golf instructor, Ophelia Voss. Ophelia's moans echoed. "Oh my god, Cedric, yes!" Seraphina froze, her eyes locked on Cedric—the husband who she thought had a heart condition, the man she never let lift a finger at home. Now he was moving with a force she'd never seen. Cedric was her first love, her only love. They met when his delivery bike knocked her down crossing the street. Seraphina scraped her arm; his bike was totaled. When he mentioned his heart condition, she didn't ask for a cent—she even delivered his remaining orders herself, well past dark. After they married, Seraphina did everything. Heavy lifting, rough chores—she handled it all. Even in bed, she stayed on top, convinced she was protecting him from any strain. For years, his condition never flared. Seraphina thought her care had kept him safe. She never imagined he'd been lying from the start. Eight years—she'd been such a fool. The wave of anger passed, and Seraphina wanted to cry. But her eyes stayed dry. She crouched outside the bathroom door, pressing her hand to her mouth, her face twisting with pain. The sounds from inside wouldn't stop. "Bet you're not this good with your wife." Cedric paused, then smirked. "She's not worth the effort. You're different. You're soft. She's rough. You're wet, too. She's as dry as sandpaper." His words cut deep—a knife sharpened over eight years, slicing into her chest. Seraphina wanted to storm in, slap him, scream. Then she caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She looked exhausted, worn down. Eight years of marriage, she'd given Cedric everything. And in return, she'd faded into someone she barely recognized.

Serenity Brooks had always been Southport's golden girl. She had brought a ten-billion-dollar inheritance into her marriage, and that fortune had launched her husband, Bowen Reed, into the stratosphere as a documentary vlogger of the highest caliber. For five years, he had adored her with a fierce, unwavering devotion. He was obsessed with his work, avoided parties like the plague, and barely glanced at the luxury his life afforded him. Then, in their fifth winter together, he drained a cool billion from their joint account. By the time Serenity noticed the missing funds, his new vlog was already trending. It was called Life After Winning the Lottery: A Thirty-Year-Old Divorced Woman's Journey. Serenity was not quick to suspect the worst of him. But even she could not ignore the knife twist of dread that stopped her cold on their villa's doorstep. Through the window, she watched his fingers dip into Jade Cooper's lace panties. The delicate fabric glittered with pink diamonds, a five-figure betrayal of everything Serenity thought they had built. His throat tightened, and his eyes burned with a hunger she had never seen directed at her. Serenity lunged inside. She swept her arm across the nearby fish tank, and the glass shattered in an explosion of water and rage. Bowen whirled around, panic flashing across his face before he barked out, "Can't you see I'm working?" "Working?" She jabbed a finger at his hand, which was still resting near Jade's waist. "Since when is adjusting her underwear part of your job description?" He yanked his hand back as if he had been scorched, his face flushing a deep crimson. "The waistband would show in the shot. You know I'm meticulous about the details." Serenity's laugh was like ice water. "Nice try. It looks more like a softcore shoot to me." Jade paled, stammering as she tugged at her blouse. "D-Don't say that. Mr. Reed is the most dedicated and respectful creator I have ever known." "Respectful?" Serenity's voice dripped venom. "Is that what we are calling handsy now?" She sent the tripod flying with a sharp kick, the metal clattering loudly against the marble floor. Her voice was razor sharp as she declared, "We are done with this series. I'll set up a meeting with Dylan Gray from the Aldridge Institute. He's the legendary researcher you've been dying to interview." His gaze wavered, and uncertainty flashed in his eyes. Serenity crossed her arms, her chin lifted defiantly as she waited for his grateful agreement. Instead, he reached into his coat and slapped a divorce agreement onto the coffee table between them. The document stated he would give up everything, that he would leave with nothing at all. "You are divorcing me?" Her voice trembled with disbelief. "Just on paper. I need footage of a marriage certificate with Jade for the video's narrative. I drafted this to prove it is temporary. We can file online today, and the divorce will be finalized in seven days." "And then?" Her voice shook, and she could barely hold back the tears that burned her eyes. "I will dump her the second the video is done. Then I will come back to you." Her heart turned to stone, cold and heavy in her chest. 'He's actually asking me to agree to this?' The thought was a shard of glass in her mind. "No," she snapped, fury blazing through her veins. In her youth, suitors had lined up around the block, yet only Bowen, with his rebellious streak and artistic fire, had ever caught her eye. She had handed him her heart on a silver platter and had even agreed to their secret marriage. She had adored his genius enough to tame her own wild spirit, becoming a willing shadow in the glow of his fame. How could he crush her like this?