William Jafferson

My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through. That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister. But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library. They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien. Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve. I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen. This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over. "No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach."

I went to the City Clerk's office to update my passport, desperate to feel alive again after losing my ability to draw. Instead, the clerk handed me a reality that killed me. "Mrs. Crosby," she whispered, her face drained of color. "You aren't married to Bennet. The divorce was finalized three years ago. On October 12th." The date hit me harder than a physical blow. October 12th was the day my right hand was crushed. The day Gianna Skinner, a woman obsessed with my husband, shattered twenty-seven bones in my drawing hand with a marble bust. Bennet, the most ruthless Don in New York, had promised me justice. He swore he locked Gianna in a dungeon to rot for hurting his "Angel." But the screen in front of me told a different story. He had married Gianna the very same day he divorced me. I drove to the Lake House where she was supposed to be suffering. I didn't find a prison; I found a modern glass palace. There they were, sitting on a swing set I had designed. Gianna wasn't rotting. She was laughing in his lap, wearing a silk robe. "She is so pathetic," Gianna purred, tracing his jaw. "Five years and she still thinks she is the Lady of the house." Bennet chuckled, the sound dark and terrifying. "She is broken, Gianna. A bird with no wings. She has no value to the Family anymore, except as a trophy on my shelf. She is my pet. You are my fire." My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Bennet. "Happy Anniversary, my Angel. Tonight, I give you the world." He wasn't giving me the world. He was building a cage out of lies. Through a bugged ring, I later heard his endgame: he planned to institutionalize me for "mental instability" so he could bring Gianna into the light. I didn't go home to cry. I went to my office and opened a secure browser on the dark web. *Subject: Protocol Erasure.* *Target: Harper Cline.* *Execution: Immediate.* Bennet thought he had broken his pet. He was about to realize he had just unleashed a lioness.

For five years, my life was perfect. I was the political genius who put my father on a path to the White House. My charming husband, Christian, adored me. It was all a meticulously crafted lie. His ex-fiancée, Isabelle, the one they told me died in a car crash? She wasn't dead. I found her living in a secluded estate with my husband and their four-year-old son. My own father was funding their secret life. My entire family was in on it. Then I found the video. My father, my stepmother, and Christian, all planning my character assassination. "We paint her as emotionally volatile, a liability," my father said. "We discredit her before she can discredit us." They weren't just hiding a secret. They were prepared to destroy me to protect it. The family I thought was my anchor was my prison, and the man I loved was my warden. The idealistic girl who craved her father's approval died right there. She was replaced by a cold, precise fury. I copied their entire secret life onto an encrypted flash drive. I built their dynasty. And now, I was going to be the one to burn it to ash.

Four years after Alanna Robertson, a wealthy heiress, was kidnapped, she miraculously returned home, only to find her fiancé, Cameron Stewart, and brother, Anderson Robertson, completely under the spell of her adoptive sister, Bailey Kent. She tried to expose the truth, but they dismissed her claims as trauma-induced delusions. Instead of finding comfort, Alanna was slapped, pushed down stairs, falsely accused, and humiliated. Her own family, the people she loved most, betrayed her. They sided with Bailey, believing her every lie, and even sent Alanna back to the very human trafficking compound where she had been held captive for years. There, she endured unimaginable torture once more. Why were they so blind? How could they be so easily manipulated by Bailey's sweet facade? Why did the people who claimed to love her punish her for telling the truth? In her darkest hour, Alanna found a hidden camera in her mother's locket. She meticulously recorded every act of betrayal and every moment of her renewed nightmare. Then, with a final, desperate act of defiance, she set the compound ablaze and leaped from a cliff, using her own life as the ultimate proof. She left them with a ticking time bomb of truth, forcing them to confront their monstrous mistakes.

I spent seven years loving Autry Villarreal, the man who became my guardian after my parents died. He was my savior, my entire world. Then, he announced his engagement to Cassie Turner, a woman who looked uncannily like a younger version of me. I found out by watching it on the news. His fiancée moved into our home and immediately began erasing me. She tore out the rose garden I had spent years tending, laughing as the bushes were ripped from the ground. Next, he used his influence to kill a major brand deal I had, giving it to her instead. The final blow came when she leaked fake, scandalous photos of me online. He refused to defend my name. He told me to just disappear, offering me money to live comfortably as long as I stayed away. "I will protect her," he said. "She is my fiancée." I looked at the man who had promised to always protect me, now offering to pay for my silence. In that moment, seven years of love turned to ash. I booked a one-way ticket to France. This time, I wasn't running away. I was finally choosing to live for myself.

Ethan Miller, a game developer, was lost in his pixelated world until his fiancée, Chloe, shattered it. He watched online as she flaunted herself with billionaire Julian Harrison, a man old enough to be her father, wearing a sapphire bracelet he couldn't afford. Chloe's merciless abandonment followed. She returned to their apartment only to trash his monitor, mocking him as a "broke nobody" and declaring her love for Harrison right to his face, adding insult to injury. The deep betrayal and humiliation felt like a physical blow. He stared at the shattered screen, the broken pieces of his game, of his life. Chloe packed her bags, laughing as she left, promising Monaco and a life he couldn' t dream of. His world spiraled-a small apartment, a crashed monitor, and the echoing words of Chloe with her new lover. He was a victim, a nobody. Everything they had built was fake, like the pixels on his screen. But the hurt quickly solidified into a cold, burning anger. He picked up his phone, dialed a number he hadn't touched in three years, and with a steady voice, declared, "Dad, I'm coming home."

My wife, Molly, had a best friend, Nate, who was always a little too close for comfort. I tried to ignore the red flags-her late nights with him, his hand always on her arm, their inside jokes that shut me out-but it ate at me. Then, for my birthday, Molly brought Nate along… via video call, to help him custom-design a gift. I stood there, an ignored accessory to my own celebration, feeling like a piece of furniture until my patience snapped. The final blow came on our anniversary when she abandoned me completely for one of Nate' s "emergencies." I decided I was done. But as I packed my bags, Molly dropped a bombshell: she was pregnant. Under immense family pressure and for the sake of our unborn child, I agreed to try again, but only if Nate was completely out of our lives. She promised. But she lied. Weeks later, despite my direct orders, she secretly went to Nate' s notorious boat party, where his reckless actions caused her to lose our baby. The devastating loss shattered everything, leaving us with nothing but the broken pieces of a life that would never be. In a twisted spiral of grief and blame, Molly snapped. She drove to Nate' s studio, waited for him, and intentionally ran him over, crushing his legs and ending his career. She was arrested, her life, and what remained of ours, irrevocably ruined. Finally free from the toxic cycle, I walked out of the chaos and into a new, respected future, entirely my own.

Sarah Miller was deeply in love with Ethan Hayes, her charming athlete boyfriend of four years. Their relationship felt perfect, built on trust and shared intimacy. A simple visit to the university clinic for a stomach ache seemed innocuous enough. But Ethan' s step-sister, Chloe, a nursing student, botched Sarah' s blood draw, causing her immense pain. When Sarah calmly asked Chloe for an apology, Ethan' s loyalty shockingly shifted. He sold Sarah' s most intimate photos-photos he had taken-to his frat brothers, boasting he was "teaching her a lesson" for slighting Chloe. Sarah discovered her private life plastered across campus forums, her dignity publicly shamed and mocked. Yet, the nightmare escalated further when Ethan, feigning concern, lured her to a party under the false pretense of Chloe' s apology. There, she was drugged with GHB, humiliated, and recorded by Ethan and his friends, their leering faces documenting her violated state. How could the man she loved so deeply betray her so fundamentally, all for a petty slight against his step-sister? Why did his seemingly protective words mask such calculated, cruel sadism? Her world spun in a haze of sickening betrayal, unbearable public degradation, and the terrifying loss of memory from that fateful night. Broken but not defeated, Sarah made a desperate call to her diplomat parents, fleeing the country to heal. Now, years later, armed with a full, terrifying memory of that night and an unwavering resolve, she' s back. And this time, she' s not just escaping-she' s here to ensure every single person who wronged her faces their true reckoning.

After two years in a secluded Swiss Alps "wellness retreat," I returned to my Hamptons home, ready to reclaim my life and legacy. But my lavish "welcome back" party quickly turned into a public spectacle of betrayal. My fiancé, Ethan, openly paraded Olivia Morgan, a manipulative substitute who'd copied my style then twisted it into a saccharine imitation. My half-brother, Leo, and stepmother, Catherine, plotted to seize our family's media empire. I was dismissed as "harsh" while Olivia played the innocent victim. Ethan, whom I’d once loved, hurled accusations. Then my cousin, Ellie, revealed the chilling truth: Olivia wasn't just mimicking me; she was following a discarded script Ellie had written – a story where the "sweet" rival replaced and killed the heiress. This wasn't just about betrayal; it was a deranged, literal plot for my life, orchestrated by those I trusted most. The sheer audacity of them trying to write my ending, to cast me out and then erase me completely, ignited a cold fury I never knew I possessed. They wanted me dead? Fine. I decided then and there that if they wanted to follow a script, *I* would write the new ending. And it would start with my very public, very convincing "death." This time, I’d pull the strings from the shadows, making sure everyone got exactly what they deserved.

They called it an "accidental drowning." Eighteen months. Eighteen months since my brother, Leo, was gone. His infectious laugh, his terrible jokes, all silenced. But I knew the truth. It was a lie. Izzy Sterling’s name was branded on my soul. Those Hamptons words – "Deal with him" – led to Leo’s broken body on the shore. Their money, their lawyers, buried the truth. So I spent eighteen months learning. Not just my NYU degree, but about the Sterlings, their dirty secrets. I became Ethan Reed’s executive assistant, perfect, invisible. I meticulously orchestrated Izzy Sterling’s downfall, manipulating jealousy, sowing doubt, turning her own cruelty against her. My plan worked. I replaced her. Yet, somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Ethan, the man I was meant to use. Just as I thought justice was within reach, a new, far more cunning darkness emerged: Julian Vance. Not just a cover-up artist, but a true monster. He saw me as a threat, poisoned me, kidnapped me, even hired a hitman for my unborn child. Each escalating attack pushed me to the edge, a new kind of desperation. Cornered, I confessed my carefully guarded secrets to Ethan. And to my surprise, he didn't run. Instead, he chose to fight with me, against the monsters who wronged my family, against anyone who threatened our newfound love. But even after Julian's imprisonment, a ruthless business rival, Marcus Thorne, launched a deadly attack, pushing me into premature labor. This isn't just about truth anymore. It’s about survival. It's about protecting what’s left, and ensuring no one else suffers like Leo, even if it means fighting beyond the law.

For money, Lily agreed with her best friend's request to spoil her blind date. The last man she expected to meet was not a fat middle-aged man but Dean, the legendary heartthrob in the college. What surprised her to the core was that she already married him, but she knew nothing about it. What she also didn't know was how deeply he loved her.

I had been a "decoration piece" for Kenton Parker for three years, a contract wife bought to pay off my father’s gambling debts. I lived in a cold penthouse, making his coffee and answering his phones, while he treated me with the clinical indifference of a stranger. On our third anniversary, I waited alone at the city’s most exclusive restaurant, only to see a news alert flash on my phone. Kenton wasn't coming. He was caught on camera at a hospital, looking at his "friend," ballerina Blanca Donovan, with a raw, frantic worry he had never once shown me, not even when I fell down a flight of stairs. I finally snapped and filed for divorce, citing his "irreversible erectile dysfunction" just to destroy his massive ego. I thought I was free, but Kenton retaliated with a cruelty that left me breathless. He froze every bank account I owned and had his secretary smash the last photo I had of my mother. He reminded me of the five-million-dollar penalty in my contract—money I didn't have. "You don't get to leave until I say so," he roared, dragging me into his office. He used my father’s life as a leash, forcing me to play the part of a doting wife at his family’s Hamptons estate to please his sick mother. He wanted to starve me out until I crawled back to his side. I couldn't understand how a man could be so heartless. He didn't want my heart, yet he refused to let me go, treating my life like a line item in a corporate merger. He wanted to keep me as his prisoner while he spent his nights with another woman. But Kenton made one fatal mistake. He thought I was just a broke, submissive secretary with nowhere to turn. He didn't know that I was "Vee," a world-renowned art restorer with a secret legacy and a six-figure commission waiting for me. As we shared a bed in the Hamptons and he pulled me against his chest, whispering that I was "his," I didn't feel comfort. I felt the cold, hard spark of a woman who was finally ready to burn his contract to the ground.

After my tenth miscarriage in five years, I believed my body was broken. My husband, Barron, was my perfect, doting savior who had rebuilt my life after destroying my family's company. Then, I overheard him on the phone. He confessed to poisoning my tea every night, methodically murdering our ten children to repay a debt to his mistress. A life for each year she'd spent in prison for him. My entire world wasn't just a lie-it was a gilded cage built by my family's destroyer. He thought he left me to die in a fire. He was wrong. Now, with a new face, I'm back to burn his empire to the ground.

My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through. That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister. But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library. They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien. Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve. I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen. This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over. "No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach."

The last thing I remembered was the grinding sound of machinery, a symphony of six years in our small town, now a city death knell. My children, Lily and Tom, were so excited to visit their father Michael' s new, successful factory. "They've missed Michael so much, Ava. Let them go see him. He's just inside." Sarah, Michael's brother's widow, whispered, her arm around my shoulder, her voice a sweet poison. I watched them run ahead, their small figures disappearing through the massive doorway, believing their father was building a better life for us. They didn' t know the truth: Michael had left us for Sarah, taking our factory severance pay to build his new life with her and her children. Then I saw Sarah' s real smile-sharp, cold. She pushed an unsecured metal cart. A klaxon blared. Two screams, cut short by a sickening crunch, a spray of red. My world ended. Michael stood over me, his face filled with chilling annoyance, not grief. "Well, that's that, then," he said, flatly. "Saves me the trouble and expense of a divorce, I guess." He glanced at the machinery. "They were just baggage anyway, Ava. Holding me back." His words annihilated my soul, a physical force squeezing the breath from me. The world turned gray, then black. I died on that cold, greasy floor. And then, I gasped. I was in my cramped bedroom, sunlight filtering through the grimy window. A calendar on the wall marked the day the factory closed. Lily and Tom sat on the rug, whole and alive. "Mommy?" Lily asked, her big brown eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" Tears streamed down my face. I clung to them, inhaling their scent. I was back. The memory of their deaths, of Michael's monstrous words, was burned into my mind. Grief remained, a hot knot of agony, but something cold, hard, and sharp solidified beside it. Revenge. Michael. Sarah. You will pay. I will tear down your world, piece by piece, and I will make you feel every ounce of the agony you gave me. This was not a second chance at happiness. It was a second chance at justice.

At East Coast University, being Valedictorian wasn't an honor; it was a death sentence. Every year, the top graduate met a horrific end, fueling whispers of a chilling campus curse. Three years ago, my brilliant sister, Claire, delivered her valedictory speech, radiating hope and promising to break this very curse. But just a week later, she was found dead, an alleged suicide, leaving behind a cold, printed note: "Allie, never pursue peak glory." Claire always called me "Allie-cat," never just "Allie;" I knew instantly the note was a fake, a twisted cover-up for her murder. Consumed by grief and an unyielding desire for justice, I spent three years meticulously climbing the academic ladder, earning the top spot, becoming this year's Valedictorian to expose the truth and lure her real killer into the light. The night before graduation, I went live online, publicly challenging the murderer, declaring Claire was slain and not the first victim of this academic reckoning. But instead of catching *them*, the police stormed my dorm, arresting *me*, accusing me of being the serial killer responsible for all the other Valedictorian deaths. Then my own mother, face masked and frantic, burst in, screaming a desperate confession, trying to take the fall for *my* alleged crimes, hinting at a horrifying family secret far deeper than I could ever comprehend. How could I, the one tirelessly hunting the truth, suddenly become the monstrous subject of a nationwide witch hunt, framed as the cold, calculating killer I sought to unmask? Shoved into the back of a police car, the only image seared into my mind was my mother's face—pale, terrified, a silent plea begging me to finally unravel the devastating truth she couldn't speak aloud. Then, chaos erupted: a deliberate, violent car crash, my chance to escape the clutches of a corrupt system and dark accusations. Now, on the run, I chase the elusive whispers of Mom’s hidden fears and a mysterious clue from my long-dead father’s past, determined to unearth the real answers that lie buried beneath the surface of my sister’s tragic death.

Laura was a bold, courageous, gorgeous, intelligent young lady who always stood out for herself. She always fought for her right and never allowed anyone to look down on her , her family nor her friends. She was known as the most brilliant and talented student in her class. This irritated some of her mates and led to the plot of her attack to tame her. " Hold her, let's see how her intelligence works this time...", Ben exclaimed, landing a huge slap on her cheek. Patrick and Fred held her tightly, chuckling and teasing. They molested and bullied her until she passed out. " Wait, Ben, I think we killed her....", Fred cried " Shut up, what do you know? She's just doing that to scare us...." " No, Ben...I think he's right...we killed her..." " Oh, my God...what should we do..." Join me on this journey while we find out what they did to her body and the outcome of their action. ENRAGED SOUL;The revenge of a traumatized girl

It started on the one-year anniversary of my return, a day meant for joy. Instead, my family, devout and God-fearing, brutally murdered me. My brother, my protector, became a "defiler" screaming monster, my father, a man of God, cut off my hand with a rusty saw, and my mother, once overjoyed, called me an "abomination." They threw my bleeding body into a silo, sealing the hatch, and as I died, I only had one question: Why? It was the locket. The small, carved wooden locket my sister, Esther, had given me moments before, a "welcome home" gift that instantly turned my loving family into rabid killers. Somehow, I woke up. It' s the same day, the same anniversary. Esther is coming up the stairs, the locket in her hand, about to give me the gift that will trigger their bloodlust again. This time, I refuse. But Esther is cunning, and soon, I'm dodging my family's crazed attacks, desperately trying to expose their dark beliefs to the authorities. They look at me like I' m simply a troubled girl with an overzealous family. Knowing the law won't stop their fanaticism, I have no choice but to use their own twisted faith against them, no matter the cost, to finally break free.

The last thing I saw was Thunder’s bloodied jaws, closing in on me. My daughter, Sophia, lay broken a few feet away, already gone. Pain, then darkness. Then, with a gasp, I bolted upright, my heart hammering like a drum. I was back on the same rough porch, facing the same smug smirk of Old John. At the end of his chain was Thunder, the Australian Cattle Dog who had butchered my child and me. “Heard you were back in town, Isabella,” Old John rasped, his voice a cruel mockery of a welcome. “Brought you a little housewarming gift,” he added, pulling the chain as Thunder whined, straining to reach me, just like that first time. The memory crashed over me: Thunder’s lunge, the searing agony as his teeth tore my thigh, the hot gush of blood, and then, Sophia’s petrified screams followed by chilling silence as he turned to her. Old John had known my paralyzing fear of dogs, yet he had specifically brought this hulking beast to torment me. He had laughed when I pleaded, ignoring the danger, using the dog as his personal weapon. Every horrifying detail, every agonizing moment of Sophia’s brutal death and my own demise, flooded my mind with chilling clarity. But this time, as Thunder lunged forward once more, I forced my trembling legs to stop. No. Not again. This time, things would be different.

My name is Sarah, and I remember the cold. Not the chill of winter, but the stainless-steel table against my back. My sons, Michael and Gabriel, were gone, their screams replaced by silence. My husband David, blinded by ambition, led us to that abandoned clinic. His sister, Veronica, craved an heir for her powerful husband, Senator Harrison. She believed my "Legacy Fertility" and my children's "vital essence" could help her. A quack "expert" performed monstrous acts on my seven-year-old twins. Then it was my turn; they brutally harvested my ovarian tissue. I was left to bleed out on a filthy floor, my insides torn. I died there, a vow of revenge frozen on my lips. Later, I saw Veronica on the news, pregnant and glowing with what she stole. But then, warmth. Sunlight. My eyes snapped open to my own familiar bedroom. Michael was on my chest, Gabriel curled beside me, both alive, young, and whole. The calendar read October 14th—the very day it all began. The memory slammed into me: David's averted eyes, the isolated building, Veronica's cold voice, Michael's terror, Gabriel's whimper. This wasn't a dream; this was a second chance. Veronica, triumphant in my first life, had risen on my family's ashes, her belly swelling with a lie while mine was emptied by her greed. No. Not again. This time, I wouldn't just survive. I would take everything she had, everything she wanted. Her husband. Her position. Her future. My revenge would be absolute, and my children would live. The game had begun.

Veronika McAllister have lived a sad life and a life full of secrets. After the death of her mother during a robbery gone bad, her father blames her for her mother death and her family hates her for reasons she doesn't know. When accepted into Caston college also known as bloodyville because of the series of murders committed by the red ghoul which was later killed in 1990. Now a series of murders is done in the exact manner as the red ghoul the day Veronika stepped into Caston. Are this murders connected to Veronika or has the red ghoul awaken to finish where it left off.