Piao Guo

I spent my entire life loving Mark, the man who became my guardian after my parents died. For his return from a three-month trip, I cooked the perfect dinner, certain he would finally see me as a woman. Instead, he invited me to a celebratory dinner the next night, where he introduced me to his stunning fiancée. The celebration was for their engagement. "Isabelle, this is Clara," he said, his voice glowing with a love he had never shown me. "The one who's been like a little sister to me all these years." They spent the evening discussing their wedding plans, their shared joy a surreal torture. My years of devotion felt like a joke. He was so lost in his happiness that he never noticed my silence, the way my hope curdled into a thick, choking humiliation. I was invisible. But back in the apartment he paid for, an acceptance letter was waiting for me: a full scholarship to a design institute in Paris. When he found me packing the next day, demanding to know what was going on, I placed my key on the table. And I walked out of his life forever.

The steady hum of my tattoo gun was usually my sanctuary, but today, it couldn't drown out the screaming numbers on Olivia' s medical bill-a crushing reminder that my artistic integrity wouldn't save my sister. Then the bell above the door chimed, and she walked back into my life, a ghost from a past I' d desperately tried to outrun. Sophia Davis, the woman I' d chosen to brutally abandon five years ago to protect her from my "unworthy" existence, now stood in my humble studio, elegant and cold, looking like she' d stepped straight off a magazine cover. She didn't come to reminisce; she came to collect, dropping a blank check on Olivia's bill and declaring, "I want to see you beg, Ethan." My pride demanded I refuse, but the image of Olivia's frail face forced the humiliating words from my lips: "Please, Sophia, I need this job. I… I'll do anything." She watched, her eyes gleaming with triumph, before labeling me her "trophy artist," a personal possession to be controlled. I thought I understood her cold, calculated revenge-until a late-night call from her best friend led me to Sophia, drunk and vulnerable, muttering, "Get Ethan. He's my dog. He has to come when I call." As I carried her home, the ice queen slipped, hinting at a pain just as deep as mine, and a lingering desire to see me.

The last thing I remembered was the cold concrete against my cheek and the metallic taste of my own blood. Above the ringing in my ears, I heard Olivia, my wife, screaming, not for me, but for Ethan, her charming assistant. I had pushed her out of the way of falling scaffolding, saving her life, only for a steel pipe to crush mine; a minor gash on Ethan' s forehead was treated like a mortal wound while my entire life drained away. As paramedics rushed Ethan onto a stretcher, my vision blurred, and the brutal truth crystallized: all my sacrifices, years working to support her dreams, meant nothing. I was worth less than her lover's superficial cut, and my love for her finally died, just moments before I did. Then, I blinked. Suddenly, the sterile hospital smell was gone, replaced by Olivia' s familiar, expensive perfume, and I was standing whole, pain-free, in the living room of our ridiculously large, empty house. It was the night of our biggest fight, a week before the accident, a fight that had set the stage for the end. "Liam, I' m tired of this," she said, tossing a black credit card onto the coffee table. "Here. A million-dollar credit line. Go buy yourself whatever you want. Just stop acting like a wounded puppy every time I spend time with Ethan. It' s pathetic." In my past life, her words had shattered me, driving me to refuse the card and plead for her love, a futile mistake. But this time, I was reborn. I calmly picked up the card, a chilling question forming on my lips: "So I can spend as much as I want?"

The day I was supposed to get married, my world shattered. Headlines screamed: "Tech Mogul Liam Vance Dies in Fiery Car Crash." My white wedding dress hung unused, replaced by black. The world saw tragedy, but quickly, their grief turned into venom aimed solely at me. "She was probably a gold digger anyway." "Maybe she drove him to it." The whispers followed me, sympathy curdling into suspicion, especially once my pregnancy became known. Then, at his memorial, I saw him. A man identical to Liam, his cousin Daniel, their resemblance unsettlingly perfect. I overheard a conversation that obliterated my reality. "I never really liked Ava, that struggling architect," Liam's mother hissed, "But she\'s carrying your child. Was it worth faking your death and putting on such a show for that B-list influencer?" My fiancé wasn't dead. He had orchestrated his own demise, abandoned me, left me to a public firing squad, all for some woman named Chloe. His parents were complicit, their support nothing but a calculated act to secure their heir. The rage was a fire, burning away my grief. They thought I was resilient, a pawn to be discarded after I served my purpose. They had no idea who they were dealing with. I stumbled out, sending a message to a distant relative: "I\'ve made up my decision. Give me a month. I\'m willing to dedicate my life to humanitarian work, serving those in need for generations." A reply came instantly. "This path requires you to sever all worldly ties. You will become a vessel for a greater purpose. Are you prepared for that sacrifice?" My past was a lie, my future stolen. "Yes," I typed back. "I am."

Tonight was my engagement gala to Arthur, the renowned art dealer who was my mentor, my patron, and my entire world. He was giving a speech when he suddenly abandoned me on stage, in front of hundreds of guests, to rush to the side of his beautiful, widowed sister-in-law, Isabella. The public humiliation was crushing, but the true horror came later. I found them together, their long-standing affair undeniable, and in the ensuing confrontation, I fell down a flight of stairs and cracked my head open. At the hospital, I was bleeding out and in desperate need of a blood transfusion. I watched as Arthur, the man I loved, grabbed a doctor. But he didn't point at me. He pointed at Isabella, who was faking a fainting spell beside him. "Give her the blood!" he screamed, his voice filled with panic. "My fiancée is pregnant with my child!" He was willing to let me die. The man I had pulled from the depths of grief, whose career I had sacrificed my own to rebuild, was ready to sacrifice my life for his manipulative mistress and her fabricated pregnancy. My love wasn't just unrequited; it was a liability he was trying to discard. As my vision faded to black, my heart didn't just break; it turned to ice. When I opened my eyes again, the girl who loved Arthur Thorne was dead. And the woman who would destroy him had just been born.

The hospital board' s letter felt like a death sentence for my career, accusing me of medical negligence and intellectual property theft. I knew immediately who was behind this malicious attack: Julian Vance, my father' s former protégé, a man whose brilliance was shadowed only by his ruthless ambition. My world, painstakingly built through years of dedication as a neurosurgeon, was crumbling, and my ailing father, Dr. Arthur Reed, sat distant and lost to the neurological disorder slowly stealing him from me. Julian, once a trusted family friend, now stood on my doorstep with fake concern, twisting my deepest vulnerabilities-my mother's death, my sacrifice of a prestigious fellowship to care for my father-into accusations of emotional instability. He wasn't just trying to steal my father's groundbreaking research; he was actively poisoning every relationship, every support system I had, culminating in the cruelest blow yet: manipulating authorities to have my father forcibly removed from his home and hospitalized, cutting off all my access. I was left trembling, collapsed on the floor, watching him walk away with a triumphant smirk, convinced he had won. But as a lifeline appeared in the form of a loyal friend and unexpected allies, a cold fury began to replace my despair. He thought I was broken, that I would give up. He was wrong. This wasn't just about my father's legacy anymore; it was about reclaiming my own story.

I married Ethan Lester, the charming golden boy everyone in Garnet, Texas, adored. He was everything a woman could want: successful, handsome, from a prominent family. But as I moved into his duplex, bringing my younger sister Sabrina along for the summer, a chilling apprehension settled in. His mother, Martha, immediately saw something unsettling in Sabrina. She warned her husband, "That girl, the younger one… she looks at Ethan in a way that' s not right." What Martha couldn't know was that my sister wasn't looking at Ethan with desire, but with the haunting memory of a night four years ago. A night when a powerful, popular high school contractor from a good family cornered a terrified teenage girl. A night when he hurt her, then told her no one would ever believe her. That girl was my sister, Sabrina, and the charming golden boy was her attacker. We couldn' t go to the police; it was his word against hers, his family's reputation against ours. Justice was a concept foreign to this town. So I planned a different kind of justice. I married the monster. I brought my sister back into his life. And now, with the town' s whispers as our weapon, the trap was set.

Three years. Three long years since I died for Kaelen Thorne, Lord of Blackwood Manor, battling a magical storm that threatened us all. But as I lay dying, he shielded her, the woman he truly favored, dismissing me as "a pale imitation, a mere convenience." My last breath was a choked whisper of disbelief, fueling a hatred so profound it tore my soul from my body, anchoring it to this desolate, storm-swept graveyard. For three years, I wandered the Grey Wastes, a spectral entity consumed by bitter malice, until I found myself screaming at his grave, a furious phantom. He flinched, haunted by my voice, convinced I was a vengeful spirit. But then, a spectral Caretaker revealed the brutal truth: Kaelen was bound by a Shadow Curse, forced to feign indifference, compelled to push away his true beloved to protect them both. Just as his despair triggered a forbidden ritual at my empty tomb, I gasped, air flooding my lungs. I was back in my body, three years in the past. Tonight, I will rewrite our cursed destiny. Tonight, he' ll learn what I truly am.

I was an elite operative, days from marrying the man I loved, ready for a life beyond the grit of Central Asia. Then, an IED ripped through my world. My legs were shattered, my career over. My fiancé, Kevin, abandoned me for my own sorority sister, leaving me broken and wheelchair-bound. My CEO, Marcus, became my charismatic savior, vowing love and a luxurious future. I married him, and soon, I was pregnant with 'his' heir. Eight months pregnant, I overheard his call. The ambush that crippled me and cost me everything? He orchestrated it, deeming my shattered body a 'necessary sacrifice' for his corporate ascendancy. But the true horror emerged: my unborn child wasn't 'ours.' He was planning to genetically alter my baby, making it resemble my ex-fiancé, all to appease my ex-sorority sister, Jessica, whose husband was infertile. Every painful 'vitamin injection' during my prenatal care? Part of his diabolical plan to replace my heritage with hers. I was a pawn, a vessel, my life and body utterly violated, all for a woman who wasn't even his mistress. They think I' m defeated. A crippled, heartbroken woman. But they forgot who I am: a soldier forged in fire. And this unwitting host is about to become their worst nightmare.

I woke up staring at the familiar water-stained ceiling of my teenage bedroom. My SAT scores and a local community college acceptance letter sat on my desk, marking the day I was supposed to fill out college applications. Just weeks after high school graduation, this was it. Except, it wasn't just a day. It was the day. The starting point of a previous life filled with relentless hunger, brutal beatings, and my family' s chilling neglect. A life that led, eventually, to my agonizing death. I remembered everything: my mother Brenda' s venomous hate, my father David' s chilling indifference, and my brother Kevin' s endless demands. I remembered the pregnancy, my mother's deliberate cruelty, letting me bleed out until it was too late. I died. A loud bang on the door shattered the quiet. "Sarah! Get those damn applications filled out!" Brenda's voice, a dreadful screech, tried to drag me back into the nightmare. The old fear coiled, sharp and cold, but the memory of my death and lost child burned hotter. Not this time. I would not live that life again. Unsteady on my feet, I walked to the door. "I'm not going to community college," I declared, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm applying to a four-year university. A good one. Far away." This time, I would save myself.

For seven years, I lived at the Thorne estate, exchanging my unique blood for my Appalachian people's safety, forever tethered to the volatile heir, Declan. My plasma was the only thing that calmed his violent dementia, leaving me with a fragile peace and my young son, Liam. Then, Declan's ex-girlfriend, Cassie Lowell, returned—beautiful, pregnant, and armed with a cold, malicious intent. Cassie systematically poisoned Declan's mind against me. Under her calculated influence, he denied vital medicine for my gravely ill son, Liam, leaving me to watch him die. My beloved grandmother, Grana, followed, locked away by a deluded Declan until she perished in the bitter cold. The escalating torment cost me another child, lost to the trauma, as he desecrated my family’s ashes, pouring them into a storm drain. How could the man I bled for become such a monstrous puppet, utterly consumed by deceit? Was this the end for Elara Vance, stripped of all? But amidst my despair, a hidden recording surfaced, exposing Cassie's cold, calculated plot to destroy us all and seize the Thorne empire. Forced to face this horrific truth, Declan finally made Cassie pay for her treachery. Now, having lost everything, a shattered Elara would embark on her solitary path toward a quiet justice.

My husband, Ethan, always said the money was in my account for my birthday, but that thin comfort barely masked the ache of five years of neglect. Every year, on our shared birthday, he’d be "swamped with work," while his childhood friend and my birthday twin, Chloe, got the full Ethan Davis production – elaborate plans, thoughtful gifts, all the attention I craved. He’d even bought this stunning silver sequined dress, making me foolishly believe this year might be different, that it was for me, only to overhear him in the bathroom, tenderness dripping from his voice for Chloe, calling me "not a toddler" who needed her hand held. Then, the Instagram post. Chloe, beaming, wearing *my* supposed birthday dress, planting a kiss on Ethan’s cheek, captioning it, "Best birthday ever with my one and only protector!" Five years of turning a blind eye, of justifying his absence, of trying to understand his "charity case," evaporated into a cold, hard rage. I was a wife who simply wanted her husband to remember her birthday, to prioritize her over his childhood flame who clearly wanted to be more than friends. And for that, I was dismissed, humiliated, a "placeholder" in my own marriage. But that moment, seeing his brazen betrayal plastered online, was the last straw. I typed, "This trash is yours now. Have fun with him," under Chloe’s post, and then announced on my own Facebook: "After five years, I’ve decided to file for divorce from Ethan Davis. Some things just aren’t worth fighting for anymore." I was done being the invisible wife; it was time to choose myself.

A glass of wine sent her straight into the devil's trap. To save her friend, Carol got herself into trouble when she fell into the hands of a group of gangsters. However, once enraptured by her beauty, the mysterious CEO, Sebastian, decided to protect her. After all, he didn't want to lose such a fetching prey. But while he thought he would be the winner of the game of love, as he always was, jealousy was quick to prove him wrong. Undoubtedly, Carol had nowhere to run now.

A lone misunderstanding was all it took for Amanda to hate Felix. After finding the man standing on the foot of her bed, with a bloodied knife in his hand and her sole family member's maimed corpse at his feet, she ignored all he had to say and sent him to prison. But she had made a terrible mistake. Felix was his only savior and she had let down her one true love. Then she was reborn and decided to do nothing this life other than to love him.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.

Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit. The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena. This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone.

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins-a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. "It's time to reveal your true identity, darling."

Betrayed by her fiancé and stepsister a day before her wedding shattered all Lina's dreams about love. She was heartbroken and in pain. Being drugged and unknowingly loosing her virginity to a stranger is not as painful as being betrayed by her loved ones. She promised to make her pretentious step sister and her unfaithful fiancé pay back hundredfold for what they did to her. On her journey to seek revenge, the stranger she had a one night stand with, came knocking at her door with a marriage contract in hand. Without her knowing he was the one she has that blissful one night stand with, she agreed on the marriage contract for some reasons. Will she find out he was the one she had that blissful one night stand with? Will she fall in love with him after being betrayed? Will she be able to get her revenge on those that betrayed her? Find out in this amazing book "Contracted After Being Betrayed"