Zhao Da

I was the secret lover of my CEO, Kristofer Gordon. He called me his "Starlight," and I, a brilliant but naive software engineer, believed him. Then he publicly chose his fragile childhood friend, Elenor, revealing I was nothing more than a disposable secret. The cruelty didn't stop there. He bought my late mother's necklace for Elenor, who taunted me by putting it on a stray dog. When I snapped and attacked her, Kristofer had me arrested and beaten in jail. Lying in a hospital bed, I learned the final truth from a gloating Elenor: Kristofer had secretly filmed every intimate moment we ever shared, holding the tapes as blackmail. He wanted to break me. He wanted me to suffer. But the woman he thought he destroyed died that day. I walked out, set his mansion on fire, and disappeared. This time, I would be the one in control.

On the night of our fifth anniversary, I wasn't drinking champagne. I was standing in the shadows of my husband's study, clutching an encrypted drive I found taped behind our wedding photo. It contained the blueprints to a life Dante was building with another woman—Sofia Ricci, the daughter of our sworn enemy. He wasn't just cheating on me. He was using the Port Redevelopment project I had spent two years designing to launder the money he needed to run away with her. When I confronted him, Dante didn't beg for forgiveness. He looked at me with the cold indifference of a Capo and told me to fix my face for dinner. The humiliation didn't stop there. He forced me to share a car with his mistress while my ankle was swollen and throbbing from a fall. He fussed over Sofia’s "delicate" motion sickness while ignoring my pain completely. "Elena is sturdy," he dismissed. Sturdy. Like a mule. Like a table he owned. He even stripped me of my rank, handing my multi-million dollar operation to Sofia simply because she had a "vision" for glass walls. He thought I was just a compliant wife, a placeholder to keep his books clean while he played house with his true love. He forgot that while he was the muscle, I was the architect. So, at the Family Gala, wearing a backless revenge dress, I didn't just ask for a separation. I threw a glass of champagne in his face and announced to the entire underworld that the accounts were empty. I didn't just leave him. I took the encryption keys, the money, and his entire future with me.

"We' re done, Ava." Ethan' s words hit me like a physical blow, shattering the future we' d planned. He stood in the penthouse doorway, a stranger, offering me a bizarre payoff: the absurdly luxurious apartment, a sports car, and ten million dollars. A "thank you for the past four years," he mumbled, avoiding my eyes, before dropping the bombshell: he was getting married, an arranged family alliance that had "nothing to do with me." Just last night, he' d whispered my name with desperate passion in my small, cheap apartment, making love to me in what I thought was a new beginning. But this morning, he was gone, replaced by a lawyer, delivering "gifts" from "Mr. Hayes." My four years of love, reduced to a transaction. He thought money could fix this, buy my silence. The irony was crushing. He called me a poor, smart girl, working my way through college on scholarships, having no clue his ten million was pocket change. He didn't know I was Ava Riley, the sole heir to Riley Tech. Why would the Ethan I knew, the man who despised the arrogance of the rich, agree to a forced marriage? Something was terribly wrong. I stared at the keys in my hand, then at my phone. The heartbroken girl was gone. "Noah," I said, my voice cold and steady. "I need you to find someone for me. Ethan Hayes. I want to know everything. Especially who he' s engaged to."

My wedding day. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, standing side-by-side with my best friend, Sophia, marrying into the powerful Beaumont family. But then, a scream cut through the music. Isabella Stone, a family friend, pointed a trembling finger at our fathers, accusing them of unspeakable acts. Just minutes into our new lives, Liam and Ethan Beaumont, our new husbands, turned to monsters. They let their security beat our fathers mercilessly on the cold stone patio, ignoring our pleas, their faces devoid of the love we thought we shared. The sounds of fists hitting flesh, their grunts of pain – it was agonizing. Then Isabella whispered to us, her voice filled with chilling glee, that our fathers were still alive when they were left to bleed out. Liam and Ethan had actively prevented the ambulance from reaching them, sealing their gruesome fate. My world shattered. My kind, gentle father, dead. All because of a monstrous lie. In the sterile hospital waiting room, as Sophia and I grappled with the unspeakable truth that our fathers were truly gone, we overheard Liam and Ethan. Their every word dismissed our pain, their only concern being for Isabella, the architect of our devastation. It was then I knew: the love I thought was real was a delusion. Grief turned to icy rage. A catering assistant, a terrified teenager, offered us a video, undeniable proof of Isabella' s calculated performance. The truth was finally within our grasp. It was time to fight back.

I spent three decades by Marcus Thorne's side, his loyal companion, the quiet force behind his empire. My life was a gilded cage, filled with whispered promises and the subtle comfort of being cherished. Then, at the annual gala, he shattered it all. On stage, he introduced "Isabelle Vance" as his "true love," casting me aside like forgotten debris. He ripped the silk gown he'd designed for me, a brutal symbol of his sudden, chilling contempt. My fall was instant and brutal. From Thorne Tower's mistress, I became a servant, enduring Isabelle's sadistic whims and Marcus's cold indifference. They subjected me to "mental recalibration," a systematic torture designed to erase my very memories of affection, pushing me into the abyss of Thorne City's dreaded Rehabilitation Center and ultimately, Section Zero. How could a man I gave 30 years of my life to so readily condemn me to hell? Was every memory a lie? The injustice burned, fueling a tiny, desperate flame within me even as they tried to break my spirit. Just when all hope seemed lost, a defiant prisoner named Elias offered an unexpected escape. Now, as the truth about Marcus's manipulative "true love" finally shatters his world, he desperately seeks my forgiveness. But I am no longer the woman he discarded; my fight for freedom has truly begun, and this time, it's on my terms.

For seven long years, I, Ava Chen, willingly served as a human blood bank for Chloe Vance, the sickly heiress beloved by Ethan Cole, the man I secretly adored. My architectural dreams at Columbia were constantly sidelined, all for the unrequited hope that Ethan might one day see me. When Chloe desperately needed a life-threatening bone marrow transplant, I demanded Ethan marry me to agree, but during my near-death flatline, his callous words echoed: "If Ava doesn't make it, so be it." I jolted awake, not truly dead, yet Ethan's chilling indifference had irrevocably shattered my foolish, wasted devotion. Later, I was brutally beaten by Chloe and her clique, left for dead, and even then, Ethan ordered my critically injured body to be 'drained' for Chloe's blood. How could I have been so hopelessly deluded, so utterly blind to the callous man I loved, or the manipulative viper he protected? The stinging reality of his cruel pragmatism, repeated over years, finally pierced through my heartbreak, leaving only incandescent rage. In that moment of ultimate despair, a cold, unyielding resolve transformed me: no more sacrificing myself for them. I would reclaim my life, starting with a daring, unexpected act that would ensure Ethan truly received what he deserved, marking my definitive escape from their toxic grasp and a new dawn for myself.

Shirley lost her heart to the man she could never have. She knew it was a mistake but she had decided to stick to it till the end. He was like a deep quagmire and she was sinking fast with no way out. Even though she knew there was a bottomless abyss beneath her feet, she was willing to go all out and abandon everything for his sake. The man was none other than her uncle. Edmund also adored her. She assumed that she would be able to forget about him now that she left, but it was not going to be so easy to get over this forbidden love. Will Shirley continue pining endlessly for Edmund or will she move on?

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.

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.

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

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.

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

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.

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.

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

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."