The Perfect Victim: Playing The Billionaire's Game

I was hired to be the "cure" for the Stuart family’s reputation, a wife whose only job was to manage the emotional risks of Casper Stuart’s cold-blooded empire. My life was governed by spreadsheets and compliance reports, and my value was measured solely by my ability to remain a silent, perfect asset. On our second anniversary, Casper didn't come home for dinner; instead, a Page Six alert showed him with a Victoria's Secret model at Soho House, his hand possessively on her back. When he finally returned, he didn't offer an apology, but a clinical reminder of my "obligations." I soon discovered he had given my three-million-dollar anniversary bonus—a pink diamond necklace—to his mistress, while tossing me a cheap bracelet his assistant had picked out. When his mother offered me a two-hundred-million-dollar settlement to disappear, Casper tore the contract to shreds in front of me. He whispered that he had bought up every cent of my family’s medical and gambling debts, turning my marriage into a life sentence of indentured servitude. To prove his power, he kicked me out of his car in a rainstorm twenty miles from the city, leaving me to walk home barefoot while he drove off with my dog. "Tell her you want to stay," he had commanded in front of his mother, using my mother’s life as leverage to keep his "portfolio" intact. I stood in the mud, shivering as the rain washed away the mask of the supportive wife, realizing that to the Stuarts, I wasn't a human being—I was a line item that could be liquidated or crushed at will. But Casper forgot one thing: I am an actress, and I’ve finally landed the role of a lifetime. I’m done managing his risks; I’m about to become his greatest liability.

Ten days before my wedding, I learned my fiancé-the man who swore to heal my abandonment issues-was cheating for a "final taste of freedom." His betrayal cost me our unborn child, and then he had the audacity to beg me to give my blood to save his mistress's life. He expected to see me walking down the aisle, but I planned a different kind of show: a wedding gift that would be his public execution.

A faint blue line on a pregnancy test confirmed the dream I' d nurtured for four years: twins. I, Sarah Miller, an architect, was about to surprise Mark Johnson, the man I loved, the man who had pulled me from the wreckage of grief after my parents' suspicious death, the man whose real estate empire I had meticulously helped build. But when I reached the exclusive downtown club, laughter spilled from the private room, and a voice asked, "When are you and Lisa Chen making it official?" My world shattered as Mark' s confident voice, stripped of all warmth, replied, "Sarah? Sarah was a means to an end. A very useful tool." Then came the true horror: "She has no idea I was the one who made sure that old farmhouse of hers had a little electrical \'accident.\' Best investment I ever made." He killed them. The man I loved, my savior, was my parents' murderer. Everything I believed was a lie. The twins I carried, conceived in a deceit, were just leverage for him, a means to an heir Lisa couldn' t provide. The overwhelming betrayal, coupled with a searing pain in my abdomen, sent my vision blurring. I stumbled out into the cold, hard rain, racing toward my parents' graves, only to collapse in a pool of blood. The hospital confirmed my worst fear: I had lost the babies. I lay there, numb and broken, until a nurse revealed my unlikely rescuer: David Johnson, Mark' s estranged uncle, the man Mark had ruthlessly driven out of his own family business. He was the one who collected my cracked phone, its wallpaper a perfect picture of a perfect lie, with his stern, disapproving gaze in the background – a witness I had always ignored. This man, haunted by the same demon, would become my unlikely ally. Mark had taken everything from me: my parents, my children, my name, my work. Now, I would take it all back.

My marriage to Andrew Blakely was built on cold hard cash, not love. Our only connection was our daughter, Annabel. Then came the call that shattered my world: Annabel' s charter plane crashed. She was gone. But Andrew, her supposed father, was partying with his mistress, Gabrielle, dismissing my agony as a "dramatic stunt." He hung up on me, laughing. My grief didn't turn to tears. It turned into a chilling calm, a primal urge for retribution. Thanks to an old pact and a loyal friend, Ethan, secrets started to unravel. The security footage showed Annabel, terrified, forced onto that doomed plane by two men. And lurking in the shadows, a smug smile on her face, was Gabrielle. This wasn't an accident. It was a calculated murder. When Andrew and Gabrielle publicly disrespected Annabel again at a charity gala, even destroying the last tangible piece of her, he shoved me to the ground. That' s when it became clear: he actively shielded her killer. My daughter's room was emptied, all traces of her erased by Andrew's mother. They left me nothing. But they had no idea what they' d just unleashed. I walked back into that glittering gala and served Andrew divorce papers. He signed them without a glance, desperate to be rid of me, unaware he' d just handed me the keys to his entire empire. My revenge had officially begun.

My marriage to Harrison Sterling III was a political merger, a meticulously designed union between two powerful D.C. dynasties. I was Ellie Vance Sterling, the poised, pragmatic wife, dedicated to power and legacy, not fleeting romance. Everything changed when Harry was "rescued" by Skyler Reed, a common waitress who boldly followed him back to our world. She was loud, disruptive, and claimed Harry's love, threatening to expose our family's carefully crafted image. When Skyler triumphantly announced her pregnancy, I calmly declared my own, ensuring my son's place as the legitimate heir. But the true horror unfolded when I discovered a secret: an "heirloom" bracelet, given to me and other Sterling wives, actually contained compounds to suppress fertility. It meant my accidental breakage of the bracelet allowed my conception, revealing a chilling family conspiracy to control who bore heirs. Then came the fire, deliberately set in my wing of the house-a terrifying attempt to erase me and my unborn son from existence. How could my own husband, bound by contract and public duty, attempt such a heinous act? The revelation shattered any remaining illusion of family loyalty, replacing it with a burning certainty of cold-blooded betrayal. With my son's life and our dynastic future at stake, I made my decision: I would invoke the Vance family's formidable protection, rise from these ashes, and secure my child's legacy, no matter the brutal cost.

Our tenth anniversary was supposed to be a romantic surprise, a special night at a chic downtown hotel. Instead, I found Ethan there, shirtless on the edge of the bed, with Chloe, a young woman barely out of college, looking flustered in a hotel robe. My world shattered as his gaze flickered, murmuring it was a "drunken mistake." Then, Chloe dramatically wailed about her lost virginity, prompting Ethan to declare he "had to be responsible" for her, completely dismissing our ten years together. The betrayal deepened when I later found their chat messages, exposing years of calculated financial deception and mockery: he' d let me fund our life on my teacher's salary, all while he and Chloe secretly built a multi-million-dollar gaming empire. The final, depraved blow came in a package: my old miscarriage records, alongside the meticulously preserved body of Whiskers, my beloved cat who' d vanished months prior. I collapsed, the world spinning, battling a raging fever that blurred days into a nightmarish delirium. How could the man I cherished, the partner I poured my entire heart and savings into, be capable of such chilling cruelty, such a systematic destruction of my sanity and life? But as I drifted close to death, clinging to the unwavering comfort of my old flame, Liam, a fierce, cold spark ignited within me. I wasn't just Sarah, Ethan's victim; I was Sarah, and I was going to fight back, expose their lies, reclaim my stolen future, and finally find my way home.

"You'll be my wife on paper only. You'll have everything-except my heart. You'll never be Marina." For five years, Lily lived as David's secret wife-his poised secretary by day, his invisible stand-in by night. Every cold touch reminded her she was just a replacement. Every whispered "Marina" cut deeper than the last. Their marriage was born from an accidental night-a mistake he turned into a contract. He wanted nothing but an image and a convenience, yet she foolishly gave him her whole heart. So when the real Marina returns, Lily knows her time as the placeholder is up. David's actions make it clear: she was only ever a convenient replacement. Without a fight, she signs the divorce papers and walks away, surrendering the position he always wanted to give to another. But why is it that the man who once swore he'd never love her... now refuses to let her go? David doesn't understand why Lily's absence haunts him. Why her quiet strength burns him in ways Marina never did. All he knows is that he's determined to get her back. By any means necessary. Even if it meant breaking her all over again. She paid the price for loving him once. Now, he'd pay for losing her forever.

"I will marry you. Wait for me!" Mabel woke up. She had that dream again. In her dream, a man said he would marry her. Just a dream. Five years ago, she was set up by her stepsister and became pregnant out of wedlock. She lost everything, including her baby. Five years later, she was forced to marry her stepsister's fiance, Jayden, who was sick and going to pass away. Having no choice, Mabel decided to marry Jayden, not expecting that Jayden was the man...

In the glittering world of high society and cutthroat ambition, a single sentence shatters a marriage: "Let's get a divorce." For three years, Claire Thompson has lived in exile, her marriage to the powerful Nelson Cooper a hollow shell existing only on paper. Shipped abroad on her wedding day and utterly forgotten, she returns only to be handed divorce papers. But Claire is no longer the timid, heartbroken girl she once was. Behind her quiet facade lies a woman transformed, secretly rejoicing at her newfound freedom. However, freedom comes with a price. As Claire signs the papers with relief, a chilling phone call reveals a dark truth: the threats she faced overseas were no accident, and the trail leads shockingly close to home-to the family that raised her and the husband who discarded her. Just as she prepares to sever all ties, a twist of fate pulls her back into the gilded cage. Nelson, for reasons unknown, suddenly stalls the divorce. Meanwhile, the family that disowned her and the fragile, manipulative sister who stole her life are determined to ruin her reputation and drive her out for good. But Claire is playing a different game now. With a mysterious new identity, powerful allies, and secrets of her own, she is no one's pawn. As hidden truths unravel and loyalties are tested, a stunning question emerges: In this high-stakes battle of love, betrayal, and revenge, who is truly trapping whom?

Her fiance and her best friend worked together and set her up. She lost everything and died in the street. However, she was reborn. The moment she opened her eyes, her husband was trying to strangle her. Luckily, she survived that. She signed the divorce agreement without hesitation and was ready for her miserable life. To her surprise, her mother in this life left her a great deal of money. She turned the tables and avenged herself. Everything went well in her career and love when her ex-husband came to her.

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.

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.