Rabbit

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."

The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost. Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal. This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline. I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war.

My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune. For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me." He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster. He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous. The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built.

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."

I spent three years playing the mousy, supportive wife to tech mogul Julian Vanderbilt, fixing his code and hiding my past as an elite special ops captain. Everything shattered at our anniversary gala when I saw my mother's heirloom emerald necklace hanging around the neck of Julian's mistress. When I confronted him, Julian didn't even look up from his drink, telling me to stop being "territorial" because I was too plain to wear such jewelry anyway. The humiliation peaked when he refused to attend my parents' military repatriation the next morning, choosing an investor brunch with his mistress instead. I stood in our penthouse watching him dote on her, realizing I had used my parents' death benefits to build a throne for a man who treated me like disposable trash. I couldn't understand how the man I had quietly saved from a burning yacht years ago could be so blind to the warrior standing right in front of him. He had no idea that the very empire he bragged about was built entirely on my technology and my sacrifice. I didn't argue; I simply went to the safe and pulled out my black beret and my high-level security credentials. As I revoked his admin access and watched his billion-dollar world begin to glitch, I walked out to meet the military honor guard. It was time to remind Julian Vanderbilt exactly who he had married-and exactly how much it was going to cost him to lose me.

The silence in St. Patrick's Cathedral wasn't peaceful; it was a physical weight on Stella's shoulders, heavier than her wedding dress. She stood alone at the altar, ready for her perfect life, when her phone vibrated with a text that shattered everything. Her fiancé, Bryce, messaged just moments before the vows: "I can't do this. Monica needs me. I'm sorry." Monica, her maid of honor, was the reason he fled. Bryce's mother then publicly shamed Stella, implying her career ambition drove him away. The betrayal of her sacrifices, her future, and her dignity ignited a white-hot rage. Stella ripped off her veil, grabbed the microphone, and exposed the groom and maid of honor's affair to the stunned guests before storming out. A furious wreck in her ruined gown, she stumbled on the cathedral steps, meeting Julian Sterling, the "Cursed Son" in a wheelchair. He offered no pity, only a detached assessment. In a defiant, adrenaline-fueled moment, Stella crouched and asked, "Are you single?" Julian, needing a strategic alliance against his family, agreed to a cold, transactional marriage of convenience. With the City Clerk's office hours ticking down, Stella tore her dress, determined to forge a new path of vengeance and desperate necessity.

I woke up in a bed of Egyptian cotton with a jackhammer headache and the naked CEO of my company sleeping beside me. I was a low-level analyst who had accidentally texted the world's most ruthless billionaire instead of my crush. Now, Sebastian Sterling wasn't just my boss-he was the man who owned my debt, my marriage, and a secret that was currently burning us both alive. He forced me into a cold-blooded marriage contract, trading my mother's life-saving medical bills for a year of my life as his trophy wife. I thought I was just a pawn in his corporate war against his ex-fiancée, but the tattoo over his heart-0825-held the date of the fire that destroyed my childhood and killed my peace. He hadn't just found me; he had been watching me from the shadows since I was twelve. He built a fortress of money and lies around me, manipulating my every move while his family tried to have me erased. When they finally targeted my mother and my son, I realized I couldn't just be a victim anymore. I fled to the industrial slums of Newark, erasing my identity to hunt down the ledgers that could put his family behind bars. But Sebastian didn't let me go; he stripped off his suits and checked out of his penthouse to follow me into the grime. Now, he's posing as a low-life driver named Ben, watching over me from a beat-up SUV while I infiltrate a criminal syndicate. He thinks he's my guardian angel, but I'm the one holding the match that will either save his empire or burn it to the ground.

My husband promised me forever, but gave me endless lies. On our anniversary, I found his secrets on social media, exposed by his mistress. He didn't just break my heart; he broke my entire world. Seraphina sat alone in her opulent mansion, preparing their anniversary dinner, feeling the suffocating weight of her cold, hollow marriage. An Instagram post from Tiffany Sloan then brazenly revealed Harrison's hand at a romantic dinner, shattering his flimsy excuses and exposing his blatant infidelity. The betrayal turned Seraphina's despair into cold resolve. He gaslighted her, dismissed her pain, and reminded her she was "nothing." He chose his mistress over her dying brother, caused her to break an ankle, and finally abandoned her on a desolate street corner, stripped of dignity. How could she have sacrificed her entire violin career for a man who so casually discarded her? Under that bridge, her foolish love died, leaving only a fierce desire for reclamation. Shivering and alone, a faded flyer for a violin teacher caught her eye. It was a defiant whisper of her old self, a promise: Seraphina Vanderbilt was gone, and a new Seraphina was finally free.

I stood in the freezing New York rain, holding a massive umbrella over my husband's mistress while the downpour soaked me to the bone. Julian didn't even look at me; he just tucked Scarlett closer and told me to take a taxi home so they could have "privacy" in the Rolls Royce. When I finally made it back to the penthouse, shivering and sick, Julian was waiting with divorce papers. "Scarlett is back for good," he said coldly. "She saved my life once, and I owe her everything. You were just a placeholder." He didn't know I was six weeks pregnant. He didn't know that I was the one who actually pulled his unconscious body from the surf that night while Scarlett watched from the shore, waiting to steal the credit. I signed the papers, faked a miscarriage, and vanished. I spent five years in London building an empire from nothing, raising twins who share his brooding eyes and his billion-dollar silhouette. Now, I've returned to Manhattan as the powerhouse CEO of his biggest competitor. Julian Vanderbilt thinks he can buy his way back into my life? He's about to find out that some debts are paid in ruin, not gold.

Sienna Sullivan entered the penthouse not as a bride, but as a business transaction to pay off her family's debts. Manhattan's most ruthless billionaire, Julian Vanderbilt, expected a submissive wife, but he purchased a woman who was secretly a global fashion icon and a lethal operative. When he finally tried to lock her in a gilded cage to "protect" her, Sienna didn't just walk away-she jumped from his moving Rolls-Royce to reclaim her own crown. The arrangement was a psychological prison. Julian paraded fake heroines in her face, never realizing Sienna was the "Ghost," the soldier who had already saved his life in a war zone years ago. While she bled in the shadows to keep his empire from crumbling, he dismissed her as a mousy tutor. The humiliation was absolute as her family mocked her as a "charity case" and Julian treated her like a fragile doll. He ignored the warrior who was the true power behind his throne, choosing to prioritize his own secrets over her safety. She realized Julian didn't want a partner; he wanted a possession to hide in a vault. The discovery that he would never trust the woman beneath the mask was the final betrayal. He only loved the version of her he could control. Sienna finally chose to burn the bridge. After neutralizing an assassin in a designer gown, she tossed her wedding ring into a puddle and vanished into the night. She wasn't running from the fire; she was going back to the desert to finish the war. The Queen has left the board, and the King is coming for blood.

Sera stood at the altar, ready to renew vows with Lucas Sterling, a public declaration of their solid marriage. But in that holy silence, Lucas answered his phone, his voice booming, "Naomi? I'm coming." He then turned, eyes cold, declaring, "It's over," abandoning her mid-ceremony. The crowd gasped. His family humiliated her, calling her "trash." He then cut off all her money, stranding her in a downpour. The cruelest blow: his sister revealed Lucas had gossiped about Sera's deepest trauma-a past kidnapping-mocking her belief he was her savior. This betrayal shattered Sera's loyalty, replacing pain with cold rage. How could he expose that secret? And why did powerful Julian Thorne appear, whispering, "I've known who you are for a long time," as if privy to her past? With her last attachment severed, Sera pulled out her encrypted phone. Her voice chilling, she commanded, "Target Sterling Supply Chain. Initiate Phase One: Disruption." Her counterattack had begun.

To have a child with her husband, who had fertility issues, she agreed to undergo in vitro fertilization. However, she inadvertently discovered that she had been used as a means to have a child by her husband and his mistress. The embryos used in the procedure had been swapped by her husband, replacing them with his sperm and the mistress's egg. Devastated by the betrayal, she decided to go to the hospital to terminate the pregnancy. Yet, the doctor revealed an unexpected twist: due to a nurse's mistake, the child she was carrying was actually hers and that of a stranger. And this stranger turned out to be the mafia leader! Thus began a series of unforeseen complications.

“Drive this woman out!” "Throw this woman into the sea!” When he doesn’t know Debbie Nelson’s true identity, Carlos Hilton cold-shoulders her. “Mr. Hilton, she is your wife,” Carlos’ secretary reminded him. Hearing that, Carlos gives him a cold stare and complained, “why didn’t you tell me earlier?” From then on, Carlos spoils her rotten. Little did everyone expect that they would get a divorce.

My husband openly mocked me at a glittering gala, then touched another woman with the tenderness he once saved for me. That night, I ripped off the diamond necklace that felt like a noose, left my gilded cage, and vanished into the city. I was done being his trophy; I was ready to reclaim my life. Elara Vance existed as Ethan Sterling's trophy wife, her brilliance suffocated by his glamorous, controlling world. At a Met gala, Ethan's public flirtation with an intern and dismissive ""fix your face"" command shattered Elara. Her quiet ""No"" sparked defiance. Elara abandoned her opulent life with a ""I quit"" note. Ethan froze her assets, expecting her return. Instead, Elara, using hidden crypto, plotted a return to academia as Ethan's desperate control escalated. Injustice burned. Ethan saw only his reflection. His betrayal hardened into icy indifference, fueling a fierce resolve for freedom. A symbolic snip of her long hair severed the past. Elara applied to Columbia, a scientist reclaiming her future from the gilded cage.

Eleanor Vance had spent a lifetime trying to earn her family's love, offering them her heart, her talent, and her quiet devotion. But on Cassandra's birthday, her peace offering was met with a vicious lie and a stinging slap across the face. In that single, shattering moment, Eleanor realized she had been buying tickets to a bus that would never come, and something inside her snapped. Her adopted sister, Cassandra, always commanded their parents' adoration, leaving Eleanor a perpetual shadow. So when Cassandra theatrically dropped Eleanor's painstakingly restored emerald brooch, blaming her, Eleanor's mother, Vivian, lashed out with a stinging slap. Her father, Robert, coldly demanded an apology, choosing a manipulator's tears over his own daughter's truth. The familiar ache in Eleanor's chest confirmed their twisted love was not for her. A quiet, terrifying resolve settled within her. She knelt, not in humility, but with chilling purpose, tossed the emerald brooch into the roaring fireplace. ""You don't deserve it,"" she stated, devoid of warmth. Later, from a hidden compartment, she pulled out a sleek, black burner phone. ""It's time,"" Eleanor whispered. ""Initiate Phase One. Prepare the assets.""

After seven years in a dungeon for a crime I didn't commit, my fated mate, the Alpha who let them drag me away, finally opened my cell door. He announced I would take my place as his Luna, not out of love, but because the law demanded it. But the moment a frantic mind-link came through that his precious Seraphina-my adopted sister, the one who framed me-was having trouble breathing, he abandoned me without a second glance. That night, huddled in a dusty shack, I overheard my own parents' secret conversation. They were planning to have me exiled. Permanently. My return had upset Seraphina, and her "weak heart" couldn't take the shock. I lay there in the darkness, feeling nothing. Not surprise. Not even pain. Just a profound, empty coldness. They were casting me out. Again. But as they plotted my exile, a secret message arrived for me-an offer of escape. A new life in a sanctuary far to the north, where I could leave the Blackmoon Pack behind forever. They thought they were getting rid of me. Little did they know, I was already gone.

My world crumbled the day I held my death sentence in my hands. My husband, Sebastian, thought I was strong, a socialite wife who had "everything." He didn't know my body was already betraying me, just like he was. At twenty-five, I was Catherine Vanderbilt, wife to a Manhattan titan, but my body was quietly giving up. A doctor's report confirmed it: critical kidney failure, a terrifying secret whispering through my veins. My marriage, a fragile dance of silence, felt like it was balanced on a knife's edge. When I tried to talk about starting a family, Sebastian dismissed me as greedy, comparing me to his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Serena. Then, on our anniversary, a panicked call from Serena sent him rushing out, leaving me alone with my pain and the terrifying truth of my failing health. He didn't come home, returning only to give me a diamond bracelet – a golden shackle. He made me sign an NDA, legally binding me to silence as he hired Serena, bringing her into our company. I found them in his office, Serena wearing an identical bracelet, openly flaunting our shared humiliation. During an elevator breakdown, he comforted her panic attack, ignoring my own terror. Later, Serena "accidentally" scalded my hand, and Sebastian rushed to her side, leaving me burned, invisible, and alone. I was dying, yet he saw me as strong, while his ex, whose life he'd "broken," received all his care. How could he be so blind? How could I be so utterly dispensable? After a fleeting night of intimacy, Serena's feigned suicide threat lured him away again. The next morning, my world crashed completely: my entire fashion collection, my soul's work, was stolen and leaked by Serena, using Sebastian's company cloud. As the betrayal hit, a sharp pain tore through my back, blood trickled from my nose, and I collapsed, utterly broken, while my stolen designs blazed across the screens.

My husband's stepsister locked my five-year-old son in a car under the brutal summer sun. He was barely conscious when I found him, his small face streaked with tears and sweat. The doctors said a few more minutes could have been fatal. But my husband, Coleman, wasn't worried about our son. He was worried about his stepsister, Casey. He ordered me to go to a party with her that night, to smile for the cameras and tell everyone it was just a simple, regrettable accident. "A scandal like this could ruin her career," he said, his voice cold. He called our son "resilient" and my horror "dramatic." When I refused, he leaned in close, his voice a vicious whisper for my ears only. "Have you ever once wondered why I married you? You were the perfect object lesson. The perfect, stable, boring tool." Our marriage, our life, our son... it was all a performance. A long, elaborate piece of theater designed to make his stepsister jealous. The world stopped. Then, a cold, sharp clarity took its place. I looked him in the eye and said, "Okay. I'll go. I'll do exactly as you ask." He just didn't know that I was going to be the perfect wife one last time. And that the first thing I did when I walked into our house was call the most ruthless divorce lawyer in the city.

y mother was in the hospital after a nasty dog bite, so I called my fiancé, Cohen. He was supposed to be my rock. Instead, I got annoyance. He was in Aspen, on a ski trip with my best friend, Hillary. "What do you want me to do? Fly back right now?" he snapped, before hanging up to get back to the "perfect snow." The dog, it turned out, was Hillary's. The bite on my diabetic mother's leg quickly developed into a raging infection. I texted Cohen an update, telling him she was getting worse, that they were talking about surgery. He didn't call back. Instead, Hillary's Instagram story updated: a photo of her and Cohen, cheeks flushed from the cold, smiling in front of a fireplace. The caption was a single heart emoji. While they were sipping hot chocolate, my mother went into septic shock. As I sat alone in the grim hospital waiting room, staring at my silent phone, I knew he had already made his choice. He had chosen a vacation. He had chosen my best friend. He had left my mother to die all alone. She passed away at 3:17 AM. I held her hand until it grew cold, then walked out into the gray dawn. I wasn't just grieving. I was done. I was going to erase myself from his world and burn everything to the ground.

Emily, was a just simple girl living a simple life when one day she received a call from the police that changed her entire life. Everything that happened since then was nothing short of a roller-coaster ride. She soon found out that her long-time boyfriend, Jack Newman, was cheating on her with her best friend. As if things weren’t bad enough, she accidentally ended up in Jack’s uncle’s car, where they ended up – doing it. Soon, Emily found herself in a tug-o-war between her ex, Jack and his uncle, Jacob.

My husband, Liam Goldstein, was publicly the perfect man. He donated a kidney to save my life and named the new tower of his corporate headquarters after me. The world saw us as the ultimate power couple, a love story for the ages. But in private, he was cheating on me with an influencer. He arranged a "romantic evening" with private fireworks, only for me to discover it was a birthday party for his mistress, Ava. I overheard him promise her my "Maya's Horizon" necklace, the one he gave me after the transplant. His friends were all in on it, laughing behind my back and calling me "the main course." After a car accident, I found them together at the hospital. She was pregnant with his child. When I lunged at her, he grabbed my wrist and snarled at me to apologize to his pregnant mistress. Then came the final blow. A text from Ava with a picture of the sonogram. "Our baby, Maya." Underneath it, a photo of her wearing my necklace. "He says it looks better on me." On our anniversary, I had his prized rose garden bulldozed. Then I had the divorce papers delivered to his office, along with every single taunting message Ava had ever sent me. By the time he read them, Maya Goldstein was already a ghost.

After five years of marriage, my husband is always absent on my birthday. No gifts, no blessings. He said, "I've given you the money, buy whatever you want." But he started preparing for Fiona's birthday half a month in advance. He said, "She's different, she only has me." As the sole survivor of a unexpected fire, he has been heartbroken for over a decade. Watching Fiona in Moments holding a cake and kissing his face. I slowly commented. 【Just this useless person, I'm giving him to you.】

My husband, Roger Harvey, was a renowned top-tier lawyer in the industry, but he could never remember anything outside of his cases. He never remembered my birthday or our wedding anniversary. Every night he stood at the bedroom door and asked politely yet distantly, "Is this the one?" He could not even remember my name or what I looked like. To make him "remember" me, I hung our wedding photo on the wall with a label underneath. "Anniversary: May 20." I put a nameplate on the bedroom door that read "Bedroom." I even labeled everything in the house with sticky notes that explained in detail how to use each item and its background. I thought it was a side effect of his high-pressure job, so I never complained. That changed the day a multi-car pileup sent both me and his childhood friend, Sylvie Gordon, into the emergency room at the same time. He rushed frantically to Sylvie's bedside and shouted in a clear, urgent voice, "She has tachycardia. She caught a cold last month but no fever." The nurse handling the rescue grabbed him and asked, "Sir, your wife is also seriously injured. Does she have any medical history or allergies?" He turned his head, looked at me covered in blood, and shook his head blankly. "I don't remember." In that moment I finally understood. He was not forgetful. His memory was astonishingly sharp. He simply reserved that precise, precious memory for someone else. Everything about me he had never cared to keep in his heart. This was a dramatic tug-of-war between love and betrayal. It was a heart-wrenching journey of self-redemption. Yet when I decided to leave, he was suddenly filled with panic...

Our third wedding anniversary also happened to be the thirty-sixth week of my pregnancy. I didn't wait long enough for Santino Douglas to come home and cut the cake. Instead, I got a phone call from the local police station. "Your husband was caught stealing a woman's undergarments." By the time I arrived, Santino's white shirt was covered in dusty footprints. And a barely-dressed female intern was standing in front of him, guarding him like a human shield. She kept yelling at the officer who was taking notes, "This is a misunderstanding! I bought those for Mr. Douglas! How can you arrest him for that?!" I looked at the black lace garment in Santino's hand-the one he didn't even have time to throw away. My stomach twisted so hard I felt sick. I walked toward him, but he suddenly stepped in front of the intern, Baylee Ford, trying to explain. I slapped him before he even opened his mouth. "Santino, you're disgusting."

For four years, I was a ghost in my own home, trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who despised me. The entire house smelled of lilies-the favorite flower of Hettie, his childhood sweetheart. The day she came back into his life, he tossed divorce papers at me. He demanded my family's company as his compensation and announced that Hettie was carrying his child. In a last, desperate attempt to hold on, I lied and told him I was pregnant, too. He just laughed and called me a pathetic liar. That night, he brought her to our home for dinner. He asked me not to wear my late mother's perfume because Hettie was allergic. He was asking me to erase the last piece of my mother for her. Then I saw it. Around Hettie's neck was the diamond necklace Brady had given me for our first anniversary. The doctors had already warned me that with my terminal illness, I didn't have much time left. That single, cruel act was the final blow. The last bit of love I had for the boy who once promised to protect me died completely. I walked over to the table and calmly signed the divorce papers. Then, I picked up my phone. "Darcy," I said to my lawyer, my voice steady. "I'm transferring all of my shares to Brady Kennedy. Make it effective immediately."

Elora Griffiths was on her way to drop her daughter off at school when her husband's enemies opened fire in the street. The bodyguard her husband had personally assigned to protect them abandoned the car the instant the shots rang out. Mother and daughter were hit multiple times, teetering on the brink of death. Elora frantically called her husband, Rodger Griffiths, but he didn't answer. Her brother, Hugh Dale, arrived just in time and saved them both. "How could this happen? Didn't Rodger assign someone to protect you?" Hugh asked. Elora sobbed uncontrollably, "The bodyguard ran away!" On the way to the hospital, Elora kept trying Rodger's number, desperate. One call after another... Finally, on the ninety-ninth attempt, the line connected. On the other end was the female bodyguard, trembling, her voice barely holding back tears. "Rodger, it's really not my fault! There were so many assassins. I would've died if I tried to stop them! I was so scared..." Elora held her breath, waiting for her husband's wrath to thunder down. But Rodger just sighed. "Forget it. The important thing is you're safe," he said. Meanwhile, Elora's daughter took her last breath in her arms. The pain was suffocating. She held her daughter close as her body went cold and stiff, teeth gritted in fury, "Hugh, I'm divorcing him! I'll cut off every single arms shipment to the Griffiths family from the largest arms company in Crownport!"

My life with Liam Goldstein was a fairytale, a perfect love story plastered across every magazine and TV screen in Manhattan. He'd even unveiled the "Maya's Horizon" necklace, a multi-million-dollar cascade of sapphires, celebrating our perfect devotion. But fairytales are just that – tales. Then came the burner phone, the hushed calls, the screenshots, and hotel receipts that screamed 'affair'. I watched him live-stream gifts to his young mistress, Ava Sinclair, calling her his "queen," only to later find her visibly pregnant in a hospital, flaunting our engagement necklace and talking about a "situation" with me. His friends, the same ones who toasted our "perfect love," smirked as he publicly kissed Ava and joked about his "side action," assuring her I'd "never find out." Every grand gesture he'd made, from donating a kidney to cultivating a white rose garden, flashed before my eyes, revealing themselves as calculated performances. How could the man who saved my life, the one I vowed to, betray me with such grotesque audacity, in front of the world and his complicit inner circle? It felt like a sick cosmic joke, a public humiliation disguised as love. But I had given him a warning on our wedding day: "If you ever lie to me, truly lie, I will vanish from your life as if I never existed." Now, it was time to activate the Phoenix Initiative, erase Maya Goldstein, and leave Liam with nothing but ghost of a promise he had shattered.

For ten years, Alexander Sterling was my world. He found me, a quiet designer, and lifted me into a life of unimaginable privilege, showering me with a love so fierce, it felt like a fairytale. Then Clara Bell appeared, and that man vanished, replaced by a ruthless CEO who watched me bleed in the snow after I lost our baby, a child he didn' t even know about. He called me an embarrassment, demanded I apologize to her as I lay broken in a hospital bed, and then, as she and her mother threatened my dying brother, he stood by and did nothing. The love that was once my sun, moon, and stars died that day, leaving only ash. But in that silent, desolate room, a cold resolve hardened: A new Eleanor would rise from the ruins of the old, destined to break free from his gilded cage and reclaim her life.

My wedding day was perfect. The Arizona sun, desert blooms, the man of my dreams at the altar. Ethan. My father, Senator Daniel Reynolds, a pillar of the community, walked me down the aisle, his pride evident. It was all a beautiful lie. Just as I reached Ethan, he pulled out a DEA badge. "Senator Daniel Reynolds, you're under arrest." Chaos erupted, a shot rang out, and my father fell, dead. Ethan's cold eyes delivered the final blow: "It was an operation, Ava. Nothing more." My world shattered. I was discarded, questioned, abandoned. The man I loved blocked me, his job done. But the depths of my betrayal didn't stop there. I soon unearthed my mother's secret. Her "hiking accident" was no accident; she was a DEA agent, investigating my father, and killed by his cartel. My life, a cruel charade. How could everything I believed be a lie? My loving father a drug lord? My gentle mother a secret agent? My fiancé, a calculating spy? The injustice burned, fueling a fire hotter than any pain. Now, Ava Reynolds is dead. Ava is no more-only Alma remains. I will turn my pain, my rage, into a weapon. I will infiltrate the heart of the cartel that stole my mother. I will make them pay. Even if it means using the very man who broke me.

Kaelen was supposed to be my destiny. The future Alpha of our pack, my childhood love, and my fated mate. But one night, I smelled another woman on him-a sickly sweet Omega scent I knew all too well. I followed him and found them under the great oak, locked in a lover's kiss. His betrayal was a slow and deliberate poison. When his precious Omega, Lyra, staged a fall, he cradled her like she was made of glass. But when he sabotaged my saddle during a dangerous jump, causing my horse to throw me and break my leg, he called it a "warning" not to touch her. His care for me afterward was just damage control to avoid my father's suspicion. At a public auction, he used my family's money to buy her a priceless diamond, leaving me humiliated and unable to pay. I finally understood what I'd overheard on the pack's mind-link days before. To him and his brothers-in-arms, I was just a "pampered princess," a prize to be won for power. Lyra was the one they truly desired. He thought he could break me, force me to accept being second best. He was wrong. On the night of my 20th birthday, the night I was supposed to be bonded to him, I stood before two packs and made a different choice. I rejected him and announced my union with a rival Alpha, a man who sees me as a queen, not a consolation prize.

I stepped from the taxi onto Manhattan's pristine curb, a naive farm girl from Montana. My mission: marry billionaire Julian Sterling for a contract. But my welcome was a trap; that night, I found myself in his bed, a drugged, vulnerable man clinging to me. The Sterling penthouse became a gauntlet. Julian's mother and stepsister relentlessly tried to undermine my "charity case" facade, insulting, sabotaging, and humiliating me, making my true mission perilous. Victoria tossed money into my breakfast. Stella set impossible tasks. Julian's friend, Vanessa, bribed me to leave and shamed me at a gala. Julian, cold and suspicious, demanded I "play the fool." Each cruel prank fueled a quiet fury. It was infuriating to be dismissed, knowing secrets I held. Julian's unexpected vulnerability and my grandfather's mysterious will sparked deeper questions. But I fought back. I shredded Vanessa's bribe, tamed a pop star, and outwitted Stella's sabotage, proving competence. Julian's disdain shifted to respect. This was now a battle for my inheritance, identity, and hidden truths.

When Stefan once again abandoned Verena for his close female friend, Verena knew it was time to end their relationship. She could no longer tolerate being ignored and betrayed time and again. So, Verena sought a fresh start in a new city to rebuild her life. There, she turned over a new leaf in her career and met a new boyfriend. However, after Verena left, Stefan began to regret his actions. He finally realized that the only person he truly loved was Verena. He followed her to her new city, seeking opportunities to reconcile and win her back. But by then, Verena's heart was irreparably shattered by Stefan, and she no longer loved him. Stefan left heartbroken, and later, in a selfless act of heroism, he gave his life to protect Verena's daughter. On his deathbed, Verena told him, "I never regretted loving you, nor do I regret leaving you. I no longer hate you." Stefan closed his eyes with a sense of peace.

After receiving a prenatal injection, I received an anonymous video on my phone. In the video, a man sang nursery rhymes with a little boy wearing a birthday hat. He dabbed a bit of cream on his finger and smiled as he smeared it on a woman's nose. Then he bent down to kiss it away. My phone slipped from my hand to the floor, and I trembled all over uncontrollably. The scar on the inside of the man's wrist was an old one, left from the time he saved me. Around his neck hung the pendant I had fetched for him from a famous church to ensure his safety. When I returned home, the expansive riverside apartment felt empty. The housekeeper brought some herbal soup meant to stabilize my pregnancy. She sighed and placed it on the table. "Mr. Stewart has a social engagement this evening and won't be home for dinner." It was the tenth night he had used this excuse not to come home. I removed the diamond ring that symbolized our love and called the lawyer. I didn't want to wait any longer. My husband, Bruce Stewart, had given his tenderness to another woman and was not worth my love.

宋南溪和闺蜜哥哥江屹川地下恋五年，终于等到他松口公开。 闺蜜激动地打电话向她确认：“南溪，没想到我哥哥的心上人竟然是你……” 她刚要点头，却听见闺蜜道：“继妹？我还以为他会喜欢你呢。” 一句话让宋南溪如遭雷击，她疯了般跑到公司想找江屹川问个清楚。 却意外听见他对继妹深情表白， “小棠，我只爱你。” “和她结婚也只是为了保护你。只有让她在我眼皮子底下，我才能确保她不会追究她母亲车祸的事，不会伤害你！” 得知真相，宋南溪决定接受联姻复仇。 然而领完证，她才发现自己似乎嫁错了人…… 不等她反悔，江屹川的死对头路子琛将她一把抱住。 “老婆，结了婚还想跑？”

Cyburris Hospital collapsed, and Director Greg sacrificed his pregnant wife, Ronda, to save his idolized love. Her right hand was crushed, she lost their baby, and he dragged her name through the mud, forcing her to leave with nothing. With an injured hand and a stillborn child, Ronda fled the country overnight. Three years later, she returned as an international authority on neural regeneration, ready to seek revenge with both hands-one to slap faces, the other to perform surgery. Her academic revelations exposed scandals, data breaches shook the foundations, the idolized love's reputation crumbled, and the scoundrel was left paralyzed-a complete crash and burn, all in one go. In the end, she radiated with brilliance at a grand wedding with her ultimate partner, while her ex passed away in solitude in a hospital room.

On my birthday, my husband, Colton Thomas, told me to take a trip to a top tourist destination with me. Just as we were about to board the plane, he suddenly received a call. Then he said, "Sorry, honey, but my mom has suddenly been sent to the ICU. I have to rush back." In a rush, he got off the plane, leaving me to fulfill the promise we made to each other ten years ago. I slowly stood up and said to the flight attendant, "I'm not flying." Watching his eager departure, I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh. I was genuinely curious to see how my supposedly deceased mother-in-law could have come back to life.

On the day Brett Graham threw his big victory celebration, he held my hand and told everyone I was his destiny. Even though we were already divorced. He declared to the whole room that he didn't regret his life-or-death decision, especially since his wife had been among the captives. Too bad the truth was, on that battlefield, the person he was trying to save wasn't me. It was his mistress. Just as Brett thought his bright future was finally within reach, the name on the military commendation medal turned out to be mine. Looking down at Brett from the stage, I spoke frankly to the cameras. "I believe if a peacekeeping soldier, during a hostage exchange with the enemy, only cares about the safety of his lover, it's a true disgrace to the profession."

After donating bone marrow for my husband, Jake Hayes, I stumbled upon a viral video when I was at the hospital. "I entered the game, staking myself, all for the sake of making her willingly donate marrow for the one I love. In order for you to survive, I had to sacrifice my own love. Goodbye, my beloved." The guy in the video had deep-set eyes and gently kissed the lips of a woman sleeping beside him. His actions were restrained yet full of affection. In the comments, a lot of people lamented. "Finally, a bittersweet ending where he can grow old with his love." "But the poor woman who donated the bone marrow probably remains unaware of the truth." I stared at the face I had been close to for months, feeling a dull ache in my side from the puncture. I went through the discharge procedures myself. I said goodbye to everyone at the orphanage. But after I completely vanished from Jake's world, he was determined to find me, even if it meant searching high and low.

On the day Izabella Dobson learned she was two months pregnant, she was also diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. Sitting in the taxi, the doctor's words echoed in her ears again. "Miss Dobson, your body is weaker than most. An abortion now would accelerate the cancer. You have only three months left. Why not go home and discuss chemotherapy with your family? You're still so young..." Izabella folded the report and slipped it into a hidden compartment in her bag. She let out a soft, bitter laugh. Ever since her father pressured her into a marriage of convenience with Carson's brother, a terminally ill man, for familial obligations, she had lost her family. Her husband had long passed away, and Carson harbored a deep-seated resentment towards her. As revenge, he publicly declared he would marry her stepsister. He was eager to witness her suffering, waiting for her to express regret. Yet, little did he know that on their wedding day, Izabella, frail and serene, lay in her hospital bed with her eyes gently closing. Carson, we can finally release each other from this pain...