Hua Jian

"We do not talk. Ever," she warned, her voice trembling with a year's worth of rage. Brendon Hampton was Manhattan's ultimate "simp," using wealth and shallow socialites to silence his past. But during a lavish dinner, he snapped. He walked out, moved into a luxury apartment-and found Kiera Richards, the girl he ghosted during his father's scandal, standing in his new living room. Reunion is a nightmare. Kiera, now an "Ice Queen," looks at him with pure loathing. A housing glitch and a massive lease penalty trap them together. She reveals his disappearance cost her more than her heart-it shattered her mental health and her violin career at Juilliard. Brendon endures her hatred daily, unable to explain that federal agents seized his phone and his father had a heart attack. He abides by her rigid rules of silence, treated like a biohazard in his own home. Everything changes during a blackout. As a storm rages, Kiera's icy mask cracks-and she collapses into his arms, terrified of the dark. In the shadows, Brendon notices she still wears the necklace he gave her long ago. The war isn't over, but he's no longer just a roommate-he's a man determined to win back the soul he destroyed.

Ten years ago, they buried me alive. My fiancé Jake and my adoptive brother Alon had me committed, framing me as insane to cover up his affair with my family's long-lost biological daughter, Corina. They erased me from their perfect lives, painting me as a danger to myself and others. While I was left drugged and broken in a psychiatric facility, he married her, securing his connection to our family's power and launching his political career. But I survived. I rebuilt a quiet life from the ashes, finding peace in a small bookstore by the sea. This was my sanctuary. Until today. They walked through my door, shattering a decade of silence. Jake, now a powerful District Attorney aiming for the Senate, stared at me, his composure cracking. "Chandler?" I met his gaze, my voice cold and steady, the voice I used for any stranger. "Can I help you?"

I was arranging white lilies on the cold marble of my husband's grave when I saw a ghost. Walking through the cemetery gates was a man who looked exactly like my dead husband, Dante. Logic said it was his twin brother, Matteo. But a wife knows the slope of a man's shoulders. She knows the arrogant tilt of his chin. My husband hadn't been blown up in a car bomb three years ago. He had faked his death to steal his brother's rank, his fortune, and his mistress. For three years, I had forced our son, Leo, to kiss a photograph goodnight. We lived in a damp, peeling apartment, surviving on the "charity" of the Family. Meanwhile, Dante was living in a mansion, driving cars that cost more than my life, playing house with another woman. When he came to our cramped apartment to drop off the monthly "pension" money, pretending to be Uncle Matteo, he didn't look at me with love. He looked at his watch. When Leo ran to hug him, shouting "Papa," Dante peeled the boy's small arms off his expensive suit like he was removing a piece of lint. "Don't call me that," he snapped. "I am your Uncle." My grief turned into ice. He chose another woman's comfort over his own son's hunger. I grabbed Leo's hand and walked out the door. "You walk away, and you get nothing!" Dante shouted after me. "You'll be on the street!" I didn't stop. I walked straight to the black SUV idling at the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Salvatore Vitiello. The Don. The most lethal man in the city. "Get in, Elena," he commanded. I opened the door and slid onto the leather seat next to the devil himself. As we drove away, leaving my husband in the dust, I realized I had just traded a liar for a killer. And I didn't regret it for a second.

My husband crushed the metacarpals of my left hand—my drawing hand—with a heavy leather-bound book. This was Punishment Ninety-Six. The offense? I had missed a single phone call from my stepsister, Joyce. According to Don Austen Ballard, ignoring the woman who allegedly saved his life fifteen years ago was akin to high treason. "Discipline is the highest form of love, Alana," he whispered, watching the violet bruise spread across my skin. He calls shattering an architect's hand "love." He believes Joyce dragged him from a burning building when he was a boy. He treats her like a living saint and me like a punching bag to pay his life debt. But it is all a lie. Fifteen years ago, Joyce was at a cheerleading camp three towns away. I was the one in that crawlspace. I was the one who found the bleeding boy in the dark. I was the one who called him "Stellen" because he was too terrified to tell me his real name. He has spent our entire marriage torturing his true savior to please a fraud. Tonight, the pain finally burned away my fear, leaving only cold resolve. I didn't cry. I waited until the house was silent, then I retrieved a burner phone hidden in a false bottom of a box in the bathroom. I dialed the number of his sworn enemy, Don Dalton Underwood. "I have the blueprints," I said, my voice steady despite the agony in my hand. "And I have the controlling shares of Ballard Industries. I'm ready to burn his kingdom to ash."

I was the black sheep of the wealthy Jenkins family, the villain in my adopted sister Jami's perfect story. Everyone adored her, the sweet, innocent heroine. I was just the difficult one. Then, a system uploaded itself into my brain, showing me the script of my life. It wasn't just a story where I was the bad guy-it was a detailed blueprint for my entire family's destruction, all orchestrated by Jami. The script showed how she would drive one brother to suicide, frame another for a crime he didn't commit, and leave me for a gruesome "accidental" death, making her the sole heir to their fortune. My family saw her as an angel. They were completely blind, worshiping the very monster who was plotting to bury them all. But the system that showed me this horrifying future also gave me a weapon. It let me hear their thoughts. And then, at the family gala, I realized something even better. They could hear mine.

For seven years, I was the perfect girlfriend to Hollywood star Ethan Cleveland. I put my life on hold, baked his favorite pastries, and silently endured the online hate from fans who wanted him with his co-star, Keira. Then came my 29th birthday. He said he had a late-night script meeting, but I discovered the truth: he was at a private clinic, comforting Keira as she confessed her feelings for him. He publicly defended Keira from online harassment, calling for kindness. But when I received death threats from his fans, he called me "dramatic" and "insecure." He was capable of empathy and protection, just never for me. The man who claimed to love me was systematically destroying my self-worth while playing the hero for the world. So I left. And when he finally tracked me down, trying to reclaim what he'd lost, I did something I never thought I would. I turned to the new man by my side-the one who truly saw me-and kissed him right in front of my ex.

The doctor told me I had weeks to live. But the real death sentence was seeing my fiancé's hand slip into my best friend's outside the hospital room. They thought I didn't see. They had already turned my little brother against me, the boy I raised. He called her "Mom" now. At their engagement party, held in my house and paid for with my money, he looked me in the eye. "I hate you!" My own family praised her for being a "natural mother," while the world celebrated their love story. They saw a weak, dying woman, too broken to fight back. They thought they had won. So I gave them everything they wanted-my company, my fortune, my blessing. But I also left behind one final gift, a dead woman's last words. When I die, they will inherit my empire, but they will be forever branded by a legacy of eternal shame.

The world came back in pieces: gasoline, twisted metal, and a searing pain in my leg. Through the shattered windshield, I saw my wife, Olivia, scramble not to me, her injured husband, but to the passenger door, frantic over our "assistant," Liam. She cradled his head, her voice filled with a tenderness she hadn't shown me in years. "Liam? Liam, can you hear me? Oh my god, you're bleeding." Ignoring my gasps, she finally looked at me with pure irritation: "Ethan. Your phone. Call an ambulance. Liam is hurt." The cold clarity hit me: I didn't exist for her. Then, in the hospital, I learned my leg was shattered, and Olivia's first words concerned the hospital bill, not my well-being. Liam, she announced, was out with a concussion, making our household a "disaster." I was just a logistical problem. As she left, a nurse brought "my favorite chicken soup," supposedly from Olivia. But Liam's Instagram later showed the identical thermos, captioned: "Best boss in the world! Nothing like Olivia's homemade chicken soup to make you feel better." It was never for me. The final blow came when I found a positive pregnancy test and a receipt for a "Surgical Procedure" in Olivia's hidden box, dated the same week she claimed a "solo business retreat." She'd been pregnant with Liam's child and terminated it, all while pushing me to continue IVF. The numbness shattered. My marriage, my decade of love, was a cruel, pathetic joke. Now, amidst the wreckage of my shattered life, I picked up my phone, my hands steady, and dialed the fertility clinic, then a divorce lawyer. It was time for my truth.

My world revolved around the resonant strings of my cello and the man I loved, Ethan. Even after the devastating miscarriage, I tried to find solace in music, in the quiet rhythm of our opulent New York life. But that life shattered on a single, horrific night. Ethan claimed he wanted to cheer me up with a party, but it was a trap. As his "associates" brutalized me, he stood by, silently recording every agonizing detail. He used the footage to force a divorce and strip me of everything. The video went viral, branding me a "sick debauchee" and turning my family against me. I was a pariah, utterly alone. Then, Caleb, Ethan's rival, emerged, offering solace and protection. I fell into his arms, believing him my savior, only to discover on our wedding day that he was the true architect of my public humiliation, the one who purposefully leaked the video to snag me. My gilded cage marriage to Caleb was a new hell. He subjected me to constant psychological torture, culminating in the ultimate public re-traumatization: replaying my complete, unedited assault video at a high-society charity gala for everyone to see. Broken and hollow, I became a captive ghost in my own life. How could I be so completely betrayed, not once, but twice, by the men closest to me? The raw injustice, the ceaseless pain, threatened to consume me. What unspeakable darkness festered beneath the surface of their ambition, driving them to destroy me so utterly? Just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, a call from my revered cello maestro ignited a faint, burning ember of hope. He called me a phoenix and promised not just survival, but an inferno of revenge. My destruction had merely been the prelude to a symphony of retribution.

Three years in gilded-cage Florence. Now I was back in Napa Valley, clutching my wedding invitation. My adoptive parents had exiled me with a brutal command: "Don't come back until Ethan is purged from your heart." I was here to marry Noah Williams, Ethan's best friend, proving I had moved on from my devastating, unrequited love for my adoptive brother. But then I saw him, at his family vineyard, his new, very public actress girlfriend, Brooke, clinging to him. He smirked, pulled her into a passionate kiss right in front of me, then scoffed when I presented my invitation. He ripped it to shreds, calling it a "pathetic stunt" to get his attention. From that moment, his cruelty, fueled by Brooke's manipulative games, became relentless. At poolside parties, at my final dress fitting, they mocked my engagement, fabricating lies, even allowing Brooke to physically harm me. He believed every accusation, every feigned sob, leaving me injured and humiliated. "Stop the theatrics, Ava," he'd sneered, ignoring my bleeding arm, rushing Brooke to safety over a minor scratch. My own adoptive parents silently approved of my torment, concerned only with their perfect family image. How could the boy who once protected me become this cold, heartless stranger? Why did he refuse to believe I had moved on? Every act of cruelty, every dismissal, twisted the knife of a love I was desperate to bury. My past with him was a nightmare that wouldn't end. On my wedding day, just before the ceremony, he abandoned me yet again for Brooke's false emergency, convinced I wouldn't go through with it. But as his car pulled away, a quiet resolve settled within me. His final act of abandonment was my true release. I was finally free. And he would never have power over me again.

Everyone envied my life. I was Sarah Miller, the picture-perfect wife of high-tech CEO Ethan Hayes – a modern power couple, constantly featured in glossy magazines. Publicly, he was my adoring husband, showering me with grand gestures. It looked like a dream. But behind the scenes, I discovered a nightmare. Hidden on his private cloud, disguised as corporate files, were explicit photos and messages. My husband, Ethan, and his ambitious Head of Communications, Chloe Vance. He called me "The Anchor," his "dutiful, boring wife," a deadweight holding him back. When confronted, he didn' t deny; he gaslighted. "You' re just stressed, Sarah. After everything I' ve done." He weaponized my father' s illness, reminding me how he' d "saved" me, built "this life for us," how I "owed" him. The betrayal was no momentary lapse; it was a brazen, parallel life, constantly flaunted by Chloe' s smug social media posts. I realized I was suffocating in a beautiful, empty museum, a gilded cage. His "sacrifices" and "kindnesses" weren't love; they were chains. He twisted my vulnerability into perpetual debt. The man the world adored was a monster, and my "perfect" life was a suffocating lie. How could I escape? Then, a thick envelope arrived. A letter from an estranged, wealthy grandmother I barely knew, naming me the beneficiary of a colossal family trust. This was it. My way out. I was done being his accessory. I was done being Sarah Hayes.

I thought leaving Hollywood, branded a plagiarist and heartbroken, would bury the past forever. My film school dream, "Desert Bloom," was supposed to be my triumph, a shared vision with Isabella Hayes, my muse and first love. Instead, it became my ruin, as Isabella, seduced by Julian Vance, the slick heir of a rival studio, coldly betrayed me. She stood on stage, her voice trembling with feigned sincerity, publicly accusing me of stealing my own script, conceived in our golden days. The humiliation was a physical agony, a death sentence for my nascent career, forcing me to flee to Europe a broken man. How could the woman who once looked at me like I held the stars in my hands, surrender our shared dream, our love, for a manipulative con artist? I rebuilt my life from the ashes, finding solace in a new career, a loving wife, Olivia, and our beautiful daughter, Lily, who became my anchor. But now, years later, the past has crashed back. I'm back at my old school, and Isabella, the architect of my ruin, is here too, brazenly trying to rewrite history. She's publicly proposing we "reunite" to finally make "Desert Bloom," attempting to reclaim a story she deliberately destroyed. She expects me to play along, to let her manipulate my narrative, to fall back into her toxic orbit. She has no idea about the life I've painstakingly built, or how fiercely I will protect it. Tonight, the ghost of my past will finally face the undeniable truth of my present.

"We do not talk. Ever," she warned, her voice trembling with a year's worth of rage. Brendon Hampton was Manhattan's ultimate "simp," using wealth and shallow socialites to silence his past. But during a lavish dinner, he snapped. He walked out, moved into a luxury apartment-and found Kiera Richards, the girl he ghosted during his father's scandal, standing in his new living room. Reunion is a nightmare. Kiera, now an "Ice Queen," looks at him with pure loathing. A housing glitch and a massive lease penalty trap them together. She reveals his disappearance cost her more than her heart-it shattered her mental health and her violin career at Juilliard. Brendon endures her hatred daily, unable to explain that federal agents seized his phone and his father had a heart attack. He abides by her rigid rules of silence, treated like a biohazard in his own home. Everything changes during a blackout. As a storm rages, Kiera's icy mask cracks-and she collapses into his arms, terrified of the dark. In the shadows, Brendon notices she still wears the necklace he gave her long ago. The war isn't over, but he's no longer just a roommate-he's a man determined to win back the soul he destroyed.

Kimberly West is the only daughter to the influential couple Kris and Jerk West, they are into agriculture and real estate, Kimberly is been raised up poorly by her mom who thinks the poor are people not to mingle with, as such she hates seeing the poor, only did she knew that she was going to fall in love with Shay the middle-class boy. She hates seeing him in company with other girls like Jennifer and her ex-best friend Malyse. What will be Kimberly’s reaction when she finds out she is in love with Shay?

Joy, a young girl who longs for love and a stable home life, is at odds with her father and resentful of her new nanny. Beatrice, a kind-hearted university student seeking a summer job, steps in to care for Joy and brings a ray of hope to their household. But when Joy's estranged mother returns and Beatrice finds herself caught in a love triangle with George, Joy's father, and his best friend Joel, tensions rise and relationships are put to the test. As the secrets and betrayals come to light, Beatrice must decide if she can forgive and move forward, or if it's time to leave the past behind. "The Nanny's Summer" is a heartwarming story of family, love, and the power of forgiveness.

Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you? Amaya yelled, tears streaming from her eyes. Standing beside the window, Rylan Delacroix grinned friguously. Your presence. "The crime you committed is being your father's daughter," he said, his eyes gleaming with delight. How could that be a crime? Amaya murmured, pain tearing through her voice. Rylan's face darkened. "Your father is just paying the cost; you owe me. "Don't complain." She said nothing, but he expected a reply. Rylan grabbed her hair and pulled her near as she glided in. "Amaya, you cannot die now. Just now is the beginning. Blinded by retribution, Rylan uses Amaya to suffer for her father's transgressions. Still, he falls for her anywhere along the road. She betrays him just when he releases his resentment. She was his wife, his possession, one minute. She disappeared then, standing next another man, severing his universe. His might, his riches, all he created broke. He is now once more seeking retribution, a struggle with the lady he loves. Was Rylan naive to a more dishonesty, or did Amaya actually betray him?

She was the quiet girl from a small town, untouched by love, untouched by life. He was the arrogant billionaire who could have any woman-except her. When Ivy Carter moves to the city for a fresh start, the last thing she expects is to catch the attention of Adrian Blackwood-CEO of Blackwood Enterprises, notorious playboy, and New York's most desired bachelor. One accidental meeting. One impossible contract. One rule: Don't fall in love. But rules were made to be broken. And the more Adrian tries to own her body, the more she steals his heart. He's used to controlling everything-until he meets the one woman he can't control. She's pure, innocent, and completely off-limits. And yet, he can't stay away. Will her first love be her biggest mistake? Or will she tame the billionaire no one else could?

I signed my name on that marriage contract for one reason: revenge against the man who destroyed my father. One year as billionaire's perfect wife, then I'd ruin him completely. Simple. Until I found the safe with evidence of murder. Until I realized the little girl I'm raising might be his daughter. Until his touches and kisses made me forget why I hate him. Now the threats have begun. Someone knows what I'm hiding and what I've found. Everything will be exposed... but I'm no longer sure who the real villain is.

Gabriella POV "Mommy is right please." My twin promised Abrla. "Can Riella don't respond!" She shrugged at Mommy's cry to her. "You! You did nothing but go on a walk and go with your friends!" "Hopefully, I wish Abriella just came out of my womb. We have no problem now!" "Mommy please don't say that it's right for our birthday tomorrow please even now let's be okay." I cried looking at my twins so well, I was grateful that he was my twin. "That will never happen Riella as long as that girl is here." "Mommy I'm sorry it's not true that it's just that ---" I didn't finish what I was saying when I received a strong slap. He looked at me badly. "It's frustrating to hear your lies Gabriella." "I'm sorry I didn't do anything." She cried when Mommy left but I looked at her and kissed her on the forehead. "It'll be okay to Riella no, I'm fine." "Ate-- shshs I'm okay, everything is gonna be okay." I continued. He hugged me but he kept crying. I smiled in the mirror. I'm really nice. It was our day when I was my twin. "Hmn is really nice to my son oh." "Mommy, I know that." "Look mommy! My twin is so good oh." She promised but I ignored her. "I'll take care of the guests first Riella, gurl make you look good!" "Yes!" "All right, I'll go first." The makeup ended with them and we were smiling as we went down and as usual and no-one-grande was a very sweet guest here. Riella smiled at me! "Let's just enjoy it." "Haha yes na Riella." "This is Riella my son and this is the wisest! Is he still good right?" Suddenly I was looking at it what he meant but what else could I expect that he would not introduce me as a child. "Babe?" A familiar one I heard was that I smiled at her. Thanks for being here he came here and my boyfriend is here. But what I thought was that it was a hug. "Babe H-Uppy Birthday!" I thought I was the one who embraced my twin, Babe? Did he call Apriella a babe? WTF!

Prologue My hand was shaking as I left the bathroom. I hid the Pregnancy Test in the pocket of my pants before leaving the room. as usual, I'm the only one here in our huge house. I sat on the sofa and stopped the sobs that I had been holding in for a while. I took the pt out of my pocket and two red lines were revealed to me. *thud!* I immediately turned to face the door as it opened violently. My husband entered as if a woman was there. Nothing but its attachment. But in this household, I look like a fixture. "A-ahh Ki-Kione. A-you're here" I said and stood up. he just stared at me blankly and he moved his eyes to the girl with him. "Let's go babe. We're just wasting time to her" he said coldly and led the girl into his room. I immediately smiled brightly and wiped my runaway tears. I went to the garage and got into my car. I immediately turned it on and I just drove by drive. I want to go away especially now that we have children. I know he doesn't care about it. He despises me a lot. and I cannot bare to see my soon to be child being miserable because his/her dad hates his/her mom a lot. I don't want to hurt it. I'm a bitch, just don't let him.

In "I Am in Love with My Maid," the story revolves around Dave, a wealthy and ambitious young man, and Rachael, his dedicated and hardworking maid. Set against the backdrop of a luxurious estate, the novel explores their relationship, which begins as one based on the traditional employer-employee dynamic. Dave, initially unaware of his growing feelings for Rachael, begins to see her in a new light as he recognizes her strength, intelligence, and unwavering loyalty amidst the challenges they face. Rachael, on the other hand, is torn between her feelings for Dave and the societal expectations that dictate their relationship's boundaries. As the narrative unfolds, readers witness the evolution of their bond-from mutual respect to a deep romantic connection. They confront obstacles that arise from their different social standings, family pressures, and the judgment of others. Throughout the story, themes of love, ambition, and personal sacrifice are prevalent, as both characters must navigate their emotions and make difficult choices. Ultimately, "I Am in Love with My Maid" is a story about awakening to love in unexpected places and challenging societal norms, culminating in a heartfelt journey of self-discovery and acceptance for Dave and Rachael as they both strive to find their place in the world and each other's hearts.

Irene Lancaster is not just beautiful she is otherworldly. Her presence alone can silence a room, leaving men mesmerized and women insecure. With her striking features and ethereal elegance, she is untouchable, unreachable. But beneath her breathtaking beauty lies an icy heart. Irene does not smile. She does not cry. She does not waste her time on friendships or love. Why bother when nothing lasts? Diagnosed with a terminal illness, she has already accepted her fate. And she refuses to let anyone love her, because love only leads to grief. But Irene is more than just an untouchable beauty she is a mystery. She is the secret force behind I.V.Y, the number one fashion empire in the United States, a brand so powerful that elites fight to be the first to own its collections. She built it from the ground up, hidden from the media, from the public, from the world. No one knows who owns I.V.Y, and that's exactly how she wants it. Yet, even that is only part of who she is. Behind closed doors, Irene is one of the most highly sought-after consultants for top corporations a hidden mastermind whose name never leaves the executive boardrooms. She transforms companies from the shadows, on one condition: secrecy. Only the highest-ranking executives know of her involvement. No leaks. No exposure. No exceptions. Just as Ryan Damien Winthrop dominates the business world, Irene Lancaster reigns over the fashion world. Ryan Damien Winthrop is the kind of man people don't just notice they worship. Handsome beyond reason, so devastatingly attractive that women have fainted at the mere sight of him, he is the definition of unattainable. But Ryan has never cared for admiration. Cold-hearted and calculating, he only has two types of people in his world: his people and everyone else. Women? They are nothing more than distractions, a nuisance he has never entertained. Until he meets Irene. It happens once. Just one meeting. One look at her, and Ryan's world shifts. For the first time in his life, a woman captures his attention so completely that it unsettles him. He doesn't understand it, and neither does his cousin who also happens to be Irene's friend. Everyone knows Ryan Winthrop does not care for women. But with Irene, it's different. Determined to figure out what it is about her that has him so captivated, Ryan pursues her. But Irene couldn't care less about his interest. She treats him with the same cold indifference she gives to everyone. She rejects him, pushes him away, refuses to acknowledge his existence. She doesn't care about his looks, his power, or the fact that every other woman in the world would do anything for his attention. Ryan should have walked away. He should have lost interest, as he always does. But for some reason, he doesn't. He keeps coming back. Irene hates it. Hates him. And so, she makes a decision. If Ryan is so determined to have her, then she will make him regret ever wanting her. She will make him fall so deeply in love that when she's gone, he will grieve. She will destroy him the way love has destroyed so many before. But as she plays her cruel game, something unexpected happens she falls. The man she wanted to break becomes the only person who makes her feel alive. His presence, once irritating, becomes intoxicating. His love, once unwanted, becomes the only thing she craves. For the first time in her life, she wants more time. But time is not on her side. As her illness worsens, she faces an impossible choice: push Ryan away to spare him the pain, or hold on to the love she never expected to find. But Ryan doesn't let go of what's his, and he refuses to lose her without a fight. In a world where love and loss are inevitable, The Last Shooting Star asks: Is love worth the pain of goodbye?