Yuan Xiluo

"I' m sorry, Ms. Davies, but there seems to be a problem." The government clerk's words hit me like a physical blow. Liam and I were so excited, registering our baby' s birth early, making it all feel real. Then she said it: "Mr. Liam O' Connell is already married. His marriage to a Ms. Sienna Reed was registered six months ago." My world shattered. Married? To someone else? My cherished marriage certificate was a fake. The man who' d told me he' d searched for me every day during my year-long amnesia, the man who swore he only waited for me, had found a replacement. He had looked me in the eye and lied. Returning home, I found her clothes in his closet, her bracelet in his jewelry box. Then, I heard his voice, soft and intimate on the phone, telling 'her' I suspected nothing. "She' s just… a substitute. A shadow. She looks like you, that' s all." A wave of nausea washed over me, mixing with the sharp pain of my pregnancy apps notifications. He said he was off to a crisis in Chicago, but I drove to the luxury condo he' d once mentioned. There, I watched him kiss Sienna, a deep, passionate embrace he hadn't given me in months. This wasn't just cheating; this was a deliberate, long-term deception orchestrated for my family's money. All the while, my baby, our baby, was growing inside me, tainted by his lies. The man I loved saw me as nothing but a means to an end. My heart breaking, I was left to wonder: how could I have been so blind? What kind of monster had I loved?

I spent two years sweating on construction sites, hauling drywall and mixing cement, just to give Brittni the normal life she said she wanted. On our anniversary, I sat in our dark kitchen with a plate of homemade fettuccine and a one-carat diamond ring I’d saved six months of wages for, waiting for her to come home. Then my phone pinged. An Instagram notification showed Brittni at a luxury rooftop gala, a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice, and a wealthy socialite’s hand resting possessively on her waist. She was wearing the expensive red dress I bought her for her birthday—the one she told me was "too fancy" for our simple dinner dates. The caption read, "Back with my queen," and Brittni had replied with a single red heart. Minutes later, she texted me: "Stuck at a late-night board meeting, babe. Don't wait up. Love you!" I looked at the cold, congealed pasta and the jagged scar on my ribs from my time in the special forces, realizing the last two years were nothing but a lie built on her pity and my desperate need for normalcy. I didn't scream or throw my phone. Instead, a strange, predatory calm washed over me—the "Ghost" persona kicking in to shut down the noise of heartbreak and focus on mission parameters. I was done being the "simple builder" who worried about rent while she used me as a placeholder until a "better" man came along. I walked to the closet, pried up a loose floorboard, and pulled out a gold signet ring bearing the Hubbard family crest—the symbol of the multi-billion-dollar empire I had rejected five years ago. I dropped the modest engagement ring into the trash on top of the wasted pasta and dialed a number I had sworn never to call again. "It's time, Harve. I'm coming home." The motorcade was dispatched before I even hung up. As I stepped into a blacked-out Cadillac and watched the $50 million deposit hit my account, I realized how small Brittni’s world truly was. She thought she was trading up for a Rolex and a social media tag, but she was about to find out that the man she just ghosted was the heir to the very empire that owned her future.

The scent of lilies still clung to my clothes, a cloying reminder of my daughter Shannon' s tiny casket, yet it was the stench of betrayal that truly choked me. At her graveside, I saw Harlow Faulkner, my closest friend, standing too close to my husband Antonio, her hand possessively on his arm. Then, Antonio hissed, "Francesca, darling, not now," his smile pasted on for onlookers, but his eyes were ice. He' d brought me breakfast in bed, protected me from critics, built an empire with me. Now, he was a stranger. My accusation ripped from me: "You left her alone, Harlow! You left my baby alone, and she died!" Harlow whimpered, "It was SIDS, a tragic accident." Antonio roared, "You're making a scene!" He then revealed the nanny cam was "broken," confirming my darkest fear: he knew. He was part of it. When Antonio' s hand instinctively went to Harlow' s stomach, whispering, "Is the baby alright?" my world shattered. He had a new family. He was erasing Shannon, erasing me. They sent me to an institution, electroshocked and drugged me, then forced me to sign divorce papers. But as I lay broken, a cold, diamond-sharp resolve hardened within me. He thought he could erase me. I would remember everything.

I was Aegis's top operative, betrayed by my fiancé, Hazen, and the very woman I had rescued and mentored, Bianca. They conspired against me, framing me as unstable and jealous. Hazen, the man I was supposed to marry, chose to believe her calculated lies over my raw pain, even after he caught them together. He pushed me, causing a head injury, and then publicly condemned me when I tried to expose Bianca's manipulation. My own partner, my friends, everyone I had saved and fought alongside, turned against me, siding with the "fragile" victim she pretended to be. Hazen's final betrayal was the coldest. He had me tortured, then left me broken in a cell, all to protect Bianca's fabricated innocence. "You are a liability, Echo," he had said, his eyes devoid of love, "a dangerous, unstable liability." I was left with nothing, my spirit shattered, my entire life a lie. The accusations, the abandonment, the sheer injustice of it all-it was a poison I couldn't live with. So I did the only thing I could. I walked into a clandestine clinic and had them erase it all. Now, I am Evelyn, a quiet bookseller in Vermont. I remember nothing. And today, three years later, a man with haunted eyes just walked into my shop and called me by a name I don't know: "Echo?"

I was the daughter of the East Coast's most powerful mob boss. For six months, I was blackmailed into being the secret lover and informant for the FBI's golden boy, Kaiden Walter. But just as I fell for him, he announced his engagement to a senator's daughter on national news. He called our relationship a "political arrangement" and told me I was just collateral to keep my father in line. His new fiancée then publicly humiliated me, calling me "trash." I had sacrificed everything for him, even the secret child we might have had, only to be used and discarded like a toy he got tired of. Was I ever anything more than a job to him? The shame of my public disgrace killed my grandmother. My father, seeing my world destroyed, took his own life to give me a new one. He faked my death, gave me a new identity, and left me a fortune. Anya Chambers was dead, but Anna Russo was just beginning her revenge.

For five years, I was the wife of Jace Sharpe, the city's untouchable "Golden Boy." I was a loyalty consultant paid ten million dollars to make him fall in love, but I was the one who ended up genuinely falling for him. Then his old flame, Fallon, reappeared. When I told him I was pregnant with our child, his face became a mask of stone. Fallon smirked from the steps of his private jet. "The baby has come at the wrong time," he said, his voice as cold as ice. "It must be aborted." He had his men drag me to a clinic. As the anesthetic took hold, I heard him give a final, cruel order to the doctor: "A hysterectomy. I want to ensure there are no more… inconvenient surprises." He destroyed my body and our child for another woman. Lying in that sterile room, my love turned to icy hatred. I reached for a burner phone I hadn't touched in years and sent a single message to a mysterious contact. The reply was instant: "I'll pick you up in fifteen days."

The final line of code glowed emerald on my holographic interface, my AI masterpiece complete. Tomorrow was the launch, the culmination of years, ready to redefine my legacy. Then, Sarah, my co-founder and the woman who' d been by my side from the start, walked in. "I''m pulling out," she stated, her voice flat, abandoning our company just hours before launch. It was for Alex, her struggling protégé, an untalented kid whose AI was built on ethically questionable data. "You''re throwing all of this away for him?" I asked, a cold dread washing over me, knowing his project was doomed to fail. "I''ve already built one successful company; I can do it again with Alex," she shot back, adding, "Don''t be so jealous and ruin Alex''s big break! He has potential, real potential, more than you give him credit for." Just as I opened my mouth to protest, a terrifying news ticker flashed across my smart glasses: BREAKING: Tech mogul' s partner sabotaged; protégé' s AI caused widespread privacy breaches, leading to the mogul' s downfall and public disgrace! The future, my ruin, flashed before my eyes. I swallowed my protest. A new, chilling plan formed: I would let them fail, show them exactly what they' d given up. I leaned back, a calm smile on my face. "Okay. I''ll help you liquidate your shares and join Alex."

The blizzard howled, tearing through my truck, through my bones. My leg, shattered by Ethan's enforcers, throbbed, a familiar pain mirroring the betrayal in my heart. My phone screen flickered, a cruel final joke, announcing Ethan had just won "Family Values Politician of the Year." The photo showed him beaming, his arm around Brittany, and a little boy, their adopted son, wearing my Daisy' s bracelet. The one I' d made for her before Ethan sold her to child traffickers. My life, this wretched string of Ethan' s deceits, flashed before my eyes. I' d sold off my family' s historic ranch, acre by precious acre, to fund his political ambitions, only to be branded "uncivilized" for the calloused hands that built our legacy. He' d given my only insulated coat to Brittany, called me hysterical for a post-birth hemorrhage while giving my life-saving medicine to Brittany for a "migraine." Then, the county fair. To pay off a campaign scandal, he' d arranged for Daisy to get "lost," selling our daughter. When his deal went sour, he' d used me as a shield, promising to tell me where she was if I protected him. I fought like a cornered animal, and they broke my leg. He never told me. Dying in this snow, watching the man who destroyed everything receive an award, with my daughter' s bracelet on another child' s wrist? The injustice was a suffocating shroud. Why did he hate me so much? How could he be so cruel? What kind of monster sells his own child? Then, darkness. And a gasp. I jolted awake, not in a blizzard, but in Brittany' s lavish home, pregnant. Pregnant with Daisy. This time, things would be different.

My full scholarship to Princeton had just arrived, a bright promise of four years alongside Chloe and Maya, the girls my family had sponsored since childhood, whom I saw as my own sisters. But their smiles shattered when they announced their "dream" was deferring Princeton to follow a delinquent quarterback named Jake to South Valley State. My phone, unsettlingly prophetic, flashed a dire warning: block them, and they'd sabotage my Ivy League future; soon, I realized their "love" was a cold calculation to use my family's wealth for Jake, leading me to secretly cut their financial ties, a move that spiraled into them physically attacking me before Jake shoved me into the path of my parents' arriving car. As my bones shattered and I lay bleeding, the ultimate betrayal wasn't just the physical pain, but the chilling realization that the girls I'd always protected were capable of such ruthless manipulation. Now, with my parents suddenly witnessing their true colors and my own future hanging by a thread, those "sisters" would learn that their carefully orchestrated scheme had just triggered their own spectacular downfall.

My life used to be picture-perfect, complete with a brilliant scholarship student named Liam who tutored me, quietly becoming my everything. I was the privileged girl who bought him new glasses and shared my lunch, seeing past his poverty to the smart, kind soul within. Then, overnight, my family lost everything. Our mansion, our cars, my college fund-gone. I swallowed my pride, working a grueling sales job, fighting to pay for Boston State, while old bullies like Bryce sneered at my downfall. Just when I thought I was hitting rock bottom, Liam reappeared. He was no longer the skinny kid but a polished, confident man, the heir to a billionaire father he' d never known. He helped my struggling dad and even sent me money, yet a strange distance lingered, especially with the stunning Elena always by his side. Did he only see me as a charity case now, a relic from his past? Was all our shared history just a debt to be repaid? But then, as I finally tried to move on, dress on, ready for a hopeful new date, he stood on my doorstep. His eyes raw, his voice unsteady, he admitted, "I can't stand it. I'm in love with you. I have been since Northwood."

Five years ago, she was still a cold killer, but he suddenly broke into her world and lit up her desire for love again. However, when she chose to give up everything and embrace this love, she was unprepared for his unexpected betrayal. Five years later, to avenge herself, she returned to the city that had hurt her a lot. Accidentally, she became his contractual lover. She kept telling herself that it was just a way of cooperation. However, she found that she could not stop herself from falling for his tenderness.

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

Zane and I were together for ten years. When he had no one, I stayed by his side, supporting his hockey career while believing at the end of all our struggles, I'll be his wife and the only one at his side. But after six years of dating, and four years of being his fiancée, not only did he leave me, but seven months later I receive an invitation... to his wedding! If that isn't bad enough, the month long wedding cruise is for couples only and requires a plus one. If Zane thinks breaking my heart left me too miserable to move on, he thought wrong! Not only did it make me stronger.. it made me strong enough to move on with his favourite bad boy hockey player, Liam Calloway.

The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost. Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal. This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline. I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war.

Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit. The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena. This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone.

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."