Xing Bao

I spent two years as the perfect, dutiful wife to Foster Baird. I was his unpaid PR consultant and his emotional punching bag, enduring his mother’s snide comments about my orphan background all for the sake of a "marriage" I thought was real. But when I went to the City Clerk’s office to replace a damaged document, the clerk looked at me with genuine pity. "There is no record of a marriage license for you and Foster Baird. Legally? You aren't married." The betrayal went even deeper. I returned to our penthouse to find Foster’s mistress on our sofa, alongside a five-year-old boy who shared Foster’s exact features. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had a secret family that predated our entire relationship. He had even bribed a doctor to lie to me about being infertile just to keep me docile and focused on his business. When the mistress moved into my guest wing the next day, Foster demanded I act as their hostess and serve them dinner. I watched them play happy family in the home I built, realizing I was never a wife—I was just "cheap labor" he intended to discard once his company stock stabilized. He thought I was a barren charity case with nowhere to go. He was wrong. That same afternoon, I received a call from the executor of the Arthur Kensington estate. I wasn't a nobody; I was the long-lost biological daughter and sole heir to a five-billion-dollar fortune. While Foster was busy planning my replacement, I was accessing the Kensington Trust. I didn't scream, and I didn't cry. I simply bought a fifty-million-dollar mansion and hired a team of forensic accountants to dismantle the Baird Group from the inside out. I crushed my old phone under my designer heel and looked at my new security detail. "Let's get to work," I said.

On our fifth anniversary, I waited alone at "La Lune," the restaurant of our first date, a single white rose and a velvet proposal box in my pocket. But she never showed. No text, no call, just a creeping coldness in my chest. This wasn't like Sophia. Then I saw it on Instagram: a flashy video from a tech expo. My girlfriend, Sophia Chen, laughing, handing a birthday cake to her new assistant, Leo Davis. The caption: "#BestBossEver." She hadn't forgotten; she'd chosen to celebrate him. Anger, hot and sharp, burned through me. She rented an entire expo hall for him, but for me, not even a text. My world stopped. The rose, the ring, everything felt stupid. I walked out, leaving the rose, dropping the ring into a trash can. The feeling of loss was immense, but a hard resolve replaced it. This wasn't a mistake; it was her choice. Now, I would make mine. I remembered all the red flags I'd ignored. Her growing admiration for Leo, the son of a rumored tech mogul. Her late nights, her defensiveness, her distant voice. The jealousy, the arguments, the feeling of being an obstacle to her success, not a partner. Each incident, each public display of her and Leo's "teamwork" while I was relegated to the sidelines, gnawed at me. She never corrected them. She just let the narrative build. "You're obsessed with feelings, Ethan," she once said. "Success isn't about feelings. It's about power. It's about winning. It's a shame you'll never understand that." She chose what she thought was status and power over five years of my love and sacrifice. Overwhelmed, I packed a bag. Just as I zipped it shut, she walked in, cheerful and oblivious. "Ethan? You're still up?" she asked. I delivered my final blow: "Happy anniversary, Sophia." Her face went pale. On her phone, a notification from Leo flashed: "Tonight was amazing. Can't wait for our next 'celebration.' ;) You're the best, Soph." The winking emoji sealed my fate. I made the call. "Dad," I said, my voice steady. "Is the offer still on the table? The one concerning Olivia Hayes? Yes. The arranged marriage. I accept."

My mother was dying, her last wish for me to be settled, to be married. I rushed to my girlfriend, Olivia, the woman I' d loved for six years. "Let's get married. Now," I pleaded. For twenty-seven agonizing days, I begged, each day met with a new excuse. On the twenty-seventh day, she finally agreed. I waited at the courthouse, a bouquet of my mother' s favorite flowers in hand, hope surging through me. Then my phone buzzed. An Instagram notification. A picture of Olivia, grinning, a marriage certificate held high, Noah Peterson's arm possessively around her. The date on the certificate? The very first day I had started begging her. My world shattered. My phone rang again. It was the hospital. My mother was gone. She had died alone, her last wish unfulfilled, while I was waiting for a woman who had been lying to me for a month, already secretly married to her childhood friend, Noah. The betrayal was absolute. The casual intimacy between Olivia and Noah, the excuses, the constant prioritization of his fabricated problems over my dying mother' s last days-it all flooded my mind. I was a fool, blind to the truth that had been hiding in plain sight. I pulled out my phone, typed a single, final message, "Olivia, never again," and blocked her. I left the city, cutting off everything, ready to rebuild my life, honor my mother, and finally, honor myself.

My grandfather, Arthur, was a poison. He sucked the air out of every room he entered, leaving a trail of broken people, including my grandmother whose heart gave out too soon, and my father and aunt, constantly torn down by his biting criticism. At his 80th birthday party, despite my optimistic efforts-a magnificent cake and a thoughtful gift-he publicly humiliated me, sneering at my bakery and calling me a "cripple," then physically shoved me to the floor, injuring my arm. This act finally broke my father' s decades of suppressed rage. He roared, sent my carefully baked cake flying against the wall, and vowed to kill Arthur if he ever touched me again. The family, witnessing his monstrous cruelty, finally united against him, with Aunt Carol sobbing and calling him a monster, especially after he cruelly mocked the memory of Uncle David, who died saving Arthur' s life. I was stunned, then enraged, watching his self-pitying performance. How could a man so toxic, so utterly devoid of empathy, continue to inflict such pain on the people who were supposed to love him? With nothing left to lose, we cut him off entirely, expecting his retaliation. What we didn' t expect was for him to take his malice public on a livestream, only to be exposed by an unexpected truth-teller, leading to his swift, ironic downfall.

The warehouse air bit deep, the night before my engagement party. I was Noah Miller, a tech prodigy, about to marry Emily Stone. Now, I lay broken on a frozen concrete floor, limbs shattered, a final blow to my head fading the world to red and black. Men sent by my own fiancée did this. Left for dead, I survived on frozen concrete, only to find myself in a hospital with my mother, Susan Miller, CEO of Miller Corp, vowing revenge. But her words turned arctic as I overheard her: "He and his father were getting too ambitious. They were a threat to Alex' s position." Alex, my adopted brother. The son she truly cherished. They plotted to install Alex as my replacement, to marry Emily and take over the company. My mother casually dismissed my critical injuries, stating my ability to have children was "irrelevant" since I wouldn' t inherit anyway. She chose to let me be crippled. The family I thought I had was a snake pit. The devastating truth hit me - my own mother orchestrated this, all for Alex, and for his biological father, Robert Davis, the man who swapped us at birth. She knew the truth, yet embraced the lie, denying me the love and privilege that should have been mine. My life was a lie. My future, gone. What was the point of surviving? My very existence became a testament to their cruelty. But somewhere deep inside, a flicker of outrage ignited. A hidden phone, a forgotten contact-Leo, a ghost from my street past. He picked up. "I need your help," I rasped. This wasn't about hope. It was a cold, hard promise of revenge.

The "Dreamland Adventures" carousel flashed, a stark contrast to the bruised purple sky. It was my twins' fifth birthday, a day meant for joy, but dread tightened in my stomach with every distant thunder roll. Sophia, my neurodivergent daughter, pointed at the Ferris wheel, her voice pure happiness: "Daddy, look! Can we go on that one next? Please?" Leo, always more sensitive, clutched my hand. "It' s getting loud, Daddy." My wife, Olivia, a busy CEO, had insisted on this flashy park, then vanished. This was her grand gesture, now she was nowhere. My tenth call finally connected. "What, Ethan?" Olivia' s voice was sharp, impatient, a loud cocktail party behind her. Mark Jenkins, her ex, laughed nearby. I pleaded, "Olivia, where are you? The storm is getting worse, the park is shutting down rides. The kids are scared." "Don' t be so dramatic. It' s just a little rain." Her lie, so blatant, left me breathless. "I can' t just leave, Ethan. Mark is having an emergency. His father is ill. I need to be here for him." I held Sophia' s hopeful gaze. Olivia' s dismissive sigh echoed: "Sophia will be fine. You' re there, aren' t you? That' s your job. Just take them on one more ride to shut them up and then go home." My heart screamed no, but her words pushed me into a corner. "Okay, sweetie," I said, my voice tight. "One last ride." "This is the best birthday ever!" Sophia shouted as the Cosmic Rocket lurched upward. It was the last thing I ever heard her say. The ride groaned, a metallic screech ripped the air, and her car detached. It just… fell. My world ended. Hours later, on the wet pavement, I received a notification. Olivia' s social media: a picture of her and Mark, champagne glasses raised. "To new beginnings and rekindling old flames! Best night ever." She was celebrating. While our daughter lay dead and our son was broken, she was celebrating. A black, icy rage washed over me. It wasn't an accident. It was the direct result of her choice. Sophia is dead. "Ethan, this is not the time for your melodrama. I told you I' m dealing with something serious. Stop trying to get my attention." Her phone call followed, syrupy and annoyed: "Honestly, Ethan, you need to grow up. I have a real crisis on my hands. Just handle the kids. I' ll send you some money. Buy them something nice." Then, muffled, "Sorry, honey. Just Ethan being needy again." Needy. For telling her our child was gone. My father-in-law, Richard Hayes, arrived, crumpled and old. "My little Sophia." I showed him Olivia' s texts. He heard the voice note. His face shifted from grief to disbelief, then to a deep, terrible fury. "That… woman. She is no daughter of mine." He looked at me, eyes clearing. "I' m so sorry, Ethan. I' m sorry I ever let you marry her. I was a fool." The doctor' s words echoed: "He' s not speaking, Mr. Davis. Selective mutism." Olivia hadn' t just abandoned them. She had destroyed them both. In that sterile hallway, my decision was made. Not about grief, but justice. "I want a divorce. She will never see Leo again." Richard nodded. "Whatever it takes. I' m with you."

The old house felt wrong, but we still visited my husband' s stroke-stricken mother, Susan, every Sunday. Then, a new caregiver, Olivia, appeared – too young, too perfect, her presence immediately unsettling. My father-in-law, Robert, was completely smitten, fawning over her while she brazenly blocked us from seeing Susan, claiming doctor' s orders. The condescension, the hidden glances between them, and the cloying perfume in my mother-in-law' s house twisted my gut. What was really happening behind the closed doors of Susan' s room? A few days later, a faint thud and a low moan from Susan' s window sent a chill down my spine, confirming my darkest fears. They were hiding something, hurting her. My husband, David, furious, brought home a tiny nanny cam disguised as a USB charger. Our desperate plan was set: on Sunday, during a staged argument, I would sneak into Susan' s room and plug it in. The live feed was horrifying: Robert, his wife paralyzed in bed, was canoodling with Olivia, calling Susan "useless." Then Olivia dropped a bombshell: "I'm pregnant." David was incandescent with rage. We stormed back to the house, bursting in on their cozy scene. "I know everything," David roared, confronting his father. Olivia, playing the victim, announced her pregnancy, but a weak, guttural sound from Susan' s room shifted David' s focus. He shoved his father aside and rushed in, only to discover Susan neglected, abused, and terrified. Blinded by fury, David lunged at Robert, and in the chaos, Olivia feigned a dramatic fall, screaming, "My baby!" The police arrived, called by Robert, and David was arrested for assault, leaving me alone in the wreckage. Susan' s rasping whisper, "Snow… fake," confirmed my worst suspicions: Olivia was a fraud. With David jailed and Olivia claiming a miscarriage, I was drowning, but my mother' s firm voice cut through the despair. "She's done this before, Sarah. This is a professional operation." My despair turned to a cold, hard resolve: Olivia had overplayed her hand. Justice for Susan was now my only goal.

My name is Liam Turner, and for three years, I was Northwood High' s academic golden boy. Every award, every scholarship, every path to an Ivy League dream was mine. Until my step-brother, Ethan Hayes, stepped into the spotlight and stole it all. "And the award for Academic Excellence… goes to… Ethan Hayes!" That was just the beginning. The next day, as I studied my meticulously organized notes in the library, Principal Thompson's voice boomed: "Liam Turner, stand up." Ethan, feigning concern, held up a crumpled sheet from my own notes. "He had these notes... hidden under his textbook. He was copying from them during yesterday's final exam." My blood ran cold. "That's a lie! Those are my study notes! You stole them from my room!" But no one believed me. "You are a disgrace to this institution," Principal Thompson declared, snatching my binder. "Your scholarship is revoked. You are hereby expelled from Northwood High. Get out of my sight." I was a cheater, a fraud, in an instant. My own mother arrived, not to defend me, but to embrace Ethan, her "poor baby" who had bravely exposed my "betrayal." My stepfather, Robert Hayes, didn't hesitate. He slapped me across the face, the crack echoing through the stunned library. "You have brought shame on this family," he hissed. My mother' s words cut deeper: "Why would I ever believe you over Ethan? You've always been a disappointment." They threw me out, leaving my shattered laptop and shredded notebooks on the driveway. Ethan, with a knowing smirk, offered me a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. "Here," he sneered. "For the road." I ran, the humiliation scorching my soul, but in the desolate quiet of a park bench, rage ignited into a cold, hard resolve. They wanted me to fail, to disappear. I would prove them wrong. I would rise so high they would be forced to look up and see the man they had discarded. My weapon? The SATs.

"Yes, Dad. I agree." My voice was steady, my eyes fixed on a ceiling crack. My father needed a lifeline for his company, and I, Ava, was his duty, a merger by marriage. But before I could even process the words, my stepbrother, Liam, snatched the phone from my hand, his grip crushing, his eyes blazing. "Who the hell are you marrying?" he snarled, a harsh laugh ripping through him when he learned of my defiance. "You live in my house, Ava. Everything you do is my business." For a decade, I had silently loved him, only to be yanked back into his cruel games. Just last week, his drunken confession of "Maybe it's always been you" had sent my foolish heart soaring, before Chloe' s reappearance instantly turned him cold. He'd discarded my cherished birthday gift, a hand-carved bird with a broken wing, into the trash, a brutal symbol of his rejection. Then, Chloe vandalized the only photos I had of my deceased mother, and Liam let her. My world crumbled. How could the boy who once swore to protect me become this monster? Dragged into public humiliation by Chloe's staged shopping fiasco, then publicly shamed by Liam online as an "obsessed stalker" to appease her. Abused physically, thrown into a sterile hospital room, forced into a procedure he believed would "solve his problem," all under the terrifying lie that I was pregnant to trap him. The utter violation, the betrayal of my trust and body, left me hollowed, a profound and sickening realization that I was merely a tool, a replacement for some lost love, Eleanor. But their cruelty ignited something new within me. No more. I gathered the last remnants of my strength, my silent tears replaced by a chilling resolve. It was time to leave, to finally break free from this gilded cage, and reclaim myself.

For seven years, I was a ghost in their sprawling estate, officially a husband but truly a glorified servant, burying my dreams to pay off their 'generosity.' My own daughter, Molly, called me "Ethan" and saw me as just another part of the staff, while my wife and her parents constantly reminded me of my "place." Then, after a late celebration for a minor promotion, I returned home only to find myself locked out, Nicole having changed the gate code as a petty power play. I spent the night curled in my old pickup, staring at the grand house that was never my home, watching my own daughter look at me and walk away, leaving me to the cold. How could I have so completely lost myself, and how could they be so utterly devoid of empathy for the man they claimed to have "saved"? The next morning, I walked back into that house, handed her the divorce papers, and walked out of that life forever, ready to reclaim every single piece of myself they had stripped away.

My NFL dream was within reach. I’d just led my team to a State Championship, and a scout from the Dallas Cowboys wanted to meet me. Life felt perfect. Then Sophia called. Not to congratulate me, but to demand I attend her ex-fiancé, Lucas Sterling’s, "recovery party." He, a supposedly paralyzed race car driver, apparently needed my emotional support. I missed the crucial Cowboys meeting. At that lavish party, Lucas, always the victim, publicly humiliated me, forcing a humiliating apology. He then "accidentally" ruined my championship jacket, a cherished symbol of years of dedication. Sophia just brushed it off, offering expensive gifts as "compensation." I began logging every sacrifice, every forced compliance, in a personal ledger—a "debt" I owed Sophia for her family's help with my mother's experimental treatment. Each "gift" was just another painful tally of what I’d lost, from my father's treasured football to my dignity. Was my life just currency for them? When the Jacksonville Jaguars offered a tryout, a second chance, Lucas orchestrated a horrific car crash, ending my career with a shattered arm. Sophia, fully aware, prioritized his theatrical injury, leaving me bleeding and broken. The 99th debt was paid, but I was done. I disappeared, leaving behind a life that had cost me everything.

Lilian received a “special birthday gift”---her nude photos being displayed on the big screen. Not only did her fiance conceal their engagement and married her sister, but she also became the biggest laughingstock in the city. When she thought everything couldn’t get any worse, she was set up by her stepmother and sister and got driven out of her family. Now that she had nothing to lose already, she would avenge herself at any price. With the help with her Mr. Right, she was going to let them live in hell and get back her everything.

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

For three years, Cathryn and her husband Liam lived in a sexless marriage. She believed Liam buried himself in work for their future. But on the day her mother died, she learned the truth: he had been cheating with her stepsister since their wedding night. She dropped every hope and filed for divorce. Sneers followed-she'd crawl back, they said. Instead, they saw Liam on his knees in the rain. When a reporter asked about a reunion, she shrugged. "He has no self-respect, just clings to people who don't love him." A powerful tycoon wrapped an arm around her. "Anyone coveting my wife answers to me."

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.