Rabbit

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."

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.

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 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 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.

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.

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!"

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.

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.

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.

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."

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

At the family banquet welcoming the return of the true daughter, my wealthy adoptive parents publicly announced that I should transfer the shares in my name to the "wronged" true daughter. All the guests praised my parents for their fairness and congratulated the true daughter on her hardships finally coming to an end. Relatives gathered around to persuade me. "You enjoyed twenty years of wealth that should have belonged to her. Giving up the shares is the right thing to do. You should know how to be grateful." My husband Javier Andrews, married to me for only half a year, also stepped forward and gently advised me. "Michelle, this originally belonged to your sister. Give it back to her. From now on, I'll take care of you." Everyone praised him for his deep affection and commended my adoptive parents for their justice, waiting for me to put on a show of sisterly love. Instead, I picked up the red wine from the table, walked over to the pitiful-looking true daughter, and smiling, poured the wine over her head. The entire room erupted in shock. My adoptive father, Kaiden Walsh, trembled with rage, pointing at me and cursing. "You ungrateful wretch!" Javier looked utterly disappointed. "Are you really that jealous of her? Do you have to make such an ugly scene?" I casually set down the empty glass and said lightly. "Ugly? I think this color suits her quite well."

“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.

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."

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.

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.

On the third day after my unexpected miscarriage, my husband, George Wood, brought home my stepsister, Savannah Ahmed. She was eight months pregnant. My stepmother, Julia Ahmed, said, "The Food family needs a child to continue the family legacy." My father added, "Clara, you must learn tolerance." When Savannah had an accident, George dragged me to the hospital and said, "We must save Savannah, even if we have to drain every last drop of Clara's blood. Clara, you should feel honored that you are still useful." George's cold words pierced through my heart. "You may leave now." I lay alone in the hospital corridor, waiting to die, but no one knew that I had already made a deal with George's most formidable rival, who was like a devil from hell.

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...

Vivian Harrison used to be an ordinary nurse at the hospital, but she had the rare Rh-negative blood type. Three years ago, she saved the life of the king of the underworld, Archie Palmer, who had been on the brink of death, with her blood. From that moment on, she had completely fallen for him. However, when Archie awoke, he just coldly handed her a marriage contract. "I never owe anyone a favor." The marriage, in the name of repaying a favor, became a gilded cage that confined Vivian for three years. Archie made Vivian his wife, yet he gave all his tenderness and devotion to a vivacious and innocent woman-Cassie Fuller. He would drive across half the city on a stormy night just to stay with Cassie because she was afraid of the dark. He would spend a fortune at an auction to acquire a piece of priceless jewelry, because Cassie said she liked it. Yet, all he ever offered Vivian was endless indifference and suspicion. When Cassie suffered even the slightest grievance, he would unhesitatingly lay all the blame on Vivian and even torment and punish Vivian in the cruelest ways. "Your blood disgusts me as much as you do, Vivian." Later, when Vivian took a fatal bullet for him and lay bleeding on the ground, he walked coldly past her, holding the frightened Cassie in his arms, without sparing Vivian even a glance. At that moment, Vivian finally understood that this marriage was nothing but a joke from the start. She decided that she would no longer play along with Archie. But when Vivian, her body battered and broken, resolutely left Archie, and Archie, who had always claimed he never loved Vivian, for the first time felt his eyes sting, and frantically searched for her all over the world.

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.

Everyone knew in her social circle that Verena was free-spirited and outspoken, notorious for frequently changing boyfriends. But no one expected that at a friend's gathering, she would fall head over heels for the introverted and distant physics professor, Lanny. After months of unsuccessful pursuit, Verena felt defeated. "My family has arranged a marriage for me, so I won't bother you anymore," she said. Lanny, usually calm and composed, lost control in an instant. "Don't get married. I promise I'll date you." They were together for two years, during which Verena enjoyed a blissful romance. However, while planning their wedding, she discovered that Lanny's true love was her half-sister! She quietly canceled the wedding and vanished from Lanny's life. Yet, he became frantic, desperately searching for her whereabouts.

To pay for her mother's life-saving surgery, Holly Austin became the fiancée of the billionaire Kirk Knapp, and in her desperation, made the mistake of falling for him. But when she confessed her feelings, he laughed. He showed her a black leather ledger where he'd itemized her entire existence-the clothes she wore, the food she ate, her mother's medical bills-down to the last cent. "This is what you are to me, Holly," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A transaction. An investment. Don't ever confuse my responsibility with affection." He made it clear his only real affection was for his young ward, Jaida-her uncanny lookalike. He would panic over a tiny scratch on Jaida's arm, yet dismissed the cost of Holly's mother's life as a simple task completed, like taking out the trash. The moment her mother was safe, the transaction was over. She walked out of his life without a word. He would soon discover that the 'asset' he'd so casually dismissed was the only thing holding his world together.

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.

For eight years, I was Dillon Horton's loyal shadow, the woman who built her life on his whispered promises. But on my 25th birthday, he didn't bring a gift. He brought a necklace for his mistress and a credit card to pay for my own public execution. He thought pushing me down a flight of stairs and shattering my design hand would be the end of me. He was wrong. From the ashes of that night, I was reborn as "Aria," the anonymous artist who took the world by storm. Now, his empire is in ruins, and he knows the truth. He's hunting for the ghost he tried to erase, but he's about to find a queen who built her throne on the wreckage of his lies.

I was the top agent in the entertainment industry. On the day of the gala event, Evan's newly signed model, Jayne Jones, wore my limited edition jacket and demanded my dismissal, claiming that the style was outdated. I assumed she didn't know who I was and asked her, "What makes you think you can?" She hooked her arm around Evan's and lit a cigarette in the non-smoking banquet hall, saying, "Just because this company belongs to my boyfriend, Evan." I nodded and called the richest man in Arland. The call was answered instantly. "Mr. Wilson, I've been fired. I can't take on your ten-billion-dollar movie project," I said calmly.

I had spent six years as a secret, my relationship with Ethan hidden from my family, dismissing their attempts to set me up with a "serious" doctor. Then, a drunken comment revealed the truth: I was just a stand-in, a convenient replacement for Chloe Davis, Ethan's high-school sweetheart who had suddenly re-entered his life. Chloe wasted no time, returning with calculated malice to reclaim Ethan, subtly manipulating him while openly belittling me, culminating in a deliberately staged "accident" at a party that left my dominant hand severely injured. When I was finally hurt and bleeding in the ER, Ethan, preoccupied with Chloe, dismissed my pain to the nurse as "melodrama," a cold, brutal word that shattered what little was left of my heart. In that moment of crushing betrayal and utter emptiness, I knew I had to choose myself. I deleted him from my life, packed my bags, and, with a one-way ticket, walked away from six years of lies to reclaim my life, finding my true path with an unexpected, kind stranger.

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.

In the third year of my marriage to Wilbur, my family's business collapsed overnight. He threw the divorce papers in my face, his gaze cold and dismissive. "A useless spendthrift like you has no right to be my wife anymore." His friends laughed heartily beside him, "Wilbur, you finally got rid of that burden." Without a word, I signed the papers, left with nothing, and disappeared without a trace from their lives. Everyone believed I loved him to the point of self-deprecation, that I couldn't live without him, and would certainly wait for him to change his mind. Three years later, I returned home as the representative of a mysterious consortium, suddenly becoming the largest shareholder in his company. At the victory banquet, he cornered me, wearing a confident smile. "Have you finished playing your games? You caused such a stir just to make me regret it, didn't you? Fine, you win. Now, come home with me." I stood confidently beside the true heir of the consortium, my smile radiant. "The first lesson you taught me was that unworthy things should be left behind."

The rumors of my divorce from Ryland Payne had circulated for two years. Over those two years, he had paraded around with the secretary whose husband had once saved his life, appearing at every event and trampling my dignity underfoot. I had never uttered a single word of complaint. That changed on the anniversary of our son's death, when he showed up at the memorial art exhibition I had organized for our boy, with that woman and her child in tow. The necklace around that woman's neck featured the longevity locket I had personally designed for my son. I lost all control and smashed the exhibition, then rushed forward to snatch it back, only for Ryland to block me desperately. I slapped him across the face in front of everyone, and he shoved me down onto the shattered picture frames in retaliation. The next day, the entire internet branded me as the deranged woman. "Two years ago, if she hadn't lost her mind and gone speeding through the rainstorm, the little heir of the Payne family would never have died on the spot!" "Exactly, she killed her own son through her recklessness, and now she wants to hurt her husband's benefactor. What a venomous witch." I turned off my phone, and my gaze turned to ice, inch by inch. Ryland Payne, this time, I decided to leave you for good.

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.

It was the coldest winter in Boland when I fell in love with my best friend's older brother-that gentle, refined Jeffrey Tucker. To protect me, he not only betrayed his family but also stepped in front of acid thrown by an enemy, his back still scarred to this day. I thought we would love each other forever. Until just before our wedding, a pregnant noblewoman showed up at our doorstep. "Are you Ms. Smith? I heard Jeffrey turned against everyone for you." The woman said with a sneer, tossing a prenatal report on the table. "He told me a girl who ran with street gangs like you would never fit in. His kindness to you was just an act." I slapped her in response. As she shrieked, Jeffrey grabbed my wrist before I could strike again. I didn't cry or scream. I just looked at him, calm as ice. "Jeffery, let's break up. You're really filthy."

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.

My mate, Alpha Alaric, who had been my protector since I was a child, was holding his bonding ceremony with another woman. When his chosen Luna, Seraphina, arrived at the pack house, she glided up the stairs and offered me a small "welcome gift." It was a delicate bracelet, intricately woven from pure silver. To werewolves, silver is agony. It burns our skin, seeps into our blood, and prevents our healing. I flinched back, but Alaric's voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs, laced with the undeniable force of his Alpha's Command. "Take it, Elara." The command wrapped around my will, forcing my hand forward. "Don't disrespect your future Luna," he added, his voice cold. The moment the metal touched my skin, a sharp, white-hot pain shot up my arm. I looked from the searing silver on my wrist to Alaric's impassive face, and the last, fragile ember of hope inside me died. He hadn't just forgotten his affection for me; he had forgotten the one thing that could truly hurt me. With my head held high, I turned and walked away. The silver thorn on my wrist was a constant, agonizing promise of the freedom that was to come.

My mother, Mary Willis, was bitten by a snake, and the snake's owner was none other than Jennifer Walker, my husband's beloved woman. When I called my husband, Timothy Rossi, he was on vacation with Jennifer. "Please come back, Timothy. Mary's condition is very serious." But he merely sighed and soothed me as if I were throwing a tantrum. "I'm in Arngueuil Isles with Jennifer right now. She's been feeling down lately..." So Timothy ignored my humble plea and resolutely hung up the phone. At that moment, all my strength crumbled to dust. In despair, I could only cling to the hem of the man in front of me-Samuel Walker, Jennifer's father, a notoriously ruthless and brutal Mafia boss.

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...

The business world's reigning emperor, Ian Wade, was a lunatic. He locked a hundred women inside a villa and treated them like blind-box prizes. Pulling one at random, he would marry whoever he drew. Everyone thought getting picked was luck. Only I knew it was a curse. In my last life, I was the one whose name came up. After being reborn, I planned to destroy the magnetic strip on the blind box and dodge that twisted fate altogether. But by some cruel twist of chance, I still ended up being the "lucky" one. On the wedding day, history repeated itself. Ian took a phone call, panic flashing across his face as he tore off his boutonniere. "Jemma doesn't want to marry. She's threatening suicide. I have to go get her," he said. The man who was supposed to marry Jemma Lane-Leland Riley, the Crownport's golden heir, stormed in, radiating icy fury. He didn't chase after the runaway bride. Instead, he walked straight up to me and looked me over from head to toe. "Ian ran off with my wife," Leland said, grabbing my chin. "His debt becomes yours. You marry me. Fair enough, right?"

Within the elite social circles of Bexwell, one topic never ceased to captivate everyone: the arranged marriage from childhood between Brad Simpson, the playful scion of the Simpson family, and Bella Shaw, the most well-mannered daughter of the Shaw family. Bella learned to play the piano from a young age and was selected into the national classical dance troupe at ten. She was groomed to become the most elegant young lady. On the other hand, Brad started racing cars, wingsuit flying, and skydiving without a license by the age of fifteen. He had landed himself in the hospital countless times due to his thrill-seeking, extreme sports antics. Brad and Bella had totally different personalities, but they were forced to grow up as childhood companions due to the friendship between the Simpson and Shaw families. Although they had their clashing temperaments, they had been close to each other for over twenty years. In others' eyes, they were seen as a unique match made in heaven. Since they were kids, their family members always teased them. Bella always believed that she would marry Brad. So, on the day of their sixth anniversary, when Bella saw the wordless photo Brad posted on his social media, her mind went blank for a moment. In the photo, the woman's face was not visible, but her strapless dress revealed an impressive cleavage. The most eye-catching detail was the striking tattoo on her left chest-Drunk. Drunk was Brad's nickname.

I curled up on the company sofa waiting for Ayden Martin when I casually clicked into a video that was only a few seconds long. A hand with distinct knuckles was hooked by slender fingertips in an utterly intimate way. The caption read like the girl's soft murmur. "While the grown-ups discussed business, I quietly reached out to his hand. I didn't expect that he, who was rational and composed in work matters, couldn't stay rational with me." I smiled and gave it a like. "Ayden, look at how girls these days love writing these CEO romance stories, claiming that presidents like you secretly hold hands during business talks. Is it real or fake?" Ayden did not even lift his head and only said faintly, "Stop watching these." I asked with my mouth, but in my heart I knew the Ayden I knew would never do that. After five years of marriage, every time there was a social event he only pushed me into the lounge, let alone stage these idol drama scenes. I lowered my head and suddenly noticed the watch on the hand in the video. A luxury watch. The anniversary gift I gave Ayden was also the same luxury watch.