Tango

The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time. We were the golden couple of Northgate High, our future perfectly mapped out for UCLA. But in our senior year, he fell for a new girl, Catalina, and our love story became a sick, exhausting dance of his betrayals and my empty threats to leave. At a graduation party, Catalina "accidentally" pulled me into the pool with her. Jax dove in without a second's hesitation. He swam right past me as I struggled, wrapped his arms around Catalina, and pulled her to safety. As he helped her out to the cheers of his friends, he glanced back at me, my body shivering and my mascara running in black rivers. "Your life isn't my problem anymore," he said, his voice as cold as the water I was drowning in. That night, something inside me finally shattered. I went home, opened my laptop, and clicked the button that confirmed my admission. Not to UCLA with him, but to NYU, an entire country away.

My wife didn't want to have children, so we agreed to have sterilization surgery together. Little did I know, she regretted it after I had the surgery. She said, "I feel like two people should have a child together. Now that you've had the surgery, I'll have to find someone else like Nick, and when the child is born, we can raise it together." It turns out she had already made up her mind to have a child with someone else. So I smiled and said, "Okay." But as she wished, I asked for a divorce. Now she regrets it.

My husband, the Capo of New York, gripped my hand as we walked into the soundproofed room. He wasn't there to save me. He was there to watch the family doctor carve out my mind. A stranger named Sofia claimed I had sold her to a brothel twelve years ago. It was a lie. But Dante looked at me with cold marble eyes, believing the woman sobbing in his arms over the wife he had vowed to protect. "Sit, Elena," he ordered. He strapped me into the chair. He watched as they injected liquid fire into my veins to force a confession. He dragged me to the kennels, forcing me to feed the dogs I was terrified of, and watched as they tore into my flesh. He even locked me in a freezer to "cool off" my jealousy. The final straw wasn't the pain. It was hearing him plan a Vow Renewal with Sofia, intending to parade me as her Maid of Honor to teach me humility. I realized then that Elena Moretti had to die. So, I set the hospital room on fire. I left my wedding ring in the ashes and vanished into the night. Six months later, Dante found me in Paris. He fell to his knees, begging for forgiveness. I looked at him with dead eyes and handed him a knife. "Kill yourself," I said. "That is the only way I will believe you are sorry."

The scent of stale coffee and disinfectant. That' s how the world came back, as I slumped in a hard plastic chair at the police station. "Mr. Miller, we have no record of a child named Leo." Those words hung in the air, heavy and impossible. They said I' d gone to the kindergarten in a panic, claiming my child was missing, but the principal and teachers swore they' d never seen me with a child. My wife, Ava, arrived, confused and scared, denying we had a son. They showed me security footage: me, gesturing wildly at an empty space. My phone was empty too; all photos, all videos of Leo, gone. The crushing weight of their disbelief, the pity mixed with annoyance, made me feel like an insane man who had invented a son. Had I failed him? Had I let him disappear? Was I just crazy? The self-blame was suffocating. Then, I blinked. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across our familiar bedroom wall. The digital clock read 7:05 AM. It was the same day the nightmare began. I heard a child' s high-pitched giggle from the kitchen. It was Leo. Hope surged through me. A second chance. This time, I wouldn't fail.

The Country Music Awards after-party was buzzing, but the real show started when my husband, Ethan, walked in with Sabrina, the TikTok singer he' d been championing. His cruel smirk, the scandal washing over the room-it was the public humiliation he'd always wanted, and he was looking right at me. Then, my mother-in-law, Eleanor, a woman who despised me for surviving the crash that killed her daughter, Chloe, dropped a bomb. She announced my supposed "barrenness" to the entire Nashville elite, mocking me as "useless to this family," while Sabrina, Ethan's mistress, cooed about giving him the family I never could. My calm façade shattered when I coughed, a violent, hacking spasm, and the wet warmth in my palm revealed a terrifying truth: blood. Later, Ethan found me, wiping the blood from my hand with disgust. He accused me of faking illness, then leaned in, whispering, "You want to know the only way I'll ever forgive you for Chloe? You have to die." He thought I was finally broken, but my heart had already turned to dust. How could he believe such a monstrous lie? Why did everyone embrace the narrative that I, the sole survivor of a tragic accident, was a murderer, instead of the truth? My only escape was silence, the hidden battle against a disease stealing me away, and the desperate hope his hatred would finally set him free. I walked out into the Tennessee rain, leaving him to his party, knowing my final act would be to give him everything he wanted – my absence – in a way he' d never forget.

I was a Davenport heiress, engaged to Blake Vanderbilt III. My old-money life seemed perfectly scripted, culminating tonight at the Spinsters' Ball. My cousin, Savannah, the family charity case, was always my dearest confidante, urging me to "live a little" and ignore whispers about my weight. But at the ball, Blake shattered it all. Under blinding flashes, he publicly declared his love for Savannah: "The engagement is off. I cannot marry an embarrassment." He looked directly at me. The whispers turned to roars. The Boston tabloids screamed, "Hefty Heiress Dumped at Debut," pairing my tear-streaked face with Savannah's triumphant smile. Back home, Savannah, dripping crocodile tears, twisted the knife, confessing her years-long campaign. "You sat around...eating cake," she sneered, exposing her malice. How could the girl I'd shared my home and everything with orchestrate such public humiliation? Why was I so blind to her calculated sabotage, her sweet encouragement a poison meant to destroy me? There was no anger, no heartbreak… just an unsettling calm and a sudden, clear vision. They expected tears, begging, a scene. But when she claimed my grandmother's heirloom pearls, something snapped. I snatched them back. I left the mockery behind, walking away from the life they thought they'd destroyed. They had no idea who they were truly dealing with.

I woke up on my wedding day, the morning sun streaming into my opulent Charleston bedroom. But the taste of asphalt and blood was still in my mouth, memories of screeching tires and a crushing impact vivid in my mind. My stepfather' s perfect plan: a staged hit-and-run, his neat solution to inherit my mother' s fortune. Because I had died. Now I was back, alive, staring at the date-my wedding day, the day he had me killed. A wave of phantom pain, of broken bones and crushed hope, washed over me. Then I saw her: my stepsister, Brielle, in my custom wedding dress, admiring herself in the mirror. The sight was a physical blow, a reminder of the humiliation and betrayal I endured in my first life as they drugged me and locked me away. He walked in, Senator Richard Thorne, playing the concerned father, but his eyes were cold and full of the disappointment I' d known my whole life. He gaslighted me, painting me as hysterical, just as he did before, controlling everything. "Your mother is gone," he hissed, "And I control you. Don\'t you ever forget that." I was trapped, again, the crushing weight of powerlessness threatening to suffocate me. Rage, so profound it burned, replaced the despair. Why did I have to relive this nightmare, this perfect setup for my destruction? But something was different this time. The naive girl died on that dark road; I was what was left. If he wanted to control the Vance family, there would be no Vance family left to control, not the way he expected. I found my mother' s hidden failsafe: an encrypted flash drive, her "in case of Richard" file. It held years of meticulous corruption, a dossier so damning it would send him to federal prison for life. With a grim smile and a single click of the send button, I launched the nuclear option, sending it to the FBI, SEC, and every major news outlet. The game had changed, and they didn' t even know they were playing.

I'm Ava Sterling, and my stepfather Richard had commandeered the Sterling ballroom for my stepsister Chloe' s lavish birthday. She was just a scholarship student, but he doted on her, while I watched her expertly play the sweet, overwhelmed girl. Mid-party, Richard tapped his champagne flute, and the mood shifted. My stepbrother Ethan put a proprietary arm around Chloe, and Richard announced she'd been viciously cyberbullied. Then, Ethan turned and glared, fixing his gaze directly on me. Richard, in a disappointed tone, demanded I apologize to Chloe publicly, "Now." The crowd murmured, their judgment palpable, instantly believing the underdog narrative. Later, as I tried to slip away, Ethan cornered me, still seething. He grabbed my phone, then my arm, his grip tightening. In the struggle, he shoved me with brutal force. I stumbled, then crashed, landing in the dessert table amidst shattered pastries, cake, and frosting, a sharp pain shooting through my wrist. Laughter erupted. Lying there, humiliated and sticky with cake, a cut on my arm bleeding, I watched Chloe feign horror and Ethan look down with cold satisfaction. How could my own family do this? How could they orchestrate such a public disgrace for a lie? The betrayal was absolute, the injustice a burning inferno. Desperate, I was escorted out, but I knew what I had to do. With unwavering resolve, I called my mother, Victoria Sterling, across oceans. Her voice, usually calm, turned to chilled steel, promising a "clean house" upon her return. My era of quiet endurance was over.

Tonight, I, Emily, stood proudly at Ivy Glen Winery’s Annual Harvest Gala. My new Cabernet was launching, the culmination of three years transforming my in-laws' struggling vineyard into a national name as its CEO. Then my husband Kevin walked in, arm-in-arm with Jessica, his visibly pregnant college ex, and snatched the microphone. He slurred, branding me a "placeholder" and firing me, both as CEO and his wife, proclaiming Jessica’s child the "real" Parker heir. A hush fell, then whispers. The crowd, quick to condemn, watched as he offered a measly hundred thousand dollars for my years of effort. Jessica preened, boasting about being the "rightful" Mrs. Parker, reminding everyone I had no formal employment contract. Everything I built seemed to crumble. How could he? After everything I poured into this place, into *us*? To be so casually discarded, so utterly humiliated in front of everyone, felt like a cruel joke. Was I truly just a temporary convenience, a "nobody" without him, as he sneered? With a steady hand, I signed the brutal divorce papers, intending to walk away with nothing but the clothes on my back. But just then, my in-laws, Richard and Susan, stepped forward, and the true bombshell dropped: "Emily is our daughter. Our true blood. The rightful heir to Ivy Glen."

Unlike her twin brother, Jackson, Jessa struggled with her weight and very few friends. Jackson was an athlete and the epitome of popularity, while Jessa felt invisible. Noah was the quintessential "It" guy at school-charismatic, well-liked, and undeniably handsome. To make matters worse, he was Jackson's best friend and Jessa's biggest bully. During their senior year, Jessa decides it was time for her to gain some self-confidence, find her true beauty and not be the invisible twin. As Jessa transformed, she begins to catch the eye of everyone around her, especially Noah. Noah, initially blinded by his perception of Jessa as merely Jackson's sister, started to see her in a new light. How did she become the captivating woman invading his thoughts? When did she become the object of his fantasies? Join Jessa on her journey from being the class joke to a confident, desirable young woman, surprising even Noah as she reveals the incredible person she has always been inside.

Coleen Maine hated Hayden Michaels with her entire heart. After high school graduation, she thought she had escaped the hell that being a classmate to Hayden was. Being his academic rival was enough to put her, Coleen, at the top of his shit list. To make matters worse, he's the hot, popular jock with a full-ride scholarship he doesn't need, because he has all the money that she doesn't. When Coleen finds herself in close contact with Hayden again out of no free will of her own, she expects things to be the same. But somehow, somewhere between summer and starting their first year at college, something changed. Now, Coleen isn't sure Hayden hates her anymore. Between her new job, college, and her friendships, she finds herself wondering what lies behind Hayden's deep gaze towards her.

Lila Richmond has a secret that could destroy her,she's harboring feelings for her stepbrother Ryan Callaway. When her worst nightmare comes true and her old bully Cassandra becomes Ryan's girlfriend, Lila thinks things can't get worse. But she was wrong.Hockey bad boy Derek Stone knows her secret, and he's offering a dangerous deal - fake date him to throw everyone off her trail. But as their pretend romance heats up, Lila discovers that Derek's cold reputation hides something she never expected. Will their fake relationship survive when real feelings get in the way? And what happens when the truth comes out?

The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time. We were the golden couple of Northgate High, our future perfectly mapped out for UCLA. But in our senior year, he fell for a new girl, Catalina, and our love story became a sick, exhausting dance of his betrayals and my empty threats to leave. At a graduation party, Catalina "accidentally" pulled me into the pool with her. Jax dove in without a second's hesitation. He swam right past me as I struggled, wrapped his arms around Catalina, and pulled her to safety. As he helped her out to the cheers of his friends, he glanced back at me, my body shivering and my mascara running in black rivers. "Your life isn't my problem anymore," he said, his voice as cold as the water I was drowning in. That night, something inside me finally shattered. I went home, opened my laptop, and clicked the button that confirmed my admission. Not to UCLA with him, but to NYU, an entire country away.

She was hopeful that her life would change. There would be a new start after she graduated from high school. She was ready to fly in the sky, and rise towards her dream. Little did she know that her life would turn upside down on returning home. The biggest life-changing event was waiting for her. She was hardly aware that the bracelet she had been wearing since her birth was a token. The token of her marriage to a man she had never met. She could do nothing but follow the arrangement, for life wasn't willing to spare her. Her helplessness left her no choice. Finally, she decided to give up everything and run away! And again, destiny made fun of her. Unexpected and unknowingly, he stepped into her life again. What was in store for her in the future and where was life leading her?

After eight years in captivity, I was finally rescued. I thought it was the beginning of a new life with my mother. But she didn't even look at me. She ran into the arms of a handsome stranger, her real husband, and I was treated like a dirty secret from her past. They called me a contamination, a reminder of their trauma. My new stepsister set their Doberman on me, and as the dog's teeth sank into my arm, I looked up and saw my mother watching from the window. She met my eyes for a second, then slowly closed the curtains. In that moment, the last bit of hope I had died. The shallow bond of family was completely gone, and I finally gave up. But they made one mistake. The family patriarch, suspicious after a car accident, ordered a secret DNA test. The results came back on the day of my stepsister's birthday party, revealing a truth that would burn their perfect world to the ground.

Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley. Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him. That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!" He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law." Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart.

What happens when a desolate heiress meets a cheerful and handsome working student? Will they conquer the odds of being together or will they let the pressure of school, peers and family affect their relationship?

The last thing I saw was the Chicago skyline rushing up to meet me. Then, merciful darkness. Now, blinding sunlight streamed through a window, hitting my face as I lay in my university dorm room. My head throbbed with a pain far deeper than a physical fall. It was the brutal, horrifying memory of my parents, David and Susan Miller. Their kind faces, now hauntingly overlaid with images of their blood on the polished floors of our beautiful Chicago home. They were murdered. And the architect of that devastation? Brittany Evans, the very scholarship student my generous parents had taken under their wing, hailed as their "charity case." Her smile, so sickeningly sweet and fake, her boyfriend Spike's cruel, calculating eyes, haunted my every waking thought. She had meticulously orchestrated their downfall: the forged will, the baseless accusations leveled against me. I endured the looks of disgust, the complete abandonment from everyone I had ever known. The crushing despair consumed me, pushing me to the desperate, final leap. How could such an act of profound kindness be repaid with such heinous betrayal and wanton violence? How could I have been utterly blind, so incredibly naive, to allow my entire family, my entire life, to be so mercilessly dismantled, ending in that horrific, unjust way for all of us? The injustice burned. But then, I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. My hands flew to my throat, my chest. I was whole. Alive. It was the first week of freshman year. Again. I had been granted a second chance, and this time, a cold, unyielding rage, something I' d never felt in my first, naive life, settled deep in my bones. Brittany Evans would not win.

The night before the SATs, I sat at my desk, my mind fixed not on review books, but on Kevin Johnson, my ex-boyfriend, whose excited voice boomed from downstairs, bragging to my dad about Tiff Rodriguez' s party-his new girlfriend. Then, a horrifying, vivid memory jolted me from what should have been a normal evening: Tiff, sneering in the school bathroom, outlining her vicious plan to drug Kevin so he' d miss his Ivy League SATs. In that other life, the one I somehow lived, I' d desperately tried to intervene, to warn him, but he' d just laughed it off. Tiff' s scheme ultimately failed and led to her death, but Kevin, consumed by rage, responded by framing me for sexual assault. The unbearable shame of his lies drove my parents to suicide, and I, arrested and condemned, died in juvenile detention, haunted by Kevin' s cruel visit displaying my parents' last, broken moments. The utter injustice of his monstrous lies, the agonizing despair of being blamed for everything while struggling to help, was an unbearable burden. How could one life be so thoroughly shattered by such a deep, twisted betrayal? But then, a sharp gasp brought me back to my room, the exact same night before the SATs, Kevin' s laughter still echoing. This was it: my second chance. A cold, knowing smile touched my lips. This time, I would write a different ending.