CAMILLE BERRY

When Marilyn prepares a surprise for her husband, she finds out that he has been cheating on her with her best friend. To make things worse, it turns out that their marriage was nothing but a scam to steal her inheritance. In her despair, she runs into Ethan, an attractive man who has been drugged and ends up sleeping with him. Marilyn doesn't think of it as anything more than a one night stand with a strange man, but Ethan immediately falls for her. Unknown to her, she gradually becomes addicted to his tenderness...

I had just sold my entire art collection, a massive sum that was supposed to be our new beginning. I couldn't wait to see the look on my husband Axel's face. But when he walked through the door, he didn't see a successful artist. He saw a cheater. "Who did you sleep with for that money?" he spat, his words fueled by his mother's poison. His rage exploded. He tore my studio apart, shredding my life's work. Then he turned on me, kicking my pregnant belly until I miscarried our child on the floor of my ruined dreams. As I lay there, bleeding and broken, a call came from the fertility clinic. The paternity test was positive. The baby he had just killed was his own. He fell to his knees, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. But the man I married was gone. He had destroyed my art, my mother, and my child. Now, it was my turn to destroy him.

I gave up my family's fortune and a political dynasty for my fiancé of five years, Hoyt. I chose him over everything for a simple life. But when his socialite mistress, Bella, got a DUI, he demanded I take the fall. When I told him I was pregnant, he ordered me to get an abortion. "I'm in love with Bella," he said, his eyes cold. "I always have been." He brought her into our home. At a fundraiser, she tripped me, and as I lay bleeding on the floor, Hoyt walked away. His mother then had me abducted from the hospital, and in a cold, abandoned warehouse, I lost our child. They took everything from me-my love, my future, my baby. They thought they had erased me, the quiet, unassuming grant writer they saw as a convenient scapegoat. They were wrong. At their glamorous engagement party, I made my entrance. And with me, my grandfather, Senator Abelardo Brown. They had no idea who they'd just declared war on.

Eleanore POV: My family forced me to marry Kayson Knight, a man who'd been in a coma for five years. It was a sacrifice to save our family's legacy, a life sentence I accepted for their sake. But on my adopted sister Josie's birthday, she framed me for stealing a family heirloom. My parents, who had always favored her, didn't hesitate. "Guards! Search her!" my father roared. They pinned me down in front of all their guests. My brother held my arms while my childhood sweetheart looked away. They had already pushed me down the stairs and left me for dead once before. They had taken my kidney for Josie. This was just the final humiliation. But they didn't know my secret. I had been recording Josie's lies for weeks. As the guards' hands closed on me, I screamed, "You want the truth? Let's hear it then!" and pressed play on the hidden recorder.

The moment Damien shoved me into a waiter's tray to catch his brother's widow, I knew I had lost. For eight years, I was his sanctuary. But Vivian was carrying the "Family Heir," and that made her a saint. He didn't just catch her; he moved her into the Master Suite—the room he had promised to me—while I was relegated to the guest wing like a servant. When Vivian whispered the truth to me with a smirk—that her late husband was sterile and she had drugged Damien to fake the timeline—I rushed to tell him. "She's lying about the baby, Damien! Aaron was sterile!" But he didn't believe me. "Enough of your jealousy, Estelle," he roared, shielding her. "You will respect the mother of my legacy." To prove my submission, he forced me to take her wedding dress shopping. When a heavy iron rack tipped over in the boutique, Damien moved with inhuman speed. He dove to protect Vivian, wrapping her in a safe cocoon. He left me standing there. The metal crashed down, crushing my ribs and pinning me to the floor. As I gasped for air, tasting blood, I watched him carry her out without looking back once. I woke up in the hospital to the sound of him comforting her in the next room. He hadn't even asked if I survived. That night, I didn't cry. I ripped the IV from my arm, shredded every photo of us in the penthouse, and boarded a plane to a neutral territory where the Don's power meant nothing. By the time he found the engagement ring I left in the trash, I was already gone.

I was the genius who built my husband Blake' s billion-dollar empire. For ten years, I was his secret weapon, the ghost in the machine who wrote the code that made him a king. But when he fell for his doe-eyed intern, Cassidy, the man I loved became a monster. He threatened to throw our five-year-old son from his private jet just to get her back. But that was nothing. When Cassidy faked a fatal illness, he orchestrated a car crash that left me paralyzed on an operating table, my body a harvest ground for his new obsession. I was awake but unable to move as they took my bone marrow. I heard him give the order: "Keep her alive. If this doesn't work, she has another kidney we can use." He thought he had broken me, that I was just another asset to be parted out. He forgot one thing: a genius always has a contingency plan. I activated Project Chimera, an escape protocol I' d built years ago. As the military helicopter lifted off with my son and me, I gave my final order: "Wipe the servers. Burn the lab to the ground." He could have his little bird. I was taking everything else.

I still remember the searing pain, trapped under twisted metal, watching my adoptive sister, Olivia, cradle her boyfriend, Noah, after our car crash. The paramedics arrived, and Olivia, without a second thought, chose to save him over me. Her words, "Him. Save him," echoed the countless betrayals that chipped away at my soul. They pulled Noah free, and Olivia' s cold gaze met mine, chilling me: "Ethan, you' re a man. You can handle it." Then she was gone, leaving me in darkness, the pain pulling me under. I woke in a hospital, paralyzed, framed as a reckless, drunk driver by Noah and Olivia. My adoptive parents, the Hayeses, looked at me with absolute disappointment. Olivia visited, offering false sympathy, then dropped a bombshell: Noah needed a kidney; I was a match. The same sister for whom I' d already sacrificed one kidney years ago, a secret bond I thought we shared. Now she wanted my other one for him. "Please, Ethan," she begged, "It' s the last thing I' ll ever ask. If you do this, I' ll forgive you for the crash." Forgive me? The rage was so pure, so hot, the only thing I' d felt in months. I laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "No." She went to the media, crying on camera about her ungrateful, drunkard brother refusing to save her beloved. My public humiliation was complete. I was a monster. Lying there, alone and hated, I closed my eyes. If only I could go back. Then, a sudden jolt. My eyes snapped open. I was standing in a hospital room, ten years ago. Unscathed. Olivia, pale but hopeful, asked: "Ethan... Will you give me your kidney?" Time had rewound. A system notification chimed: [A new life path has been initiated. You may be exposed to significant personal risk.] I looked at the woman who would condemn me, and felt no love. Only cold, hard resolve.

Three years after my supposed death, my CEO ex-husband, Ethan Hayes, served me with a legal notice. He claimed the kidney I had donated to his new fiancée, Olivia Reed, was defective. It was absurd because I was already a ghost, tethered to him, watching him demand my reappearance. To force me out of hiding, he publicly announced he was transferring twenty percent of his company shares to Olivia. When weeks passed with no response, his frustration turned to cold fury. He drove to my childhood home, convinced I was playing games. My sister, Chloe, devastated, told him I had died two years ago. Ethan scoffed, calling it another one of my "desperate plays for attention." He remembered freezing my credit cards and cutting me off for supposedly assaulting Olivia. He claimed he was willing to "forgive" me if I took "responsibility." My older brother, Liam, appeared, asserting the money Ethan gave our family was the price I paid. My spirit twisted, reliving the horror: I had only one kidney, a secret Olivia exploited, knowing a single kidney transplant was a death sentence for me. I suffered through the memory of the scalpel, the searing pain, the infection that took my life alone in a sterile room while Ethan celebrated with Olivia. My family screamed at him to check my death certificate, but Ethan, blind to the truth, said the hospital confirmed my discharge. He believed the lies Olivia paid them to tell. His rage escalated. He unleashed dogs on my family. My beloved Buster, old and frail, was torn apart before my spectral eyes. Ethan, oblivious to my presence, then watched a triumph on his face, chillingly stating that if I didn't show up in three days, my family would suffer the same fate. Later, Olivia, playing the victim, whispered that her body was rejecting "her" kidney, lamenting "Maybe… maybe if Ava would just give me her other one…" . Ethan, with casual cruelty, told her not to worry, promising an artificial kidney. My death certificate, anonymously delivered, forced him to confront a truth he refused to accept. He scoffed, claiming it was a fake. But as proof piled up, culminating in reports from the crematorium, his denial morphed into a terrifying obsession. He went to my grave, still convinced it was an elaborate deception. "Dig it up," he commanded. The urn was empty. Of course it was, my brother would never leave me there. He returned to my family' s house, where Olivia was waiting, portraying a frail victim. My spirit froze as I saw the charm I had prayed over and climbed a sacred mountain for, the charm meant to protect him, now around her neck. He smashed the empty urn, demanding, "Where is she?" Liam, grief-stricken, attacked him. A crystal photo frame toppled, revealing my smiling picture, staining it with Ethan' s blood as he frantically clutched the broken glass. He finally questioned, "Is she really dead?" Weeks later, the truth emerged; the million-dollar compensation for my kidney was never transferred to my account. It went to Olivia, and a portion was used to pay the doctors who performed my surgery. With that, and the revelation that I was born with only one kidney, Ethan had nowhere left to hide from the devastating facts. His mind fractured. He lashed out, cutting Olivia, believing he was retrieving "my" kidney. Mark, his assistant, struck him down to save Olivia. Ethan, committed to a psychiatric hospital, descended into madness, still hallucinating my presence. My spirit, tethered to him, watched his horrific unraveling. Months later, my brother Liam, in a dream, finally heard my silent plea: "You need to get my kidney back. The one Ethan has. My body isn' t complete. I can' t move on until it is." He found it under Ethan's mattress, preserved in formaldehyde: "My Beloved Ava" etched on the jar. Liam buried it at my grave, then, with Chloe, scattered my ashes over Golden Sands Beach, my favorite place. As my spirit lifted, finally free, the news came: Ethan had died from a brain hemorrhage. Liam, embodying my legacy, transformed Ethan's manor into the "Ava Miller Sanctuary" and "Ava Miller Free Counseling Center." This is my story of betrayal, sacrifice, and a final, bittersweet liberation.

In my past life, a divine power offered my sister and me a choice between two life systems. Olivia, my older sister, eagerly chose the "Socialite Siren," while I was left with the "Independent Achiever," a system that demanded tireless, solitary effort. Ten years later, I had achieved hard-won but lonely success as a tech startup founder, while Olivia, having manipulated her way through the city's elite, lay paralyzed after a brutal accident. Her resentment, however, burned brighter than ever, culminating in her stabbing me repeatedly in a hospital room. My vision faded, only to snap open again. I was back at the moment of choice, the shimmering orbs presenting themselves once more. A cruel smile twisted Olivia's lips as she snatched the "Independent Achiever," believing she was taking the superior path and leaving me with the "leftovers." She smirked. "Looks like you're stuck with the leftovers, Chloe. Good luck trying to charm your way through life. I'll be watching you fail." This time, I almost laughed. After reliving the brutal isolation of the "Independent Achiever," I knew true independence wasn't about lonely hell. Olivia, blinded by greed and pride, had no idea I was finally free. With profound relief, I touched the pink orb. "I choose the 'Socialite Siren' system." This time, I wouldn't be its prisoner; I'd change the rules completely.

For ten years, I lived a life that wasn' t mine, sacrificing my scientific dreams to become the perfect wife and mother. My carefully built world shattered when I overheard my husband, Mark, tell our ten-year-old daughter Mia, that her real mother, my sister Sophia, was finally coming back. He then twisted a venomous lie, blaming me for Sophia' s decade-long absence, claiming I was jealous and drove her away. Mia' s face twisted in fury, her blue eyes, once filled with love, now burned with hatred as she screamed, "You're a monster! I hate you!" Before I could react, she lunged and shoved me down the grand staircase, leaving me crumpled and bleeding on the marble, physically and emotionally broken. My parents, witnessing my prostrate form and Mia' s crocodile tears, immediately sided with their 'precious' granddaughter, my mother slapping me and my father lecturing me on duty. They saw me not as a daughter, but as a business asset, a pawn to save their shaky social standing and financial future. How could the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally abandon me so easily, believing such a blatant lie? Why did my years of selfless devotion to a child and a family that wasn't truly mine only lead to such profound betrayal? Lying there, bleeding and discarded, a chilling clarity pierced through the agony: My life as Olivia Reynolds, the aspiring scientist, was violently reclaimed. I would divorce my indifferent husband, leave my ungrateful family, and reclaim the life stolen from me a decade ago.

My marriage was a lie, a tragic commitment made in the shadow of my fiancé Ryan's untimely death in a plane crash. Drowning in grief, I accepted his younger brother Liam' s proposal to continue the engagement, believing it was an act of selfless duty to protect the family and honor Ryan. Liam transformed, becoming a devoted, loving husband who showered me with affection, whispering promises of eternal fidelity. He was my rock through fertility struggles, heartbreaking doctor' s appointments, and especially after losing our unborn child, our little Hope. "I love you, Chloe," he swore, his voice thick with emotion after our miscarriage. "I don' t care if we ever have children. It' s you I want. Only you, forever." I clung to those words, believing them to be the one solid truth in my shattered world. A month later, a overheard conversation changed everything: Liam' s cousin, Maya, desperate about her son Leo, and Liam' s calm reassurance, "Don' t worry, I' ll handle it." Then came a chilling whisper from Maya, "You helped me and your brother, who faked his death, to be together." Ryan, alive? Leo, his son? The pieces of a monstrous betrayal slammed into place, shattering my reality. Liam' s love, his tears for our lost baby, his unwavering support-it was all an act, a calculated performance to hide his brother and protect an heir. My marriage wasn't just a lie; it was a crime scene. He orchestrated my miscarriage to clear Leo' s path to the inheritance. He murdered Hope. The pain, bottled up and performed as grief, rushed back as a tidal wave of pure, clarifying rage. I wouldn' t cry. I wouldn't break down. Not yet. "No, you' re not (going to kill him)," my best friend and private investigator Jessica said, gripping my shoulders. "You' re going to destroy him. There' s a difference. We can go to the police right now." "No," I declared, a chilling clarity cutting through the pain. "The police won' t be enough. His family is too powerful. They' ll bury it. They' ll paint me as a hysterical, grieving wife." I wiped away my tears, the grief now fuel. "They want Leo to be the heir?" I said, my voice cold and hard. "They want to protect the family' s reputation? Fine. I' ll give them exactly what they want, right before I take it all away." "I' m not running away," I declared. "I' m not going to be a victim. I' m staying right here. I' m going to host a party. A big one. The biggest this family has ever seen. And I' m going to give everyone a show they will never, ever forget."

The familiar scent of Texas dust welcomed me home after weeks on a sold-out tour, but my mother's strained smile hinted at trouble. Over chicken-fried steak, she dropped a bombshell: an arranged marriage. Not in some period drama, but right here in the 21st century, between me, Ava Monroe, a musician building her own destiny, and Liam Sterling, the grandson of a man my father saved. It was a life-debt, a "gentleman's agreement" from before I was born, now pushed forward by a dying patriarch. I was blindsided, reeling from the archaic notion. This wasn't some fantasy; it was a contract, turning my life into a political maneuver for family honor. The agreement had a cruel twist: it only stood if I wasn't "seriously involved" with anyone. My single status, a consequence of artistic devotion, suddenly trapped me. They rushed the wedding, leaving me married to a handsome stranger who was meticulous, practical, and almost unsettlingly stoic. He treated me with perfect respect, yet his emotional distance left me feeling like a beautiful, but hollow, exhibit in his immaculate penthouse. Then came Victoria. Liam' s long-time, sophisticated pursuer, who saw me as an obstacle and made it clear I was an unwanted intrusion. A seed of raw jealousy took root, twisting my stomach. Was I just fulfilling a duty? Was he secretly longing for someone from his own world, someone who understood his life without constant explanation? Did he even want me, or was I just the inconvenient fulfillment of an ancient pact? I ran. But as I stood on the edge of a bridge, terrified before a charity bungee jump for all the world to see, facing a very real fear, a single thought consumed me. I desperately wished for Liam. And he appeared. He found me, just when I needed him most, pulling me into a fierce, possessive kiss. "I was jealous," he growled. That simple, honest confession shattered every barrier. He chose me. He always chose me. Amidst the chaos of my public life, my arranged marriage was finally becoming a love story, a destiny I was ready to embrace.

My life was perfectly on track. A full scholarship to Yale, loving parents, and the SATs were just another stepping stone. I had my best friend Brittany and boyfriend Kyle by my side, seemingly there to support me through it all. Then, I died. And snapped awake, gasping. The horrifying memories of my past flooded back: a SAT cheating scandal that ruined my family and led to their deaths, and my own demise. I was back, exactly one day before the SATs, staring at the faces of those who would betray me. I desperately tried to change my fate, fleeing the hotel and establishing an alibi. Yet, the nightmare unfolded again. I was arrested, framed with planted evidence-a fake earpiece, forged transactions, a look-alike at the test center. My ironclad alibi vanished when the cafe's security cameras mysteriously 'fried.' My parents were shamed, my father physically attacked. How could this be happening? Every attempt to escape only tightened the net. My supposed best friend, my boyfriend-they were the architects of my ruin. The proof was overwhelming, irrefutable, yet entirely false. Was I truly powerless against this meticulously crafted conspiracy? But amidst the despair, a single, overlooked detail on the 'evidence' hoodie sparked a desperate hope: the absence of a tiny, silver thread I' d sewn into my unique raven patch. This time, I wouldn't be a victim. Feigning illness to buy critical time, I would unravel their monstrous lie and reclaim my future.

My life felt like a fairytale. I, Maya Rodriguez, was deeply in love with Ethan Cole, and my father, Ricardo, was a beloved philanthropist, hosting tonight's grand gala. This night felt special, like the start of everything good. But then, the ballroom doors burst open. Men in dark uniforms stormed in, DEA. And leading them was Ethan. My Ethan. His face, once full of warmth, was cold, hard. He arrested my father, revealing him as "El Martillo," a narcotics trafficker, and worse, the murderer of Officer Sarah Miller – my own mother. My world tilted, shattered in an instant. My perfect life was a lie. My father, a community pillar, was a criminal. My mother, murdered by him. And Ethan, the man I loved, was the architect of this destruction, a cold, calculating agent who had used me. His "I love yous" were just part of his "task." In the hospital, the bullet wound in my shoulder ached, but nothing compared to the news: Agent Cole had a fiancée. I was a means to an end, a tool. Not a person. Was any of it real? Our dates, our nights, his whispers? Did he feel anything, or was I just a job he had to do? The realization was a bitter pill. Hope turned to ash. But as I replayed the horrifying scene, a tiny memory surfaced: my father, a faint scratch on his cheek the night my mother supposedly died in a car crash. A cold suspicion snaked through me. This wasn't just about betrayal. This was about truth. I fumbled with my mother's St. Michael pendant. Inside, tiny engravings: "7710. S.M. My real name." Sarah Miller. My mother. A cop. Killed in the line of duty. By my father. The naive girl was gone. Now, only a burning resolve remained. I would find out everything. And when I did, they would all pay.

My wife, Ellie, died in my arms, her last words twisting the knife: a confession she wished she’d never married me, only pined for her stepbrother, Marcus. Haunted by her dying wish, I used my family's illicit time-travel technology to rewrite our past, determined to give her the happiness I never could. I plunged into our wedding night, posing as Marcus to get our marriage annulled. I painstakingly orchestrated her reunion with him, enduring humiliation, and even donated my own blood to save him after his suicide attempt. Every sacrifice tore me apart, ensuring her ultimate freedom, though it came at the cost of my own soul. Yet, after all this, Ellie, finally free of me, only realized her feelings for me once I was gone. Then, at a charity gala, Marcus, in a jealous rage, attacked me. Ellie shielded me, taking the fall, leaving her gravely injured. Now, she's desperate for the love she never saw. Can I, after such profound heartbreak and self-sacrifice, ever reciprocate? Or is it time to finally choose my own peace, severing all ties, and finding a happiness she will only witness from afar?

I was Olivia Miller, a New York socialite trapped in a cold, arranged marriage to Ethan Cole, a man I utterly despised. My indifference turned to cruel disdain at a charity gala, where I mocked him as he was drugged. His quiet suffering and eventual death, ironically, came after he selflessly saved my family's company. Only then, grief-stricken by a car crash, did I discover his secret journal, a heartbreaking revelation of his hidden, unwavering love for me. I woke up years earlier, back at that same gala – a second chance! But Ethan, too, remembered my past cruelty. He was cold, distant, and brought a doppelgänger into our home, showering her with affection to punish me. He relentlessly pursued a divorce, making me experience the crushing agony of rejection I'd once inflicted. Why had fate granted me a do-over, only for him to hate me so fiercely? My desperate pleas for forgiveness fell on deaf ears. I finally understood his pain, but his indifference was an insurmountable wall. The bitter irony consumed me: I finally loved him, but he wanted me gone. I eventually died again, tragically sacrificing myself for my family’s name. Yet, death wasn't the end. I woke up *again*, five years before our arranged marriage, armed with foresight. This time, my mission is clear: save my family, dismantle the threats to our legacy, and, maybe, just maybe, reclaim the heart of the man whose memories of me are forever tainted.

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting." When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home. Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name. He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal. I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing. As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life.

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.

Zane and I were together for ten years. When he had no one, I stayed by his side, supporting his hockey career while believing at the end of all our struggles, I'll be his wife and the only one at his side. But after six years of dating, and four years of being his fiancée, not only did he leave me, but seven months later I receive an invitation... to his wedding! If that isn't bad enough, the month long wedding cruise is for couples only and requires a plus one. If Zane thinks breaking my heart left me too miserable to move on, he thought wrong! Not only did it make me stronger.. it made me strong enough to move on with his favourite bad boy hockey player, Liam Calloway.

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.