Apache

For three years, Jessica endured a loveless marriage while her husband pretended to be impotent. His lies unraveled when a pregnant mistress surfaced. After six months of secretly collecting proof, Jessica threw him out and built her own billion-dollar empire. After the divorce, she transformed into an irresistible figure, attracting admirers. As she left her office one day, she met Kevan, her ex-husband's brother. He stepped in, confronting her. "Was I just a tool to you?" Jessica's lips curled into a calm smile. "How much compensation do you want?" Kevan's voice softened. "All I want is you."

My husband stood me up on the biggest night of my career—my first solo art exhibition. I found him on the news, shielding another woman from a storm of cameras while the entire gallery watched my world collapse. His text was a final, cold slap in the face: "Kacie needs me. You'll be fine." For years, he'd called my art a "hobby," forgetting it was the foundation of his billion-dollar company. He had made me invisible. So I called my lawyer with a plan to use his arrogance against him. "Make the divorce papers look like a boring IP release form," I told her. "He'll sign anything to get me out of his office."

My husband, the city's most ruthless Don, left me standing at the altar to comfort a woman with a sprained ankle. I thought our marriage was a protection pact, but when a kidnapper held a knife to his childhood sweetheart’s throat on a rooftop, Cedric made his choice. He physically shoved me—his pregnant wife—toward the blade to save her. I survived the fall, but our unborn baby didn't. Yet, there was no apology. Blinded by her lies, Cedric accused me of staging the attack out of jealousy. He had me thrown into the family dungeon, where I was beaten while still bleeding from the miscarriage. He didn't know two things. First, that his "perfect" sweetheart had voluntarily sterilized herself years ago and could never give him the heir he craved. Second, that I had terminal cardiomyopathy. My heart had an expiration date, and I had only days left to live. On my 27th birthday, I asked him for one final kindness: a midnight ride on the Ferris wheel where we had our first date. He promised to be there, but he was late again, attending to her needs. So I went up alone. When the carriage came back down, it was empty. All I left behind were my shoes and a medical file that would destroy him.

The rejection letter from the private security school arrived on a Tuesday. It stated clearly that the single slot allocated to my son, Danny, had been filled by another boy. My husband, a high-ranking Capo, had signed away our son’s protection to make room for his mistress’s bastard. He sneered at me, calling Danny "soft," and sent him to an unguarded cabin in the north to toughen up. Three days later, the Russians took him. When the courier arrived, there was no ransom demand. Just a package containing a shred of blue cotton with a green T-Rex, soaked in black, stiff blood. Tom didn't shed a tear. He poured a scotch, stepped over me as I wept on the floor, and blamed me for coddling the boy. Overwhelmed by the silence of a house that would never hear my son's laughter again, I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills to escape the pain. But the darkness didn't last. I woke up gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs. Sunlight hit my face. "Mommy?" Danny stood in the doorway, wearing his dinosaur pajamas, whole and alive. I looked at the calendar. It was May 15th. The day the letter arrived. The grief in my chest calcified into cold rage. I knew about the skimming. I knew about the fake widow status. I knew exactly how to bury my husband. I picked up the phone and dialed the one number no wife was ever supposed to call directly—the Enforcer. "I have evidence of treason," I said. "And I'm bringing the proof."

I spent twenty-one years trying to be the perfect Mafia Princess, treating my illegitimate sister, Mia, with nothing but grace. That kindness is exactly what got me killed. My husband, Luca, didn't take me on a honeymoon. He dragged me into the soundproof basement of our estate. Mia was there, too. Not to help me, but to gloat. She laughed as she admitted to poisoning our mother with arsenic, watching with glee as Luca brought a serrated knife to my chest. "You were always too soft, Sera," he sneered, carving through my skin while I begged for mercy. I died in that cold, dark room, choking on my own blood and the bitter taste of betrayal. But I didn't stay dead. I woke up gasping for air, clutching a chest that was smooth and unscarred. The calendar on my nightstand read May 12, 2018. It was five years ago. The very morning I was scheduled to sign the marriage contract that would seal my fate. I looked at the paper on the vanity. In my last life, I signed it with a trembling hand. This time, I flicked open my silver Zippo and watched the flames eat Luca's name. I didn't pack a dress. I packed a pistol and a stack of cash. I was going to Las Vegas. There was only one man dangerous enough to help me destroy the New York families. I walked into the underground fight club, locked eyes with the deadliest man in the room, and smiled. "Dante Cavallaro," I said. "I'm here to make you a King."

Three years. That' s how long I spent in prison, taking the fall for the man I loved, Case Stevens, believing his promise of marriage and a future. But the moment I walked out, I discovered his sweet words were a meticulously crafted lie, a cruel game orchestrated with my university rival, Blair Kelley, to destroy me and my family. They humiliated me publicly, forcing me into a mock proposal with a dog, while my father lay dying in a hospital, his care deliberately withdrawn by Case to seize control of our family company. At my father' s funeral, I learned Blair had mixed his ashes into her "art," a twisted masterpiece she then set ablaze, burning the last physical piece of him. I was beaten by Case' s friends, left for dead, my body broken, my spirit shattered. I was dying, but a doctor, Axel Everett, offered me a chance at a new life, a chance to become a ghost in the world that had betrayed me.

I stood before my instructor, Mr. Harrison, the polished floor reflecting my tired face. I was the lead dancer at Stone Corp's prestigious company, but it felt like a prison. "I need to resign," I said, my voice quiet but steady. Then, the true reason for my discontent emerged. "I want to divorce her," I confessed, referring to Olivia, the CEO and my wife. She had stopped seeing me as a person, only a means to an end. My world shattered when I overheard Olivia tell her brother that I had "served my purpose." I was merely a distraction, a "replacement" until Derek Chen, her former fiancé and another dancer, returned. I was a ghost, a stand-in-a role painfully evident as Derek sat beside her at dinner, in the seat that used to be mine. Weeks turned into a nightmare. Derek orchestrated a scene, faking an injury and accusing me of assault. Olivia, without hesitation, believed him. "You are vile," she hissed. She then slapped me, the sting nothing compared to the ultimate betrayal. I crumpled to the floor, consumed by a familiar, dark terror, remembering her promise to never let anyone hurt me. Later, I dragged myself from the locked basement where her security team had thrown me. In the hospital, the doctor delivered the final blow: the fall had caused irreversible damage, leaving me unable to have children. The dream of a family, a home, snatched away by the woman who once said, "We are not having children." A quiet, hollow emptiness settled in me. But I wasn't broken. I was done being a victim. I would get my justice. I would escape my gilded cage.

October 12th. Another year. Another morning, another silent coffee delivered to Jake Sterling's desk, and another reminder of his glacial indifference. Three years of unrequited hope, of being invisible to the man she worshipped-her commanding officer. Then, Isabelle Vance, a new agent, arrived, and suddenly Jake transformed: smiles, patience, shared laughter. Ava witnessed a tender interaction at his parents' home, overhearing joyful whispers about "wedding venues" and a "spring wedding." The world tilted. The crushing reality that he was marrying someone else, someone he showed warmth and kindness to, while she received only cold disdain and public humiliation, shattered her. The pain was a physical wound, and the injustice burned. Why had he treated her with such cruelty, only to lavish affection on Isabelle? Why was she always the target of his harshness? The constant push and pull, the mixed signals – a sudden kind gesture out of uniform, then a brutal dressing-down back at the office – it all made no sense. She couldn' t endure it anymore. Her heart, once full of desperate hope, was now a hollow, aching void. There was nothing left. A final, desperate act: Ava requested a transfer to Cinder Peak, a remote, forgotten outpost. She was leaving. She was walking away from him, from this unit, from everything that had defined her for years. Little did she know, her painful escape was just the beginning of a far more dangerous and complicated journey.

The day I was supposed to pick up my fully restored vintage Ford Bronco, a symbol of my hard-earned success, I was blindsided. My fiancée, Gabby, whom I trusted implicitly, appeared in a viral TikTok video handing my dream car-a sky-blue masterpiece-to her ex-boyfriend, Wesley, for his 30th birthday, all for online clout. The comments section exploded with praise for her "generosity," while my world tilted. She hadn' t just given away my car; she had stolen a piece of my success and gifted it to another man, publicly humiliating me. It wasn't just the blatant theft and the shocking disrespect; it was the audacious lie, the sheer betrayal in front of the entire internet. How could someone I was about to marry be so public and brazen with her deceit, turning my private milestone into a weapon against me? But instead of despairing, a chilling clarity settled over me. I pulled up the car's title, screenshot the police report I' d just filed for grand theft auto, and commented on her viral video, "Glad you like my Bronco. The Austin PD has been notified... See you soon." The game was on.

The air was thick with the smell of barbecue, but my stomach was churning with dread. My upscale Austin life was supposed to merge with my fiancé Ryan's small-town roots this Thanksgiving weekend, finalizing our wedding plans. But then Ryan's family started a poker game, and my father, a notorious soft touch after a few bourbons, lost everything. Every cent of the $200,000 wedding fund I' d given him for safekeeping was gone, wiped out in one night. Ryan, instead of comforting me, put on a masterclass of manipulation, shaming my father and threatening to call off the wedding, using "tradition" as an excuse. His whole family watched, smug and complicit, as if I was the problem, not their pathetic, greedy scheme. The humiliation was suffocating, crushing not just me, but my parents too, turning a celebratory weekend into a public shaming. How could the man I was about to marry betray me so completely, letting his family fleece mine, then blaming us? But as my mother begged me to leave, a cold resolve settled in my gut, hardening into steel: I wasn't leaving until I' d taken back what was mine. I walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and calmly declared, "I want to play."

I was a scholarship kid, grinding daily for a shot at the Ivy Leagues, my entire future resting on those SAT scores. My best friend, Ethan, had just given me this vintage 'good luck' watch, and my other best friend, Chloe, was like family-always in my corner. Then the practice SAT results dropped. My scores, usually stellar, had crashed to zero, while Ethan, who barely passed, was suddenly top of the class. That's when I overheard Chloe, my 'sister from another mister,' confessing. She' d given me Ethan' s 'lucky' watch, not for my good fortune, but to transfer mine to him. Because I was 'in his way.' The betrayal was a gut punch. This wasn't luck-sharing; it was a score-sucking curse. First, my grades vanished, then my scholarship was revoked after Chloe framed me for plagiarism-a move that sent my already fragile mom to the hospital. To top it off, Chloe, the 'family' I trusted, dumped me in a dark alley to be beaten almost senseless by a jock and his crew, just to protect Ethan. Lying broken, abandoned, and stripped of everything, I couldn' t grasp the cruelty. My best friend, my 'sister'-how could they orchestrate such a calculated downfall? Was this just about Ivy League dreams, or something far more sinister? Was I merely a pawn to be discarded? And what kind of 'good luck charm' destroys lives? But beneath the pain, a cold resolve hardened. I found Marcus, the mysterious man who' d warned me about the watch. He promised a way to break the curse, to make them pay. My future, my mom, my very identity-it all hung in the balance. This wasn't just about getting my life back; it was about exposing the darkness, and making sure justice found its true mark.

For seven years, I was Sarah Miller, dating Senator Ethan Bailey, my life a meticulously crafted lie for a shadowy organization. I was nearing my triumph, about to secure his loyalty. Then, a shattered glass, scattered files. Ethan' s furious roar echoed: "A. God. Damn. Assignment?" Our entire relationship, a carefully woven deception, was exposed. My D.C. career turned to ash. Ostracized and radioactive, I thought hope arrived in Mark Thorne, but his 'devotion' was another twisted lie, a calculated tactic fueled by his obsession for Ethan' s new wife, Victoria. Victoria unleashed a horrifying campaign of torment: public humiliations, framed corruption, a deepfake. She called my murdered assistant, Izzy, a "loose end." Worst of all, Mark, cold and brutal, snapped the neck of my only solace, my dog Buster. How could my life become a landscape of such profound betrayal and calculated cruelty? Every supposed kindness, every bond, revealed as a sickening deception. Shattered and broken, I whispered one word to Aegis: "Extraction." My past memories were wiped clean. I awoke as Amy Peterson, free in a quiet Maine town. But the man who destroyed me, Mark Thorne, was unknowingly given an Aegis "Redemption Mandate," sent to earn my love, unaware I' m finally truly protected from his lies.

I clutched my Yale application, a symbol of hope amidst the stifling air of my own home. My parents, my brother, and my childhood friend Jake stood before me, a picture of familial expectation. But I heard their thoughts, a chaotic chorus of fear and malice. "Lock her down. Save Chloe," my father thought. Jake proposed eloping, ostensibly for love, but their true motives were horrifying: to stop me from going to college, to prevent me from 'destroying Chloe' s future' – all based on a 'prophet' s' twisted premonitions about me. My refusal ignited their true rage. They stripped me of my agency, condemning my ambition as a 'dark path' to protect their 'blessed' Chloe. Every success I had ever achieved they twisted into a tool for villainy. My chronic illness, initially dismissed as 'drama,' became their excuse for outright torture: confinement, forced sedatives, and a dog leash chained to my ankle. They genuinely believed I had to be stopped, by any means necessary. How could a family be so utterly consumed by such a delusional prophecy, twisting every fiber of their love into a suffocating paranoia? How could they view me, their own daughter, as a malevolent force simply for wanting a future? The betrayal from Jake, someone I once crushed on, cut deeper than their predictable malice, as he chose their twisted narrative over me. But even held captive, my will wasn't broken. With my last ounce of strength, I penned a desperate 'SOS,' pressing it into Chloe's hand. This was my final gamble, my last hope to break free, to expose their monstrous delusion, and to reclaim my destiny, even if it cost me everything.

Nine months pregnant, I walked into another one of my husband's lavish galas, the latest accessory in his perfectly curated, yet utterly broken, life. When premature labor struck, triggered by his blatant disregard, he simply sneered, telling me not to be 'dramatic,' while I was left to face a life-threatening delivery alone in a sterile hospital room, his phone conveniently off at a party with his secretary. Lying in the hospital bed, watching his latest public indiscretion flash across my TV screen, I made the agonizing choice to give up my newborn son, Leo, convinced he' d be better off with the Caldwell fortune than with a broken mother like me. The system failed me, and I couldn't bear the thought of my tiny, vulnerable son enduring a life of instability because of me, a mother with no resources and no family. So I vanished, changing my name and leaving behind Sarah Caldwell, believing my sacrifice was the only way to shield Leo from the poison of his father's name. But just as I' d rebuilt a quiet life, two years later, he walked into my new bakery, Leo in his arms, and a single, innocent word from our son - 'Mama!' - shattered my carefully constructed peace, demanding I once again deny the love I desperately craved.

My seven-year-old, Ethan, was my whole world, a sensitive boy whose eyes held the wonder of distant galaxies and whose laughter filled our lives. But beneath that joy lay a constant fear: his severe, life-threatening peanut allergy. Weekend handovers at his father Mark' s perfectly manicured, magazine-worthy backyard were always a tightrope walk. One scorching afternoon, a pristine ornamental tree lost a branch, triggering a terrifying chain of events. Mark, egged on by his new girlfriend Chloe, forced Ethan to dig a stubborn tree stump in the cruel sun, all while Chloe lounged nearby, casually eating peanuts. Soon, Ethan was gasping for air, clutching his throat, his face turning splotchy red. As I scrambled for the EpiPen, screaming for Mark to call 911, he grabbed my arm, dismissing it as "overdramatic," convinced I was panicking. Precious, agonizing seconds ticked by as he held me back, until my precious boy collapsed, blue-lipped and lifeless. Later that day, while Ethan lay in the morgue, Mark was gleefully celebrating a gender reveal for his new baby with Chloe, dismissing our son's death as mere "unpleasantness." He then heartlessly threw Ethan' s most treasured toy, his grandfather's vintage X-Wing, into the trash, trying to erase his existence entirely. My grief was an open wound, yet his callous detachment, his immediate celebration, and Chloe's cold triumph were an unimaginable torment. How could the man who once checked every food label now call my son's tragic death "unpleasantness"? How could I be forced to film a humiliating apology video, publicly blaming myself, just to be free? But then, a hidden surveillance video from the backyard cameras, secretly kept by his parents' housekeeper, surfaced. It laid bare Mark's fatal inaction, Chloe' s deliberate malice with peanuts, and exposed the shocking lie that Chloe's unborn child wasn't even his. Now, armed with undeniable proof, I was ready to pursue justice for Ethan, guided by the dreams he left in his cherished Space Journal.

My billionaire father, Arthur Vanderbilt II, constantly pressured me to choose a bride from the brilliant women of our Foundation Scholars program. My focus, however, was stubbornly fixed on the enigmatic and beautiful Isabelle Hayes, convinced she was the one. But then, I overheard an intimate conversation between Isabelle and her supposed younger brother, Leo, discovering their illicit affair and calculating plan to exploit our family's fortune. My heartbreak quickly turned to fury as I uncovered a web of deceit: the other Scholars were actively mocking me, and Isabelle herself sabotaged me in a polo match, causing serious injury. The public humiliation escalated at the Met Gala when Isabelle, a master hacker, froze my accounts and then mockingly covered my immense philanthropic pledge, all to elevate Leo and further disgrace me. I was left reeling from their calculated gaslighting and the profound injustice, struggling to comprehend how deeply I’d been betrayed by the very people my family had uplifted. But Leo’s final, vulgar taunt – a video flaunting Isabelle’s twisted devotion to him, followed by a crude offer of other Scholars – ignited an uncontrollable rage, solidifying my decision: they would all pay.

People in the city released orcs that nobody wanted to the countryside, and a friend notified me to go and pick one up. When I arrived after finishing killing the last pig, there was only a small little pig that nobody wanted left. He was covered in wounds and looked at me with fear. "You don't have anyone to take care of you either? I'll take you with me," I said with compassion, holding the little pig and walking towards the pig slaughterhouse. Suddenly, my arms felt damp, and I realized that I had forgotten that he had already been bitten to death by the orcs in the city.

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

Kathryn was the true daughter, but Jolene stole her life and set her up for ruin. After a brutal kidnapping scheme, Kathryn's loyalty to her brothers and fiancé was met with cruel betrayal. Narrowly escaping, she chose to cut all ties and never forgive them. Then she shocked the world: the miracle doctor for the elite, a top-tier hacker, a financial mastermind, and now the untouchable star her family could only watch from afar. Her brothers begged, her parents pleaded, her ex wanted her back-Kathryn exposed them all. The world gasped as the richest man confessed his love for her.

For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."