Fumo Baobao

I stood in the marble bathroom of the Pierre Hotel, staring at the two pink lines that signaled the end of my life as I knew it. The dates didn't match my sterile, arranged engagement to a business heir; they matched a blizzard in Davos and a man whose name I had tried to scrub from my memory. I thought I’d hidden the test deep in the trash, but my stepsister Kendall was a viper who had been watching. Moments later, in the middle of a high-stakes gala, she stood on stage and projected a giant image of my positive pregnancy test onto a screen for all of New York’s elite to see. The fallout was instantaneous and brutal. My fiancé, Preston, didn't ask for an explanation; he simply announced to the room that our merger was terminated because I was a "fraudulent asset." My stepfather, Senator Hansen, didn't offer a hand as I was swarmed by reporters; instead, he had security drag me out into a freezing rainstorm, hissing that I was a liability who had tanked his campaign. Barefoot and soaking wet on the sidewalk, I watched his black town car splash gutter water over me as I realized my bank cards were frozen and my apartment was already being sold from under me. I huddled in the rain, feeling the strange, protective heat in my abdomen, realizing my own family had orchestrated a public execution of my character. They didn't just want me gone; they wanted me destitute and destroyed. "Who is the father?" the reporters screamed, their flashes blinding me as I collapsed on the wet concrete. I had been discarded like trash by the people who were supposed to love me, left with nothing but the secret growing inside me and a flash drive that could burn the city to the ground. But I had one nuclear option left. When a black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb, I didn't beg for a ride. I held up the drive containing the evidence of Corbin Heath’s illegal offshore accounts—the cold-blooded billionaire who was the true father of my child. "I want sanctuary, my father’s freedom, and my assets unfrozen," I told him, shivering but resolute. Corbin looked at me with eyes like cold steel and offered a deal that felt more like a hostile takeover than a rescue. He would protect me, but only if I signed a contract that made me his wife and gave him total control over my life and his heir. I had escaped the wolves only to sell my soul to the devil, and as the car door clicked shut, I realized the war for my survival had only just begun.

On my first wedding anniversary, I woke up pregnant and thrilled, waiting for my husband, Carter. But a trending TikTok video shattered my world. It showed Carter celebrating the same anniversary with a famous influencer, Kenley Mendez. He had lied to me for an entire year with a fake marriage certificate while being legally married to her. When I confronted him, he spun a story about Kenley dying of cancer, begging for my sympathy. But his lies quickly turned to violence. During a fight, he struck me so hard that I collapsed, and later that day, I miscarried our baby. To protect his perfect public image, Carter' s company then released a statement branding me as a delusional mistress. The internet exploded with hate, and I became the villain in his tragic love story. I had lost my baby, my husband, and my reputation. The man I had loved and supported for eight years had not only betrayed me but systematically destroyed my life. Lying in that cold hospital bed, with nothing left to lose, I picked up my phone. I turned off the beauty filters, looked straight into the camera, and hit 'Go Live.'

I waited seven years for Jax Vetti, the youngest Capo in New York, to finally claim me. Instead, five minutes before our scheduled engagement, he called me a burden behind a velvet curtain. Standing on the center stage of the Gala, he didn't reach for my hand. He took the hand of Chloe Davenport, his rival’s daughter, and announced to the underworld that she was carrying his heir. When the explosion tore through the ballroom moments later, Jax didn't hesitate. He threw his body over Chloe, shielding her completely, and dragged her to the safe room. I was left behind, exposed and helpless, until a massive crystal chandelier crashed down, crushing my legs and slicing my throat. While I lay bleeding out on the cold floor, Jax returned. He looked at my shattered body not with horror, but with disgust. "You're a liability, Savvy," he sneered, ordering his guards to dump me in the courtyard like trash so I wouldn't upset his pregnant fiancée. I clutched the bullet casing he gave me years ago—a blood oath he swore would bind us forever. He had promised to protect me, but tonight, he stepped over my broken body to comfort the woman who was secretly plotting his demise. His second-in-command found me before the cold took me. "He's lost his mind," Ben whispered, scooping me up and driving me to a private jet bound for Sicily. I didn't die that night. But the girl who loved Jax Vetti did. Six months later, I returned from the dead. Not as his victim, but as the woman who would turn his wedding into a funeral.

My boss, August Ortega, forced me to donate bone marrow to his fiancée. She was afraid of getting a scar. For seven years, I’d been the assistant to the boy I grew up with, the man who now despised me. But his fiancée, Harlow, wanted more than my marrow; she wanted me gone. She framed me for shattering a five-million-dollar gift, and August made me kneel on the broken crystal until my knees bled. She framed me for assault at a gala, and he had me arrested, where I was beaten bloody in a holding cell. Then, to punish me for a sex tape I never leaked, he kidnapped my parents. He made me watch as he dangled them from a crane on an unfinished skyscraper, hundreds of feet in the air. He called my phone, his voice cold and smug. "Have you learned your lesson yet, Cora? Are you ready to apologize?" As he spoke, the rope snapped. My parents plummeted into the darkness. A terrifying calm washed over me. The taste of blood filled my mouth, a symptom of the illness he never knew I had. He laughed on the other end of the line, a cruel, ugly sound. "Feel free to jump off that roof if it hurts so much. It would be a fitting end for you." "Okay," I whispered. And then, I stepped off the edge of the building and into the empty air.

My mentor, Dr. Vance, dedicated her life to a sustainable energy project. But her sudden, aggressive illness, too fast to be natural, told me it was an attack. Powerful people wanted her work stopped. So, when she whispered to me to protect it, to not let them win, I made the hardest decision of my life. I reached for the plug on her life support machine, an act of mercy and protection. But just as my fingers closed around it, the door burst open. "Ava! What the hell are you doing?" It was Ethan, my husband, Dr. Vance's son. He saw my hand on the plug. He saw his mother, still and silent. He saw a murderer. Chloe Hayes, his childhood friend, rushed to his side. "Oh my God, Ethan! She's... she's killing your mother!" Her words sealed my fate. He shoved me, calling me a murderer. He slapped me, snarling, "You bitch." He became a monster, fueled by grief and Chloe's lies. He moved into the guest room, stopped speaking to me except to hurl insults. He drained our accounts, buying lavish gifts for Chloe. One night, drunk, he forced himself on me. A few weeks later, I was pregnant, a tiny, foolish hope. But Chloe's poisonous words ignited his rage. He shoved me. I fell, my stomach hitting the desk. The life inside me, gone. I was cleaning the rug he loved, hand bleeding, when Chloe twisted the story. He forced me to my knees, then watched, unmoved, as I scrubbed. Then, to destroy Eleanor's legacy, Chloe burned her notebooks, tearing them right in front of me. My birthday. Ethan stood on stage, Chloe by his side, her hand resting protectively on her stomach. "Chloe and I are getting engaged! And we're going to have a baby!" The public execution. My reputation systematically dismantled. I stood there, taking every lie, knowing if they all hated me, no one would look for me when I vanished. So, I disappeared. I didn't understand how he could twist reality so violently, how his grief had blinded him to the truth. Why, after everything, did he hate me so much? I shredded my identity. Ava Riley ceased to exist. I became Anya Sharma, the lead scientist of Project Legacy, ready to fulfill my promise and build a new life beyond the wreckage of the old.

My best friend Chloe and I were cybersecurity experts, surviving the digital wasteland after the world fell apart. We kept our small community thriving, a beacon of order in chaos. Then, tech entrepreneurs Jake Anderson and Noah Carter appeared, promising to "fix" everything. Jake, charismatic and charming, made me believe he loved me. I poured my expertise, my hope, and my heart into their project: rebuilding the core economic systems. During a critical mission, I almost died, fighting off a hostile takeover. Weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant with Jake' s child, a fragile joy in our grim reality. But then, Chloe, on what was supposed to be a simple mission, was ambushed. They held her for three days, violating her digitally, shattering her mind. Jake and Noah swore vengeance, waging a ruthless war to eliminate their rivals. We thought we were finally safe, weathering the storm together. Until one night, I overheard them. My pregnancy was a "good move," tying me to Jake. Chloe was "broken," but useful. Our deepest traumas, our pain, our sacrifices-all planned, all for Olivia Reed, a socialite they were putting on the path to ultimate power. The love I thought was real became the most painful cage of all. My child, leverage. Chloe, bait. Our lives, tools. I found Chloe, her eyes mirroring my devastation. We were trapped in a web of lies, but we would find a way to escape.

The digital timer in my vision pulsed, counting down to my supposed obliteration-ten minutes until my existence was wiped clean. Three years ago, a car crash stole my parents, leaving me, then just nineteen, to raise my two stepsons, Ethan and Caleb. I' d given up my Olympic dreams to give them a stable home. I believed their promises, that we were a family, that they would always protect me. Then Chloe Davis walked in, an intern, all wide eyes and sweet smiles, a delicate charm bracelet glinting on her wrist. From that day, I became their personal scapegoat, my achievements overshadowed, my talent exploited, all to bolster Chloe' s image. Last week, a sabotaged client presentation, files deleted, backups corrupted, and Chloe was responsible. But Ethan, in the crowded boardroom, turned to me, his face a cold mask: "Sarah, this is your fault." Caleb chimed in, refusing to meet my eyes, "Chloe is new, she's still learning. You should know better." They didn' t even ask, just saw Chloe' s tears and blamed me. I swallowed the familiar, bitter humiliation, the weight of their betrayal a physical pressure on my lungs. But today, I chose to fail. "I' m not abandoning it. I' m choosing to fail," I whispered to the empty room. [Decision confirmed. Initiating protocol for mission failure. The consequences are irreversible. Host will be held fully responsible.] The system' s voice was calm, but the penalty was clear: my existence would be erased, my "Goodness Value" transferred to Chloe. Then, the office door burst open. Ethan and Caleb stormed in, accusing me of sabotaging Chloe again. Chloe appeared, tear-streaked and fragile, playing victim once more. "Sarah, find the contract. Now. And then you are going to go out there and apologize to Chloe in front of everyone for stressing her out." I knew this was my final task, a deep dive into humiliation before freedom. I had nowhere left to go. So I stepped forward.

The pain was an old, familiar ghost, living in my leg, a constant reminder of the dancer I used to be. My life had become a quiet echo of a forgotten dream, teaching kids the future I' d lost, marked by the silence of a world without applause. Then, the Grand Metropolitan Ballet called. Not a friend, not a bill collector. It was a frantic stage manager reporting an accident, a fallen lighting rig, and my mentor, Mr. Harrison, in bad shape. They said it looked really bad. My mind raced. Mr. Harrison, the man who shaped me, who was more a father than my own, lay broken. A cold dread, colder than the ache in my leg, crept up my spine. "David? And Lily?" I asked, my words numb. My ambitious brother and my sweet, charming adopted sister, the new prodigy-the girl who effortlessly took everything that was once mine. They were together, busy preparing for Lily' s debut, while Mr. Harrison lay critically injured. Not dread, but a sickening memory rose-the same crippling injury, the same cold indifference from my family. I remembered David telling me Lily would take my Swan Lake role, casually, for the good of the company. I remembered Ethan, my brilliant ex-fiancé, saying my damage was irreversible, while a flicker of relief crossed his eyes as he looked at Lily. In that memory, I gave up, watching them soar, isolating Mr. Harrison. I died a slow death, my spirit broken, then heard of his lonely, accidental death and saw their triumphant faces on magazine covers. A sharp gasp snapped me back. This wasn' t a memory; it was a warning. The same people, the same motives, the same suspicious "accident." But this time, I wasn' t a broken, passive victim. I looked at my useless leg, at the crutches-symbols of defeat. A slow, determined fire ignited within me. No. Not again. They took my career, my future. They would not take another person I loved. "I' m on my way," I said, my voice sharp and clear. This time, I knew their game. I knew the darkness behind Lily' s smile, David' s ruthless ambition, Ethan' s moral rot. Crippled, isolated, but not helpless. I was heading to that theater, not to watch the show, but to stop it.

The rain hammered against the window, mirroring the frantic beat of my heart as my mother clutched her chest, her breathing shallow. I called 911, but the streets were flooded, and the ambulance was delayed. Desperate, I called my wife, Sarah. Her voice, bright and cheerful over the noisy clatter of plates and loud music, promised to hurry, to be right there. She never came. An hour later, the paramedics arrived, their grim faces confirming what I already knew. She was gone. Hours later, an unfamiliar text buzzed my phone. It was from my friend, Dave. Below his bewildered message was a screenshot that froze my blood: my wife, Sarah, laughing, head thrown back, a wine glass in hand, seated opposite her ex-boyfriend, Mark Wilson, his arm possessively draped around her chair. The timestamp screamed betrayal: an hour after I' d called her, while my mother lay dying, Sarah was at a lavish restaurant with her past. The caption, "Some things are just meant to be," shattered my world. The distracted voice, the turned-off phone, the broken promise-it wasn' t an accident. It was a choice. My grief for my mother, a raw, open wound, was now burning from this fresh betrayal. With trembling hands, I typed two sentences, fueled by pure, distilled pain: "It's over. Don't come home."

For seven long years, I, Ethan Vanderbilt, the heir to a vast real estate empire, played the part of a humble city planner. I sacrificed my ambitions, poured my family's wealth into funding my fiancée Chloe's "struggling artist" career, all for her, all for love. Tonight, at her prestigious art preview, my world shattered when she unveiled her centerpiece: a "wedding photo" of her and her best friend, Leo, eyes locked in an intimate smile that screamed betrayal. Leo, her "tragic muse," whose "degenerative heart condition" I suddenly realized was nothing but a manipulative lie designed to trap her. My entire seven-year relationship, our engagement, felt like a cruel, expensive joke. Chloe dismissed my shock, telling me I was "unsupportive" and that this public display of infidelity was merely "art" and a "powerful statement." How could she casually toss away years of my devotion, my secret identity, the life I' d put on hold for her, for this preposterous charade? But in that moment of profound clarity, a cold resolve settled over me. My bohemian charade was finally over. I pulled out my phone and texted my mother a single, decisive message: "Mom, I'm ready. I'll marry Sophia Sterling."

My eighth wedding anniversary. The house felt as cold as the lilies Michael' s assistant sent, a bouquet chosen by the woman he spent more time with than me. He was on another "business trip" with Chloe. When I finally reached him, his voice was dismissive, distant. "I want a divorce, Michael. " He just hung up. What truly broke me wasn't the flowers, but his chilling indifference when I confessed my miscarriage, alone, the night he' d chosen Chloe' s manufactured crisis over me. He simply dismissed my grief, then refused to sign the papers. He then tried to lure me back by faking our son Leo' s illness, trapping me at his family's Hamptons estate. There, his ice-blooded mother, sneering sister, and Chloe ganged up, publicly questioning my stability. "If you can't behave, you can eat in the kitchen," Michael snarled, treating me like hired help. Years of quiet endurance, of shrinking myself to fit his world, shattered. How could the man who once swore "forever" become this stranger, this monster who actively conspired to humiliate me? My disgust was absolute. But the old Sarah was gone. I snatched my wine glass, looked his smug sister straight on, and slowly, deliberately, poured the entire contents over her pristine dress. "You disgust me," I declared, tossing the divorce papers at Michael. I walked out, finally free.

My life was a gilded cage, a loveless arrangement with the powerful Hamilton heir, Mark, designed to save my father' s legacy. Battling postpartum depression, my only solace was my precious daughter, Lily. Then, Mark weaponized my vulnerability, declaring me unfit and sending Lily to his ex-girlfriend, Tiffany, her glamour hiding a sharp, cruel edge. When I finally managed to reach Lily, she was neglected, trapped on a sun-drenched balcony, bearing the faint, angry marks of abuse. My desperate phone call to Mark for help was met with gaslighting and dismissal: "Are you having another episode?" Then, the world stopped: a small cry, a sickening thud. Lily was gone, a silent victim of Tiffany' s malice and Mark' s chilling indifference. As I knelt over my daughter's lifeless body, Mark, standing with Tiffany, utterly dismissed my agony, suggesting only: "We can try again. Tiffany could even carry it for you." That horrific moment, his callous offer to replace my dead child, burned away the last remnants of my naive hope and illuminated the brutal truth. My entire marriage, my very being, had been transaction; Lily' s innocent life had paid our family' s debt in full. Fueled by a grief that transformed into an unyielding resolve, I looked the Hamiltons in the eye and declared my divorce, severing every tie to their toxic world. I walked away with nothing but Lily's memory, choosing to rebuild my life from the absolute devastation, far from their shadow.

I tried to breathe, trapped in the gilded cage of 1900s New York, a silent observer overshadowed by my brilliant sister Bea. My marriage to Arthur Pendleton, the influential industrialist, was supposed to be a safe harbor, a quiet escape from the era' s suffocating expectations. But then, an anonymous letter slipped under my door, revealing his carefully hidden life: a mistress, Daisy Miller, and a secret son residing in Greenwich Village. When I confronted him, Arthur didn't flinch; he simply suggested I, his wife, discreetly "manage" his affair and illegitimate child, appealing to my "renowned compassion." The audacity, the utter disgust of becoming the caretaker for his betrayal, stole my breath and shattered every illusion of our life. My humiliation was complete as Daisy Miller herself appeared, heavily pregnant again, desperate and blaming me for Arthur' s sudden abandonment. His pleas for me to accommodate his expanding secret brood, his appeal to my "compassion," were the final insult to my intelligence. How could the man who pledged lifelong fidelity demand such a monstrous thing, expecting me to legitimize his lies? But then, Bea, my whirlwind sister, uttered a single word – "Google" – and the silent understanding between us, our shared 21st-century secret, finally broke through. In that earth-shattering moment, the quiet engineer in me awakened; I would no longer be a doormat or a tragic victim of this strange, old world. I crushed the diamond necklace he gave me, a symbol of his worthless promises, and vowed to use every bit of my future knowledge to not just leave Arthur, but to utterly destroy him.

The music throbbed at my sister Claire' s engagement party. Ethan Prescott, the man I was supposed to marry, stood beside her, glowing. I watched from the sidelines, a polite smile glued to my face, my family' s legendary Aegis Locket cool against my skin. Then Claire screamed. Stumbling into the ballroom, her dress torn, a bruise blooming on her cheek, she pointed directly at me, her voice cracking. "She did this! Rory attacked me! She said I stole Ethan, that I' d pay!" My fiancé, my brother Sam, and even my own mother, instantly believed her lies. They called me a monster. Without a second thought, Ethan ripped the Aegis Locket from my neck, banishing me to "The Hollows," a desolate commune in Maine, for "rehabilitation." Five years I endured there: systematic torture, starvation, brutal beatings, and the ultimate degradation – a searing brand announcing "Property of The Hollows." My once-sharp mind shattered, my identity erased. I became a feral, cowering creature, unable to comprehend the monstrous injustice. How could my family, my beloved Ethan, mistake my horrific abuse for madness, my broken pleas for manipulative acts? Why did they choose to believe the twisted narrative of my venomous sister? When Ethan and Sam finally came to retrieve me, repulsed by the shattered woman before them, my raw, branded body was exposed during a cruel "penance" ritual. With nothing left but shame and despair, I lunged towards the cliff's edge, escaping their judgment, escaping everything, by throwing myself into the raging abyss below.

It was the day my grandfather would announce the man I’d choose to lead Reddington Global, our corporate empire. My “Keystone”—the family’s immense capital and crucial knowledge—was meant to ensure his success. In my first life, I poured everything into Jamie Vance, my childhood sweetheart, making him CEO. But his cruel sneer still echoes: "If it weren't for needing your Keystone to help Candace build her own empire, I would never have pretended to care for you!" He paraded his true love, Candace Dubois, using all the power I gave him to elevate her. He shredded my reputation, seized every asset for Candace, then left me with nothing. “This CEO position,” he’d spat, “even without you, I could have eventually grasped!” It wasn’t just betrayal; it was annihilation. I died utterly broken, wondering how I could have been so blind, so foolish, to hand over my very essence to a monster. But then, I woke up. I was back. The same day, the same announcement, but this time, things would be different. Jamie Vance would not ruin me again. I’m ready to rewrite my destiny.

Sarah Miller had it all: a successful tech career she traded for family, investing millions into her husband Ethan's architectural empire. Their seven-year-old twins, Leo and Luna, were her world, buzzing with excitement for their promised Fourth of July trip to Universal Studios. But Ethan had other plans – a yacht trip with his "pregnant" personal assistant, Tiff. Then, a chilling note: he'd taken the kids to the desolate Nevada wilderness for "character-building," leaving them with minimal water, one tent. Panic turned to horror when Sarah found them. Days later, search and rescue called: Leo and Luna, gone, victims of heatstroke and dehydration. While Sarah identified their ravaged bodies, Ethan threw a lavish pre-baby shower with Tiff, dismissing Sarah's call about their dead children as a "dramatic stunt." He returned only to smash their photos, allow Tiff to spill their ashes, and brutalize Sarah for trying to mourn. How could a father abandon his children to such a horrific fate? How could he deny their deaths, celebrate with his lover, and then violently silence their grieving mother? The cold, calculated cruelty was unfathomable. But a desperate, heartbreaking voicemail from Leo’s last moments and a shocking truth about Tiff would shatter Ethan’s narcissistic world, setting off a chain of events that would force him to confront the monstrous consequences of his actions, and leave Sarah to pick up the pieces of a life utterly destroyed.

My high school hunger was a secret I carried, a constant, gnawing emptiness in my gut. My mother's decree echoed daily: "You're smart enough for honors classes, you’re smart enough to figure out food," leaving me to navigate lunchtimes with only a sloshing stomach and burning cheeks as friends clattered trays and devoured greasy pizza. But the true test came the Wednesday before Thanksgiving break. My mother, her face cold and impassive, delivered an ultimatum that slashed through my fragile existence: drop out and work, or forever lose the right to call her house home. I chose school, my voice barely a whisper, and seconds later, the front door clicked shut, severing ties, leaving me to the brutal, biting November night. With nothing but a backpack, I ended up huddled in a forgotten corner of a community center gym, the chill piercing through my thin clothes, my dreams feeling colder still. Each shiver was a reminder of her harsh rejection. How could a parent abandon their child, especially one striving for a better future? Was my entire life a misguided 'fantasy' in her eyes, a burden she could simply cast aside? The injustice burned, leaving me utterly adrift and alone. Then, through the flickering lights of the gym, I saw him again – Jake Peterson, the golden boy, unexpectedly volunteering. His laughter died when his gaze landed on me, a travel-worn vagrant in his world. Instantly, his kindness, the same compassion that had once offered me half a sandwich and pulled me back from hunger, resurfaced. "Sarah? What are you doing here?" he whispered, and then, without hesitation, extended his hand: "You're not staying here. Come on. My place."

Charlotte's ex-boyfriend not only cheated on her, but he also sent her to another man’s bed. Such betrayal threw her into a kind of hell, nobody knew existed. Oliver, the man she was forced to sleep with, was her destined enemy even before fate brought them together. She tried everything she could to run away, only to be caught and even locked up by the same monster who only took her as another player in his love games. Little did he know, that day by day, he would become addicted to her and want more from her. Not only her presence but also her love.

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

I was at my own engagement party at the Sterling estate when the world started tilting. Victoria Sterling, my future mother-in-law, smiled coldly as she watched me struggle with a cup of tea that had been drugged to ruin me. Before I could find my fiancé, Ryan, a waiter dragged me into the forbidden West Wing and locked me in a room with Julian Sterling, the family’s "fallen titan" who had been confined to a wheelchair for years. The door burst open to a frenzy of camera flashes and theatrical screams. Victoria framed me as a seductress caught in the act, and Ryan didn't even try to listen to my pleas, calling me "cheap leftovers" before walking away with his pregnant mistress. When I turned to my own family for help, my father signed a document severing our relationship for a five-million-dollar payout from Julian. They traded me like a commodity without a second thought. I didn't understand why my own parents were so eager to sell me, or how Ryan could look at me with such disgust after promising me forever. I was a sacrifice, a pawn used to protect the family's offshore accounts, and I couldn't fathom how every person I loved had a price tag for my destruction. With nowhere left to go, I married Julian in a bleak ceremony at City Hall. He slid a heavy diamond onto my finger and whispered, "We have a war to start." That night, inside his secret penthouse, I watched the paralyzed man stand up from his wheelchair and activate a screen filled with the Sterling family's darkest secrets. The execution had officially begun.

Camille Lewis was the forgotten daughter, the unloved wife, the woman discarded like yesterday's news. Betrayed by her husband, cast aside by her own family, and left for dead by the sister who stole everything, she vanished without a trace. But the weak, naive Camille died the night her car was forced off that bridge. A year later, she returns as Camille Kane, richer, colder, and more powerful than anyone could have imagined. Armed with wealth, intelligence, and a hunger for vengeance, she is no longer the woman they once trampled on. She is the storm that will tear their world apart. Her ex-husband begs for forgiveness. Her sister's perfect life crumbles. Her parents regret the daughter they cast aside. But Camille didn't come back for apologies, she came back to watch them burn. But as her enemies fall at her feet, one question remains: when the revenge is over, what's left? A mysterious trillionaire Alexander Pierce steps into her path, offering something she thought she lost forever, a future. But can a woman built on ashes learn to love again? She rose from the fire to destroy those who betrayed her. Now, she must decide if she'll rule alone... or let someone melt the ice in her heart.

"I will marry you. Wait for me!" Mabel woke up. She had that dream again. In her dream, a man said he would marry her. Just a dream. Five years ago, she was set up by her stepsister and became pregnant out of wedlock. She lost everything, including her baby. Five years later, she was forced to marry her stepsister's fiance, Jayden, who was sick and going to pass away. Having no choice, Mabel decided to marry Jayden, not expecting that Jayden was the man...

She spent ten years chasing after the right brother, only to fall for the wrong one in one weekend. ~~~ Sloane Mercer has been hopelessly in love with her best friend, Finn Hartley, since college. For ten long years, she's stood by him, stitching him back together every time Delilah Crestfield-his toxic on-and-off girlfriend-shattered his heart. But when Delilah gets engaged to another man, Sloane thinks this might finally be her chance to have Finn for herself. She couldn't be more wrong. Heartbroken and desperate, Finn decides to crash Delilah's wedding and fight for her one last time. And he wants Sloane by his side. Reluctantly, Sloane follows him to Asheville, hoping that being close to Finn will somehow make him see her the way she's always seen him. Everything changes when she meets Knox Hartley, Finn's older brother-a man who couldn't be more different from Finn. He's dangerously magnetic. Knox sees right through Sloane and makes it his mission to pull her into his world. What starts as a game-a twisted bet between them-soon turns into something deeper. Sloane is trapped between two brothers: one who's always broken her heart and another who seems hell-bent on claiming it... no matter the cost. CONTENT WARNING: This story is strongly 18+. It delves into dark romance themes such as obsession and lust with morally complex characters. While this is a love story, reader discretion is advised.  

Five years ago, Daniel Douglas publicly called off their engagement and sent her to prison himself. On the day of her release, Daniel took her to the hospital, demanding, "Serena Avery has been in a car accident and needs a kidney transplant. Give her yours." She refused, but he coerced her by all means. On the day of the surgery, her heart suddenly stopped and resuscitation failed. It was said that the man who wanted her dead wept at her grave for three days and three nights. Later, Daniel saw her again at the Douglas family home. She was already holding a five-year-old child, having married his elder brother Ethan and become his beloved and spoiled wife. Daniel: "Jasmine, I know I was wrong,please come back!" Ethan: "Get out! She's your sister-in-law now."

The day Raina gave birth should have been the happiest of her life. Instead, it became her worst nightmare. Moments after delivering their twins, Alexander shattered her heart-divorcing her and forcing her to sign away custody of their son, Liam. With nothing but betrayal and heartbreak to her name, Raina disappeared, raising their daughter, Ava, on her own.Years later, fate comes knocking when Liam falls gravely ill. Desperate to save his son, Alexander is forced to seek out the one person he once cast aside. Alexander finds himself face to face with the woman he underestimated, pleading for a second chance-not just for himself, but for their son. But Raina is no longer the same broken woman who once loved him.No longer the woman he left behind. She has carved out a new life-one built on strength, wealth, and a long-buried legacy she expected to uncover.Raina has spent years learning to live without him.The question is... Will she risk reopening old wounds to save the son she never got to love? or has Alexander lost her forever?

"Let's get married," Mia declares, her voice trembling despite her defiant gaze into Stefan's guarded brown eyes. She needs this, even if he seems untouchable. Stefan raises a skeptical brow. "And why would I do that?" His voice was low, like a warning, and it made her shiver even though she tried not to show it. "We both have one thing in common," Mia continues, her gaze unwavering. "Shitty fathers. They want to take what's ours and give it to who they think deserves it." A pointed pause hangs in the air. "The only difference between us is that you're an illegitimate child, and I'm not." Stefan studies her, the heiress in her designer armor, the fire in her eyes that matches the burn of his own rage. "That's your solution? A wedding band as a weapon?" He said ignoring the part where she just referred to him as an illegitimate child. "The only weapon they won't see coming." She steps closer, close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume, gunpowder and jasmine. "Our fathers stole our birthrights. The sole reason they betrayed us. We join forces, create our own empire that'll bring down theirs." A beat of silence. Then, Stefan's mouth curves into something sharp. "One condition," he murmurs, closing the distance. "No divorces. No surrenders. If we're doing this, it's for life" "Deal" Mia said without missing a beat. Her father wants to destroy her life. She wouldn't give him the pleasure, she would destroy her life as she seems fit. ................ Two shattered heirs. One deadly vow. A marriage built on revenge. Mia Meyers was born to rule her father's empire (so she thought), until he named his bastard son heir instead. Stefan Sterling knows the sting of betrayal too. His father discarded him like trash. Now the rivals' disgraced children have a poisonous proposal: Marry for vengeance. Crush their fathers' legacies. Never speak of divorce. Whoever cracks first loses everything. Can these two rivals, united by their vengeful hearts, pull off a marriage of convenience to reclaim what they believe is rightfully theirs? Or will their fathers' animosity, and their own complicated pasts tear their fragile alliance apart?

"You'll be my wife on paper only. You'll have everything-except my heart. You'll never be Marina." For five years, Lily lived as David's secret wife-his poised secretary by day, his invisible stand-in by night. Every cold touch reminded her she was just a replacement. Every whispered "Marina" cut deeper than the last. Their marriage was born from an accidental night-a mistake he turned into a contract. He wanted nothing but an image and a convenience, yet she foolishly gave him her whole heart. So when the real Marina returns, Lily knows her time as the placeholder is up. David's actions make it clear: she was only ever a convenient replacement. Without a fight, she signs the divorce papers and walks away, surrendering the position he always wanted to give to another. But why is it that the man who once swore he'd never love her... now refuses to let her go? David doesn't understand why Lily's absence haunts him. Why her quiet strength burns him in ways Marina never did. All he knows is that he's determined to get her back. By any means necessary. Even if it meant breaking her all over again. She paid the price for loving him once. Now, he'd pay for losing her forever.