Star Radovsky

My mother' s dying wish was for me, Sarah Miller, to marry Ethan Hayes. But every time we tried, his housekeeper' s daughter, Jessica Stone, found a way to stop it. Then, after Jessica was involved in a car accident, Ethan manipulated me into taking the blame, promising to marry me once I was released. I served three years in prison for a crime I didn' t commit, holding onto his promise like a prayer. But when I got out, everything shattered. Ethan was marrying Jessica, and my mother was dead. At the hospital, I overheard Jessica gloat, revealing she had deliberately cut off my mother' s medical payments, leading to her death. Blinded by rage, I confronted Jessica, only to be violently pushed down a flight of stairs by Ethan himself. He cradled Jessica, treating me like trash, and coldly declared he truly wanted to marry her. Heartbroken, I ended our engagement on the spot. Later, I arrived at their wedding, carrying my mother' s urn. Jessica' s mother, in a fit of rage, snatched the urn and brutally shattered it, stomping on my mother' s ashes while security guards physically assaulted me. Ethan arrived, but instead of helping, he accused me of ruining his wedding. Then, a phone call revealed the truth: my mother had died because her medical payments were cut off. I screamed at Ethan, exposing Jessica' s evil, leaving him at his chaotic wedding. Ethan, once the man I adored, now stood exposed as a heartless stranger. His blindness and betrayal fueled a fire within me. I vowed to uncover every lie, every hidden cruelty, and make them pay for destroying my life and my mother' s memory.

On our fifth anniversary, my husband, Alpha Ethan, didn't give me a gift. Instead, he watched as his "invalid" mistress, Ilene, poured a tureen of boiling soup laced with Wolfsbane directly onto my chest. As the poison ate through my skin and I screamed in agony, Ilene clutched her heart and faked a panic attack, claiming my noise was hurting her. Ethan didn't call a doctor for me. His eyes glowed amber with power, and he turned his Alpha Command on his dying mate. "Stay down!" He forced me to lie paralyzed in my own melting flesh, unable to move or whimper, just so my screams wouldn't disturb the woman who had poisoned me. He scooped her up and walked away, leaving me on the restaurant floor. That night, the bond in my chest finally snapped. I didn't argue. I didn't fight. I simply burned every photo of us, masked my scent, and vanished into the night. It took Ethan two years to discover the truth. Ilene wasn't a fragile victim. She had been taking suppressants for years, hiding a healthy wolf while draining his bank accounts and laughing at his guilt. He slaughtered her in a rage and spent his fortune searching the globe for me, desperate to beg for forgiveness. But he was too late. He finally found me on the cover of an international art magazine. I wasn't the weak, wolf-less Omega anymore. I stood tall, glowing with the power of the legendary White Wolf. And the man standing next to me, with his hand possessively claiming my waist, wasn't him. It was the Lycan King.

On the fourth anniversary of my son's death, I went to the Pack Archives to perform a soul-soothing ritual for his spirit. But the records showed a truth I couldn't comprehend. My mate, Alpha Damien, had another child—a secret son with the she-wolf he'd sworn was just a crazed stalker. He lied through our sacred mind-link, claiming a pack emergency, but I found them at a secret manor, laughing. He, his mistress, and their boy—a perfect, happy family. Hiding in my own garage, I overheard the conversation that shattered my world. My son didn't just slip and fall into the river. He ran in terror, scared by the sound of their wild, careless mating nearby. Their affair killed my baby. As this horror crashed down on me, our mate bond, meant for love, became a tool of torture. It forced me to feel every second of his pleasure as he took her again, right there in the car, just feet from where I hid. He and his mother then framed me for abuse, had my son’s ashes dug up and flushed down a sewer, and beat me with a silver whip before leaving me for dead with a pack of feral Rogues. But I survived. And I made a choice. I wouldn’t seek revenge. I would seek oblivion. I found a pack that practiced forbidden magic, a ritual that could wipe my mind clean. I would erase him, our son, and every memory of my old life. I would be reborn.

I gave my husband, Chandler, one of my kidneys to save his life. In return, he married me. I was a girl from an orphanage; he was a New York tycoon. I foolishly believed his gratitude would one day turn into love. Then his first love, Kristyn, came back. When she was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder, Chandler dragged me to the hospital and demanded I give her my bone marrow. My doctors warned him that with my failing health, another major surgery would be a death sentence. He called me selfish and forced me onto the operating table. As the doors swung shut, I saw Kristyn, who was supposed to be dying, sit up in her bed. A wicked, triumphant smile spread across her face. Through the glass, she mouthed the words. "I don't have a blood disorder, you idiot." A nurse plunged a thick needle into my spine. They were draining my life away to appease a liar, all on my husband's orders. I died on that table, my last thought a prayer that I would never see him again. But when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in heaven. I was in a private medical facility, and my long-lost childhood friend, Elijah, was standing over me. He looked at me, his eyes burning with a protective fire. "I faked your death, Ava," he said, his voice cold with rage. "Now, let's make them pay."

Four years after my son Leo drowned, I was still lost in a fog of grief. My husband, Eli Stark, the tech mogul, was the public' s saint, a devoted father who built a foundation in Leo' s name. But when I went to finalize Leo' s death certificate, a clerk' s casual comment shattered my world: "Mr. Stark has another dependent child listed." The name hit me like a physical blow: Cody Sharpe, son of Kasey Sharpe, the woman who had stalked Eli for years. I found them, a perfect family, Eli laughing, a happiness I hadn't seen in years. Then, I overheard Kasey confessing to Eli that his affair with her was why he wasn't watching Leo the day he died. My world crumbled. For four years, I had carried the guilt, believing Leo' s death was a tragic accident, comforting Eli who blamed himself for a "work call." It was all a lie. His betrayal had killed our son. The man I loved, the man who had built a prison of grief around me, was living a happy life with another family. He had watched me suffer, letting me blame myself, while his secret festered. How could he? How could he stand there and lie, knowing his actions led to our son' s death? The injustice burned, a cold, sharp rage replacing my grief. I called my lawyer, then my former mentor, Casey Long, whose experimental memory erasure research was my only hope. "I want to forget," I whispered, "I need to forget everything. Erase him for me."

My fiancé, Floyd Meyers, announced he was canceling our engagement. He was proposing to Jaylah Ryan, an heiress, all because a psychic claimed I was the cause of his misfortune. Jaylah then falsely accused me of tearing her expensive gown. Floyd ordered his guards to slap me fifty times and forced me to kneel in the snow all night to mend it. When Jaylah's mother needed an emergency transfusion of my rare blood type, he dragged me to the hospital to be used as a living blood bag, without anesthetic. He threatened my mother and my dog, forcing me to repair an architectural model for him. When Jaylah engineered another incident, he threatened to burn my mother's hands unless I confessed to a crime I didn't commit. My own mother, terrified, screamed at me to sacrifice myself. With a numb heart, I chose my own hands, enduring the searing agony of hot coals until they were ruined and blackened. As I lay dying, he appeared only to snarl, "I hope you die and rot in the ground. I never want to see your face again." The truth shattered me when the psychic confessed Floyd had paid her to lie. He had orchestrated my downfall from the start. When I confronted him, he forced champagne down my throat and drowned me in the pool. But I woke up again, back on the day I first met Floyd Meyers.

For three years, I believed I was living a dream, curated by the renowned architect Liam Maxwell, a life where I served as his live-in assistant, blurring professional and personal lines. He mentored me, showered me with gifts, and praised my "brilliant" insights, making me believe I was valued, cherished even, an unspoken affection lingering between us. That illusion shattered when I overheard Liam describe me as "just a glorified intern, useful for fetching coffee and making my designs look better by comparison." He scoffed, adding, "She\'s so dependent on this job, she\'d never leave, even if she knew the truth. Her family needs the money." The world tilted. Every kind word, every thoughtful gift, every professional opportunity twisted into acts of cynical manipulation. I wasn\'t a protégé; I was a tool, a punchline in a cruel joke. The man I had admired, depended on, melted away, replaced by a calculating stranger. A cold rage replaced the hurt, a silent vow to reclaim my worth. How could I have been so blind? So utterly used? How much of my life had I truly wasted on his elaborate charade? The moment he tossed a new file on my desk, demanding renderings by morning, I looked up. "Of course, Liam," I said, a perfect imitation of the naive girl I used to be, knowing that this time, the performance was for me, marking the precise moment I decided to walk away and discover my true value.

The silence in the dining room was a physical thing, heavy and constant, marking seven years of a meticulously honored contract, not a marriage. Our anniversary dinner, a cold, elegant tableau, was shattered not by words, but by the faint scent of floral perfume drifting under my studio door-Sophia' s perfume, a silent declaration of Liam' s other life, his true commitment. This insidious infidelity, a quiet betrayal etched into every shared silence, deepened the void left by Ethan, my past love, making my present utterly unbearable. How could I have overlooked such a fundamental truth: that a man so devoted to duty would inevitably use that very trait to justify neglecting me for someone he felt obliged to save? With a final, decisive click of the 'send' button on the divorce papers, I ignited a future I alone controlled, unaware that Liam, too, had an escape plan, plotting a divergent course that would irrevocably alter both our lives.

I had died 99 times for Ethan Lester, my sacrifice healing him with our family's ancient elixir, believing his promises of a future as his First Lady. But when I lay in my hospital bed, pregnant with our child, the truth exploded around me like a bomb: Ethan and his manipulative lover, Nicole, had meticulously planned my family's massacre to steal every last drop of our elixir and now wanted it from my unborn baby. My world shattered as I heard Ethan coldly declare my family's extermination "necessary" for Nicole's healing, plotting to "rescue" me later and lie about the gang who "took" me, while I was trapped, starving, and tortured. How could the man I loved, the father of my child, orchestrate such an unspeakable horror, sacrificing everything and everyone I held dear for a mere scar on his mistress? As the surgeon's scalpel touched my skin, with my last breath and a mother's furious love, I poured every ounce of my life force into my son, making my 100th death my final act of defiance, ensuring he would never bring me back.

Julian Croft's career was on the brink. My father, General Vance, offered a solution: Julian would marry me. I remembered that deal. In my first life, I accepted it, blinded by stupid love. Julian smiled, handed me champagne, and then orchestrated a scandal that framed my father for treason. My father died in prison. My family was ruined. And I died alone, hit by a car, a ghost in my own life. The memory of the cold pavement against my cheek was still fresh. The hatred was a physical thing, a solid weight in my chest. He destroyed everything simply for access and power. But I was back. Before my father could speak, I stepped forward. "No," I said. "Julian Croft is not good enough to marry into the Vance family." Then, to everyone's shock, I walked straight to our quiet mechanic, Leo Martinez, a former Army Ranger who worked for our family. "Leo Martinez," I declared, "I want to marry you. Will you accept?" This time, my choice would rewrite history. My revenge would consume them all.

Ash Miller, a celebrated wedding planner, wove magic for countless couples, but her own dream-a meticulously crafted vintage garden wedding with Ethan-remained just a plan after seven years. Unbeknownst to him, this unfulfilled dream was cloaked in a far more chilling reality: a secret, advanced breast cancer diagnosis, gnawing at her life and her hope. Then, at the very New England estate she'd chosen for her vows, Ash witnessed a scene that stopped her heart: Ethan, her Ethan, standing under their sacred oak, reciting vows not to her, but to a radiant Chloe, clad in white. He brushed off Ash's stunned presence with a casual wave, then shockingly handed over her entire five-year wedding design-every detail, every flower, every cherished vintage touch-to Chloe, dismissing it as "just a client." As Ash, heartbroken and physically ailing, watched her stolen dream unfold, the final, brutal blow landed: a sparkling Tiffany solitaire on Chloe's left hand, paired with whispered rumors that Chloe was Ethan' s "great lost love." Her meticulously planned future, her fragile hope, and her hidden battle against a terminal illness were all laid bare and trampled. The agony wasn't just in the betrayal of her love, but the realization that her life' s most profound moments, her final wishes, had been pilfered and handed to a stranger, all while her partner remained blind to her suffering, her impending end. How could the man she loved so deeply, the one she was dying to marry, be so heartlessly cruel, so utterly oblivious? With nothing left but the gnawing pain of a dying body and a shattered soul, Ash took her first, decisive step toward reclaiming her last moments, walking out of his life and leaving him behind to confront a devastating truth far more terrible than any infidelity.

The group home reeked of old bleach and unspoken sadness, but for nine-year-old Leo, the community center was a fragile beacon. There, Ethan, the kind program director, was a rare comfort. Then, Sarah arrived. She was sharp, detached, and moved like a cat, yet Leo saw the unspoken longing in her eyes, always fixed on Ethan. She protected Leo from schoolyard bullies, her silent strength a stark contrast to her obvious, secret pain. As Ethan' s relationship with Isabelle, a beautiful and successful lawyer, blossomed, Sarah began to crack. Her cold exterior dissolved into raw, agonizing heartbreak. he started disappearing, returning with bruised knuckles and a haunted look, battling an emotional turmoil Leo could barely comprehend. He watched her self-destruct, pouring liquor into her coffee, her vibrant potential fading into a hollow despair. When Ethan announced his engagement, Sarah' s world shattered, and Leo found her at the bus station, a one-way ticket to oblivion clutched in her hand. Desperate, Leo faked a severe asthma attack, halting her escape. It worked, but the emptiness in Sarah' s eyes remained, a silent question: how could he save someone so determined to destroy herself? What dark secret tied her to this path of slow annihilation? At the lavish wedding, as Ethan and Isabelle celebrated their future, Leo knew this was Sarah' s ultimate breaking point. He barged in, a small, scruffy kid amidst the glittering crowd, shouting about Sarah' s selfless sacrifices, her anonymous donations, her quiet devotion. The truth hung heavy in the air, forcing Ethan to see, and stirring a new resolve in Sarah. This wasn' t just about her unrequited love; it was about finally choosing herself.

It was supposed to be the biggest day of my life. The day I, Alex Peterson, heir to a global empire, announced my engagement to Jess Vanderbilt, the perfect corporate alliance. Expensive sheets, blinding penthouse sun – a picture of success. But then, the memory hit me. It wasn't a nightmare; it was my last life. A life where Jess, the woman I thought I loved, and her charming snake of a lover, Ryan Miller, betrayed me. They leaked Peterson Global's R&D secrets, framed me, shattered my father's legacy, and then laughed as I was locked away. I died in that prison, lonely and broken, a stress-aggravated heart condition taking me. The humiliation, the pain, it was all still fresh, seared into my soul. How could I have been so blind? How could the woman I showered with everything, who spoke of grand love, secretly despise me enough to ruin my life, accuse me of theft, and abandon me to rot? The injustice was a searing fire in my gut. And then, I woke up. Here. Now. Back on this exact day, hours before the press conference, a second chance. They wanted me to choose Jess? Fine. I would choose. But this time, the script would be spectacularly different. I chose Sophia Chen.

My wedding day was supposed to be perfect, but the front row of seats remained eerily empty. My parents, my brother Ethan, and my fiancé Mark were all missing. Mark' s call confirmed my worst fears: they were at the airport, celebrating the "surprise visit" of my sister, Ashley. They' d chosen her-the family's dazzling star-over my wedding, dropping everything for her. Humiliated, I faced the murmuring guests alone, my heart sinking with the weight of their betrayal. Ethan called me a "victim" for having a journal titled "The 99 Times My Heart Broke." Then Mom demanded I make lasagna as an "apology" for Ashley, despite my severe dairy allergy blistering my hands. That night, Ashley faked an allergic reaction, earning me a violent slap from my mother and Mark' s immediate loyalty to her. The ultimate insult: I overheard my parents planning for Mark to marry me just so he could remain close and "look out for" Ashley. Was my life truly just a calculated tool for their golden child's convenience? Every painful entry in my journal screamed for justice. My breaking point had turned into a launchpad. I coolly played a recording of Ashley's manipulating confession for my stunned family. Then, I packed my bag and walked out, leaving their toxic charade behind for a full scholarship to Stanford and a life of my own design.

I'm Ava, a software engineer. But my reality is a nightmare. I' ve "died" twice in premonitions, murdered by my childhood friends, Liam and Noah, who were obsessed with another girl, Eliza. Now, framed as a corporate spy, I' m at their memorial, for men supposedly dead in a fiery crash. Then, they appear. Alive. They demand I choose one of their "legacies," implying my charges vanish if I comply. Their return isn't a miracle. It' s a terrifying trap. These men, who once "killed" me, kidnap me again, trying to extract my secrets. They publicly brand me an imposter, even parading out another woman as the "real" Eliza. My reputation, my sanity, everything is on the line. How can I fight these controlling ghosts who claim to love me but treat me as a replacement? Is this elaborate gaslighting, or is a deeper, more sinister plot unfolding around me? The line between my chilling premonitions and current reality blurs dangerously. What dark game are they playing? But I have a secret weapon: my late father's hidden data chip and a desperate, clandestine agreement with the powerful Julian Hayes. I will inject an experimental memory-restoring compound, risking everything to uncover the truth and dismantle a vast, deadly conspiracy, even if it means confronting my own haunting past head-on.

I woke up, flung ten years into the past, carrying the crushing weight of a previous life I desperately needed to undo. My last memories were of Ava's lifeless face in a casket, her death the culmination of my twisted, misguided vengeance. I had systematically tortured her, believing she embodied all my pain, only to discover she was the anonymous donor who' d literally given her heart to save my life. That unbearable truth, revealed too late, plunged me into an abyss of guilt, leading to a brutal, self-sacrificial atonement. Now, miraculously reborn, I was determined to rewrite history, save my family, and fiercely protect Ava from the torment I once inflicted. I vowed to earn her love, to prove I was worthy of the sacrifice I brutally repaid. But as I found her in this new timeline, thriving and happy, she was engaged to another man and completely indifferent to me. Her calm rejection cut deeper than any physical pain, a stark reminder of the love I had irredeemably destroyed. Can I ever truly amend the monstrous past, or am I forever condemned to watch her happiness from afar, haunted by the memory of the woman I needlessly lost?

I spent hours sourcing ingredients, meticulously preparing a farm-to-table lunch for my wife, Olivia. It was meant to show my unwavering support for her booming career, a perfect culinary testament to my love. But Olivia barely glanced at the beautifully set table. One quick peck on the cheek, a mumbled excuse about a "team BBQ," and she was gone. Moments later, I saw it: her Instagram, smugly captioning a brisket sandwich, while her assistant Mark' s LinkedIn showcased my elaborate meal, beautifully plated at his office desk, praising Olivia as the "Best Boss." My scallops. My panna cotta. All discarded and used as a prop for her assistant. When I confronted her, she fiercely defended Mark, even accusing me of being "childish." Later, in a fit of rage, she shattered our anniversary sculpture and even a Sterling family heirloom, injuring me in the process, while implying my actions destroyed our relationship. It wasn't just about lunch. It was a relentless invalidation, a blatant disrespect for our vows, for my very identity. My devotion wasn't just unappreciated; it was actively repurposed for another man' s gain, treated as worthless by the woman I cherished most. How could she prioritize his superficial flattery over everything we built? That was the breaking point. I left, but not in defeat. My "departure" was merely phase one. When I unexpectedly returned, catching her laughing intimately with Mark and her own mother dismissing my pain, I knew. The shattered wedding photo I left behind wasn't just physical debris; it was a promise. A promise of a meticulous, devastating reckoning.

Eleanor Hayes, CEO of Hayes Heritage Corp, had just sealed the deal of her career. Stepping off her jet at Logan, her family’s legacy felt untouchable. But then her phone vibrated. A headline screamed: "Hayes Heiress Olivia Park Engaged to Notorious Magnate Victor Sterling!" Victor. A predator decades older than her only daughter. This was impossible. Cold fury washed over her. At home, pure chaos. Her trusted mentees, Jace, Mark, and Caleb, alongside Chloe Bishop, had turned her estate into a den of debauchery. She found Olivia upstairs, frail, gasping for air, her asthma deliberately triggered. The mentees mocked her, conspiring to force the marriage and steal her inheritance. Later, the doctor confirmed "sensitive trauma," bruising, and possible drugging. My daughter. Manipulated, endangered, tortured in her own home, by the very people I trusted. How could I have been so blind? What monstrous games had they been playing? Clasping Olivia close, Eleanor made a silent vow: absolute retribution. Then Olivia whispered: "I recorded them, Mom. I recorded everything." The hunter had become the hunted. It was time for Eleanor Hayes to show them the true meaning of power.

I fell off a cliff and lost my memory. When I woke up, all I knew was that I was a general and had a fiancé. When the people sent by the court stood in front of me, I was immediately attracted to one of them. But the vice general pointed to someone else and said that he was my future husband. I couldn't believe it and thought I must have been crazy to like him. The prince laughed and the crown prince looked upset, warning me not to regret my decision. I didn't regret it at the time, but later on, I realized that I should have. Unfortunately, I was no longer the girl who was completely devoted to 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.

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.

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"

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.