Ting Er Xiao Ling

I was the chief consigliere of the Romano family, and I was secretly carrying the heir for my husband, Julian. But at a celebratory dinner, I saw my adopted sister actually seducing him. It turned out they had been sleeping together behind my back for a long time. When I confronted him, he gave the most ridiculous excuse. "I was drunk, the lights were too dim, I really thought it was you." Not only did he fail to make up for his mistakes, but he also stripped me of my power and gave my exclusive office to her. Because of the mess she made, a grieving widow attacked me with a hunting knife. When the cold blade pierced my abdomen, I dialed Julian's emergency number, but it went unanswered, like a stone dropping into the ocean. He was busy fooling around with my sister, with no time to answer the phone. When I woke up, I learned in the clinic that I had lost my child forever. While he wept outside my ward door, begging for my forgiveness, even willing to give me millions to make me stay, I calmly asked the doctor for a pen. I signed a permanent exile contract. I would build my own empire in this wasteland.

On our third anniversary, I spent hours cooking my husband's favorite meal, waiting for him to come home. Instead of a greeting, I overheard him and his mother in the living room, planning to evict me. He was an A-list actor, and I was his secret wife—a "failed PR investment" they now wanted to erase with a $250,000 NDA. He told me my trailer-park background was a stain dragging his career down. Later, when I suffered a severe allergic reaction to a sleeping pill and nearly died, he didn't care. He stormed into my hospital room, accused me of faking a suicide attempt for attention, and called my late mother a pathetic drunk. Even the arrogant ER doctor treated me like a desperate, hysterical housewife wasting medical resources. I gave up three years of my life to be his unpaid maid and his shadow, only to be thrown away like garbage. But what my husband didn't know was that the mysterious, top-tier creator "Xen" he was desperately trying to sign a life-changing deal with to save his career... was actually me. I ripped the IV out of my arm, bleeding onto the hospital floor, and smiled at him. "I'm going to watch you fall." I hired the most ruthless divorce lawyer in LA to take half his fortune, and quietly canceled his dream contract. This time, I'm going to watch his gilded life burn to the ground.

Idella's mother was dying in the ICU, needing a two-million-dollar deposit within forty-eight hours for a lifesaving surgery. Desperate, she begged her billionaire husband, Fount, for an advance on her own trust fund. Instead, he tossed her a hundred-thousand-dollar check for "funeral expenses," fired her from his company, and seized her life's research. He froze all her bank accounts, leaving her unable to even pay the vet bills after their five-year-old surrogate son nearly drowned her dog. When she tried to stop the boy, Fount threatened to have her dying mother thrown onto the street unless she bowed her head and apologized to the child. Stripped of her dignity and money, Idella dragged herself to Fount's private office, only to overhear a conversation through the cracked door. Inside, Fount was intimately holding his adopted sister, Angelita. "But Austin is our flesh and blood, Fount. He can't keep calling that barren loser 'Mom' in public." Idella's universe shattered. She was nothing but a pathetic shield to cover up their incestuous affair, and her severe infertility diagnosis had been a complete lie orchestrated by Fount's doctor. Three years of a sham marriage crushed her soul, but the absolute despair quickly morphed into a freezing knot of hatred. Just as she hit rock bottom, her phone buzzed with a call from Fount's biggest corporate rival, offering her a five-million-dollar signing bonus. Idella took off her diamond wedding ring, ready to burn the Fitzgerald empire to the ground.

I signed a prenuptial agreement with a cold-blooded Wall Street predator just to unlock my trust fund and fight my greedy stepmother. We were nothing more than legal roommates bound by a strict three-year contract. But to survive the corporate war at my family's company, I skipped my mandatory university finance class and paid a guy to answer the roll call for me. The stand-in was immediately caught and kicked out by the notoriously ruthless new professor. That night at dinner, I complained to my contract husband about the professor. "He's an unreasonable, arrogant dictator who gets off on torturing his students," I complained bitterly. My husband just calmly cut my steak and listened as I bragged about how I was going to fake-cry and manipulate the professor the next morning. I even rushed to the faculty office the next day and performed a desperate, tearful apology to an elderly man I assumed was the tyrant. I thought I had perfectly balanced my corporate war and my academic life. I thought I had fooled everyone. But when I confidently sat in the front row of the massive lecture hall, the heavy wooden doors pushed open. The terrifying new professor walked onto the podium and aggressively wrote his name on the chalkboard: Elliot Dillard. It was my contract husband. He looked down at me with cold, merciless authority, knowing every single lie I had told, and slowly called my name.

Years ago, I threw myself in front of an assassin's bullet to protect my Mafia boss husband, leaving me nearly infertile. He knelt in my blood, swearing I would be his only wife. But tonight, I heard him whisper to his childhood sweetheart in Italian: "My wife is a useless vessel; only you can give the Rossi family an heir." He thought I couldn't understand him, not knowing I used to work as an Italian translator. He also had no idea that an eight-week-old miracle was currently growing in my womb. Julian, you will never see your child. I no longer want your promises. I no longer want you. From now on, we will never cross paths again. Adieu, pour toujours.

Barrett handed me a Montblanc pen and a legal document, his voice as cold as the rain lashing against his Tribeca penthouse. He told me to sign an admission of guilt for an SEC violation I never committed. "Eighteen months in prison, Anaya," he said, adjusting his cufflinks without looking at me. "The trust fund is set up. You'll get twenty million dollars the moment you step out." I was being sold. The man I had loved for ten years, the man whose secrets I had kept, was trading my freedom to save his merger with Adele Townsend. He had scrubbed the digital logs of Adele’s illegal trades and pinned everything on me. When I refused, he didn't see my heartbreak; he only saw a malfunction in a business transaction. "Do not speak her name," he hissed when I mentioned Adele’s fraud. "This merger is bigger than you." He forced the pen into my hand, calling me dramatic while his security guards dragged me to a locked bedroom to "cool down." I spent three days parched and starving, listening to the muffled sound of champagne corks popping down the hall. They were celebrating my destruction. My heart finally gave out in that luxury cage, the darkness swallowing me as I realized I was nothing more than a disposable asset to him. I died in that room, alone and betrayed by the person I trusted most. How could he do this? How could a decade of loyalty be worth less than a stock price? Why did I let him treat me like a sacrificial lamb for so long? GASP. I shot up in bed, my lungs burning, but I wasn't in the penthouse. I was in my old, peeling Brooklyn apartment, and the date on my phone was May 12th—three years ago. My phone buzzed with a text from Barrett: "Where are you? Bring the Townsend files. Now." A cold, cruel smile touched my lips as I typed the reply that would start his nightmare. "I quit."

They told me one of them would be my husband. Seven men, groomed by my father to be part of our music empire. I only ever wanted one: Devon Valenzuela, the band's brilliant, brooding lead singer. But the night I caught him kissing his "sister," Delilah, I learned the devastating truth. The seven of them weren't rivals for my hand; they were a pack, united in a secret pact to protect her. I was just a variable in their game. They orchestrated "accidents" to keep me dependent-a near-miss in the studio, a fall from my horse that left me with a broken leg. Devon played the part of the doting fiancé perfectly, nursing me back to health. Then I overheard him confessing to another band member. "It was the only way to get her attention," he said. "The bone breaking… that was an accident. Not part of the plan." At my 21st birthday party, he humiliated me by broadcasting a video of my most private confessions of love for him to all our guests. But he didn't know I had a video of my own-one that would expose his precious Delilah and tear their entire world apart.

Five years ago, my fiancé, Carter, left me at the altar. My sister, Camilla, framed me, and my own parents helped brand me a promiscuous woman who got pregnant by a stranger. Abandoned and shamed, I was left to raise my son, Leo, alone, surviving three suicide attempts and a complete mental breakdown. Now, Carter is back. He's obsessed, convinced Leo is his son, and is trying to take him from me. He even used a DNA test to prove Leo isn't my biological child, pushing me back to the edge of insanity. When my sister tried to disfigure me with acid, I finally fought back. I slapped my parents, severing ties with the family that used and abused me. But the truth was far more twisted than I ever imagined. Carter's mother confessed everything-the lies, the manipulation, the real reason he abandoned me. He destroyed his own career in an act of penance, but it was too late. Because the man who saved me, the man who stood by me through it all, had loved me in secret for years. And I was finally ready to see him.

Sunlight hit my face, but I woke to a room I didn' t know, a smiling couple in a picture on the nightstand-strangers. Panic built. Then, a man from the picture walked in, tray in hand. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. He was my husband, Ethan, and my name was Ava, but it meant nothing. My memory reset every night, a rare amnesia, he explained. Then, one evening, it happened. My memory didn' t reset. I remembered everything: his assistant Chloe, their too-familiar glances, and their cruel whispers in his office. "It's convenient," he' d said. "She doesn't remember. I can do whatever I want." He saw me as a broken toy, his "perfect arrangement." I ran, lost in a city that was supposed to be home. When I returned, defeated, Chloe was on my sofa, wine in hand, acting like she owned the place. "Where else would you go?" she purred. Ethan, instead of concern, was annoyed. When I dared to demand a divorce, he grabbed me, threatening. He coerced me into kneeling before Chloe, forcing me to apologize. Then, she slapped me. He watched. The monster had built his life on my disability, isolating me, delighting in my helplessness. He had convinced my parents I needed isolation, turning me into a commodity. He didn' t just exploit me; he maintained my torment. How could he be so cruel? But then, a secret journal, hidden by a past self, revealed everything. He hadn't just used me; he was enabling my condition. The realization was sickening. I was trapped, but this time, the truth was burned into my mind. I knew I had to escape.

The air in the Las Vegas hotel choked with stale champagne and failure. My fiancé, Mark, slumped at the poker table, surrounded by his smirking cousins, Kevin and Brian. A fortune in chips piled before them. Mark' s pile was empty. My heart sank when Kevin announced the amount: "One hundred and eighty thousand dollars." That was my dowry, a fund for our future, our new home. Mark' s mother, Brenda, cornered me, her voice sharp. "You need to fix this, Sarah. It' s a family debt. You have the money. Pay it." My blood ran cold. She wanted my dowry to cover a reckless gambling debt. Mark wouldn' t even look at me, a pathetic man playing for sympathy. "Brenda, that' s… that' s everything we have," I stammered. "What kind of life will you have if your husband is in debt to his own family?" she countered. "Pay it, Sarah. It' s the only way." I looked at Mark, begging him with my eyes to defend us. He just shook his head, a weak gesture of defeat. The pressure was crushing, a trap closing in. My hand trembled as I reached for my purse, numb with shock and a twisted sense of duty. Then, a line of text shimmered in the air, a translucent pop-up. "Kevin and Brian are exchanging triumphant glances. They are predators who just cornered their prey." I blinked, shaking my head, but it was still there. Then another: "Brenda' s eyes are fixed on your purse, gleaming with anticipation, like a hawk watching a mouse." The fog in my brain cleared. This wasn' t tragic loss. This was a performance. A carefully planned scam to steal my money. Seven years of love, crumbling in an instant. The man I was to marry was a conspirator, his mother the mastermind. The devastation felt physical, but a cold, hard anger began to rise. They thought I was a fool. They were wrong. My hand became perfectly steady. I took a deep breath, the air tasting of betrayal. "No," I said, the single word cutting through the tension.

I spent my entire childhood as one-third of an inseparable trio: "EOM Forever." That meant a built-in future, headed to UCLA with my best friends, Olivia and Maya. And by college, I was supposed to choose which of them I' d pledge my heart to. But as my cursor hovered over the UCLA "Submit" button, thinking about that pact, triumph was replaced by a chilling sense of surrender. Instead, on a whim, I clicked "Confirm Enrollment" for Yale. It wasn't just a different school; it was an escape route. Because for months, our tight-knit world had been invaded by Liam Spencer, a charming new transfer. He charmed Olivia and Maya, and then effortlessly pushed me to the sidelines. My messages in our group chat became sparse, often ignored, as their plans revolved around him. Liam's "accidents" were always strangely convenient – a spilled glass of red wine on my laptop, a sudden "fainting spell" right before graduation. And every time, Olivia and Maya leaped to his defense, dismissing my feelings. "It's just a sweatshirt, Ethan," Olivia chided when Liam wore mine. "He needs it more," Maya chimed in, with a heart emoji. The ultimate betrayal came on Decision Day: Liam pushed me, cracking my head open on a stone planter. Even then, as I lay in the hospital, Olivia and Maya pled for his forgiveness, calling him "tormented." How could they be so blind? My childhood best friends had become total strangers, enabling a manipulative narcissist, turning my life into a living hell. I was done being their afterthought, their punching bag. Leaving them behind wasn't just a decision; it was a desperate declaration of war for my own life. But letting go of "EOM Forever" meant they wouldn't let go of me. Not Olivia, not Maya, and certainly not Liam.

Scarlett's world turned upside down when the man she sacrificed everything to betrayed her and let her die as she lay gasping in a pool of blood. However, her final moments of hatred did not turn out to be her last ones, as she found herself reborn two years ago. She vowed to avenge herself but was thrown off track after crossing paths with the city's most powerful man. Discover a winding tale of love, heartbreak, revenge, and drama.

"Why? I know it's not that you actually care about me. Then why? Tell me." I demanded looking down. "Be MINE, Caroline" he said. I always loved the way my name rolled on his tongue. I saw him coming towards me as I took small steps backwards until my back hit the wall. I could see his face getting closer to mine to reach my lips. Caroline Brook is the daughter of a wealthy business man. She has it all, looks, beauty, intelligence, money-of course! She's a true believer of LOVE. She lived a carefree life until a tragedy strikes hard. Daniel Rochester is one of the richest business man in New York City. He's the perfect definition for a Casanova. He never was a relationship kind of guy. And he rather chose to believe in one night stands. What happens when circumstances make these completely opposite people meet? Is there going to be an explosion of volcano of hatred or rain of love? Are they gonna make it together till the end?

Just a few weeks before my wedding to Hudson, his ex-girlfriend moved in next door to us. She constantly made a huge deal out of the fact that her father had sacrificed his life to save Hudson, and even destroyed my wedding dress, yet Hudson just stood by and comforted her. Just as I secretly found out I was pregnant, he publicly announced that he was going to hold a "fake wedding" with her, claiming it was for her psychological therapy. This news quickly went viral online, sparking the fury of netizens who even ganged up to attack me, causing me to fall to the ground and bleed heavily. I lost our child, and the doctor told me that my hopes of ever becoming a mother again were almost completely destroyed. As I lay in the hospital bed, my heart completely dead inside, Hudson appeared in the ward. "Please understand why I have to hold this fake wedding for her." He begged me to support his fake wedding, and my heart was thoroughly shattered. After he left, I immediately packed my bags, contacted the wedding venue, and changed the groom's name to the man who had always stood by me through thick and thin. When he found out about this, he actually went crazy trying to win me back at all costs!

When I was eight months pregnant, I collapsed suddenly from a severe pregnancy complication. In the hospital, my husband, Easton, refused to approve my emergency C-section. Standing beside my bleeding body with his mistress, Colette, he held a postnuptial agreement in his hand. He forced me to give up all our assets and take on Colette's massive debts. He even called the police and falsely accused me of stealing a fake luxury watch, trying to stop me from paying for my own medical care. "Sign it, and you get the surgery. Otherwise, don't expect to live." Because of his delay, my baby's heartbeat stopped. I completely broke down, grieving the child he had killed. He thought he had won. He thought I was a housewife he could manipulate however he pleased. But he forgot — I was the Chief Financial Officer who helped him build his entire corporate empire. And I had evidence of every single one of his financial crimes.

In order of priority, For Jayda Wright, her work comes first, She comes second, her best friend and family comes third and then her so-called boyfriend comes fourth. She didn't know she was losing her boyfriend at the expense of putting her job first. He finally broke up with her the day she got promoted as a partner in a reputable law firm. That night, Jayda made her way to a bar where she met Sebastian Miller, The multimillionaire with the worst personality but incredibly sexy. She had a one night stand with him, creating a bond that binds them forever!

One week before my wedding, I walked into the master bedroom of my fully-paid penthouse apartment and caught my fiancé cheating with my best friend. They were laughing about his fake "insomnia"—the lie he'd used to trick me into sleeping in the guest room so they could have the master bedroom to themselves. Gage was a top surgeon, and I'd sacrificed almost everything to care for his supposedly fragile health. I'd even brewed essential oils from my late mother's precious collection to steady his hands. But behind my back, they were planning to pretend to marry me, then slowly push me out and take over my home. When I confronted them, they didn't show a single ounce of guilt. Gage deliberately destroyed the essential oil my late mother had left me, then violently shoved me against the wall and locked me in the room to suffer the pain and bleeding alone. I had poured everything into building a safe harbor for this man, and in his eyes, I was nothing but a convenient stepping stone. I didn't even bother shedding a single tear. I took out my phone, canceled our honeymoon trip, and listed the penthouse on the market—cash sale, 24 hours. Time to take out the trash.

For eight years, I lived in a freezing, unheated apartment, washing the bloodstains out of my mob enforcer boyfriend's suits every day. He strictly gave me two thousand dollars a month, saying we had to live frugally and save up enough money to escape this dark world. But when I was washing his clothes, I found a receipt for a custom engagement ring worth sixty-eight thousand dollars. That ring wasn't for me, but for his secret lover, Mia. I cracked the password on his encrypted laptop and uncovered his three-year-long double life. He wasn't a bottom-tier thug struggling to survive in a dangerous game at all. He embezzled forty-eight thousand dollars from his mob boss's accounts every month to buy Mia diamonds, cars, and a luxury apartment in Manhattan. And meanwhile, I was drinking watery porridge just to save a little on the electricity bill. When I confronted him, he didn't show a single ounce of guilt, accusing me instead: "You're too heavy. Being around you suffocates me." He thought I was a pathetic parasite who couldn't survive without his protection. But what he didn't know was that I had already quietly earned over a million dollars through legitimate antique painting restoration work. I packed my bags. It was time to let the mob know who was really stealing their money.

On the night before my wedding, I opened an anonymous message card, only to find out that my fiancé had been cheating on me with my maid of honor for four years. The engagement ring on my hand was actually a cheap reject that she didn't want; her so-called "emergency business trip" was actually to cover up the fact that she had just given birth to his child last week. What sent the worst chills down my spine was that his entire family knew about this perfectly well, yet they still happily watched me meticulously prepare for this scam of a wedding. When I canceled the wedding and confronted them, his mother actually slapped me across the face. "You're nothing but a poor girl clinging to my son. Camilla is the one he truly loves." And my fiancé didn't even defend me. Instead, he pushed me to the ground, causing me to hit my head, all just to comfort his crying mistress. I spent eight years by his side, accompanying him from having nothing to where he is now, only to realize I was nothing but a convenient placeholder. I took off that discarded ring, blocked all of them, and bought a one-way ticket to Oregon, USA. This time, I decided to leave forever and never look back. But now, he's going crazy begging for my forgiveness!

For five years, I gave everything I had, using my blood to build Gabriel's underworld empire. I expanded his territory, conquered half of the turfs, and allowed him to sit on that throne. But just as I secured a billion-dollar casino contract, he ruthlessly tore the silver badge from my chest. He handed my entire career over to his new love, Serena. "Hand everything over to my fiancée, or you won't leave this room alive." Serena was a helpless outsider who had never even touched a gun, yet she wanted everything that was mine. Gabriel humiliated me in front of twelve family capos and announced that they would be married next month. He even threatened that if I didn't hand over the family's encrypted master drive to her before dawn, he would blacklist me and send men to take my life. Did he really think I would just obediently step aside and watch them take away everything I had built with my own hands? So, I calmly handed Serena a master drive loaded with a logic bomb—one that would drain their accounts and expose them to the FBI. Then, I walked out into the pouring rain, accepted an invitation from his most lethal rival, and prepared to watch his empire burn to ashes.

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Imagine if you will: At the highly secretive, largely independent, inter-dimensional and (inevitably) clandestine organization called the Time Saving Agency, there is a saying that goes: ‘You can’t break an omelet without first making eggs’. While this may appear to be a rather flippant little idiom, there is – as is usually the case, far more to it than meets the eye. For starters, that’s a rather simple principle of Time Travel right there – and according to the pioneers of time travel, it’s one of the foundation stones of the Theory behind it. It’s something of a paradox – a mind-boggling annotation in the ever-puzzling and ever growing Anals of History. (Some readers may still be thinking that should be ‘Annals’ – however, the author of this work cannot be blamed for what you may think.)