Where Concrete Daisies Bloom

The soft beep of the heart monitor was the first sound I heard, cutting through the fog of impact, of screeching tires, and Michael' s small hand slipping from mine. I was in a hospital, a dull ache spreading through my entire body. Then the door opened, and Tiffany, the senator' s daughter, the one who was driving, stood there. "Oh, you're awake," she said, devoid of concern, as if my son, Michael, was an inconvenience. "My father has taken care of everything. The official report will say it was a tragic accident caused by poor road conditions." She even offered to pay my hospital bills. The world I knew, where right was right, crumbled. My son, my kind, innocent Michael, was just an "annoyance" to them. The police wouldn't help, the law wouldn't help. Despair was a suffocating blanket, threatening to pull me under. They thought I was just a grieving, helpless widow to be bought off and intimidated. They thought my husband' s Medal of Honor, tucked away at home, was just a piece of metal. They thought his sacrifice meant nothing. But as Tiffany walked out, a cold, hard purpose crystallized within me hotter than any rage. My tears stopped. I looked at my steady hands. The woman who had been rushed into that hospital was gone. I was checking out.

The first thing I felt was a dull, persistent beeping. I forced my heavy eyelids open, staring at a sterile white ceiling. This wasn't home, not even a hospital-just a cold, modern corporate infirmary. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my chest as I looked at my hands. Small. Delicate. Not mine. My name is Ava. I am Commander Ava Rostova, lead engineer of the Olympus Station project, a celebrated astronaut. The last thing I remembered was the decompression alarm. Now, the face in the mirror wasn't Ava's-it was a young woman with wide, terrified brown eyes, maybe twenty. Then, a news headline flashed: "ROGUE FACTION THREATENS OLYMPUS STATION." My heart stopped. My station. And the leader of this rogue group, "Aethelred's Hand"? My brother, Leo. The grief of lost time, a lost body, now twisted into raw rage. How dare he? How dare he try to destroy our legacy? The door slid open, revealing a cheerful intern with pink hair. "Mia? You're awake!" So, Mia. That was my name now. My mind, a steel trap, understood. This wasn't just waking up; this was something else entirely. I was Ava, the commander, trapped in a stranger's body, facing a betrayal that cut deeper than bone. My brother, my supposed enemy, was threatening everything I had built. But my memories were intact, my will unbroken. My mission became clear: I had to understand why Leo would do this. I had to get inside. I had to get back control of my station. My legacy was orbiting 250 miles above Earth, and I was going to take it back.

The cheap paint fumes were the last thing I smelled, trapped in my icy attic room, a constant reminder of the art that had become my death. My body, ravaged by a cough, lay on a lumpy mattress, my vibrant, unsold canvases mocking me from the walls. My phone, clutched in a trembling hand, was my only window to the life I should have had, glowing with a live stream from a grand art gala. And there she was: Evelyn Hayes. My adoptive mother. My mentor. My destroyer. She stood on a brightly lit stage, elegant and poised. Behind her, a painting. My style. The style she' d once called "immature." Now, the art world called it "revolutionary," as the chyron flashed: "Evelyn Hayes's Masterpiece Sells for Record-Breaking $10 Million." A bitter, silent scream trapped in my chest, the phone slipped from my fingers. The world went dark. Then, a gasp for air. My body shot up, but the air was clean, fresh. The crippling cough gone. My hands smooth, strong. This wasn't my dying attic. It was my high school bedroom, six years in the past. I was alive. I was healthy. I was back. The realization hit me like a tidal wave. Evelyn hadn't just stolen my art; she had built her career on my destruction, leaving me to die alone. The pain, the betrayal, the memory of her smiling face on that stage - it all ignited a fierce, burning resolve. "Never again," I whispered, my voice trembling with a power I hadn't felt in years. "You will not destroy me again, Evelyn. This time, I will expose you for the fraud you are." The game had begun.

The smell of smoke woke me up, a thick, acrid scent clinging to my throat. My heart pounded as sirens pierced the night, a chilling prelude. Three missed calls from Marco, my dad's sous chef. "It' s the restaurant. It' s… there was a fire." I ran, the air growing thick with the smell of burning wood and something chemical, something awful. My world shattered when I saw it: the hollowed-out shell of "The Amber Hearth," my parents' restaurant, my entire life, consumed by flames. A police officer stopped me, but I could only stare at the wreckage, the place my parents worked, lived, and breathed. Weeks later, I was living with Chloe, my food critic girlfriend, in her pristine, minimalist apartment. She supported me, made calls, held me when nightmares struck. "We'll get through this together," she promised. But that promise felt hollow when the simple click-click-whoosh of a gas stove sent me stumbling in terror, and she quickly turned it off, her embrace distant even as she whispered, "I'll be here for you." The cracks widened when she abandoned our quiet anniversary dinner, again, for Daniel, her 'anxiety-ridden' former mentor. "He needs me, Liam," she'd always say, framing his alleged illness as a virtue, my need for her as a selfish demand. I watched her move, efficient and precise, realizing I was just an obligation, a managed crisis she was bored with. Then, a text from my friend: Chloe's rave review of Daniel's new menu just dropped, a "Triumph of a Troubled Genius." The publication date? Last night. Our anniversary. She wasn' t working; she was dining with him, relaunching his career. The anger burned clean and hot; her entire compassionate façade was a calculated deception. When she walked in, I confronted her, the ugly truth filling her perfectly curated apartment: she chose him, lied to me, used my grief as cover. Her icy response, "If that's how you feel, then maybe you should leave," was all I needed. I left. Days later, I saw him letting himself into her apartment, confirming the sickening truth: I was just a convenient cover for their secret affair, a grieving fool in their shared territory. I had defended her, pushed away friends who tried to warn me, all for a lie. My anger, humiliation, and shame fused into a chilling resolve. I wasn't just heartbroken; I was done. This wasn't a relationship; it was a fraud. And now, armed with the brutal truth, I had to build something new, far from her memory.

The sterile beep of the heart monitor was counting down the final seconds of my life. Then the door creaked open, and Scarlett Hayes, my husband' s manipulative childhood sweetheart, entered with a venomous smile. She informed me, with cruel satisfaction, that my husband, Mark, had only married me for a free nurse and babysitter, and that our son, Tommy, wasn't truly mine – he was theirs. My own baby, she revealed, wasn't stillborn, but had been given away by Mark to prevent me from having a "real heir." As she casually unplugged my life support, my world went black. The silence was deafening, the betrayal immense and crushing. I couldn't comprehend such calculated cruelty, and the pain left me paralyzed in my own body, unable to scream. But then, a blinding light, a familiar voice, and I gasped, sucking in air that didn' t feel like it came from a machine. I was back in my parents' living room, staring at Mark Peterson, kneeling before me with a velvet box, proposing. It was the day my miserable past life began, and this time, I wouldn't let it.

My life was a carefully constructed empire – a tech CEO with a groundbreaking project, wealth, and the perfect fiancée, Chloe. Then, a ghost from my past shattered it all: my estranged brother, Ethan, weak and dying, called claiming to have pancreatic cancer. I brought him into my home, sacrificing everything – Chloe' s trust, my company, my reputation – to care for him, only to discover it was all a monstrous lie, a calculated plot to strip me bare. Caught in a web of deceit, publicly humiliated, and facing utter ruin, an unimaginable horror unfolded: Ethan wasn't just a conman; he was responsible for our mother's death. Stripped of all illusions, I had to choose: succumb to the darkness or fight back with every fiber of my being.

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."

Janice, the long-forgotten legitimate heiress, made her way back to her family, pouring her heart into winning their hearts. Yet, she had to relinquish her very identity, her academic credentials, and her creative works to her foster sister. In return for her sacrifices, she found no warmth, only deeper neglect. Resolute, Janice vowed to cut off all emotional bonds. Transformed, she now stood as a master of martial arts, adept in eight languages, an esteemed medical expert, and a celebrated designer. With newfound resolve, she declared, "From this day forward, no one in this family shall cross me."

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.

"Love is blind!" Lucinda abandoned her beautiful and comfortable life because of a man. She married him and slaved off for him for three long years. One day, the scales finally fell off her eyes. She realized that all her efforts were in vain. Her husband, Nathaniel still treated her like shit. All he cared about was his lover. "Enough is enough! I quit wasting my years with an ungrateful man!" Lucinda's heart was shattered into many pieces, but she summoned up the courage to ask for a divorce. The news caused a stir online! A filthy rich young woman recently got divorced? She was a good catch! Countless CEOs and handsome young men immediately swarmed to her like bees to honey! Nathaniel couldn't take it anymore. He held a press conference and begged with teary eyes, "I love you, Lucinda. I can't live without you. Please come back to me." Would Lucinda give him a second chance? Read to find out!

Blinded in a crash, Cary was rejected by every socialite—except Evelina, who married him without hesitation. Three years later, he regained his sight and ended their marriage. "We’ve already lost so many years. I won’t let her waste another one on me." Evelina signed the divorce papers without a word. Everyone mocked her fall—until they discovered that the miracle doctor, jewelry mogul, stock genius, top hacker, and the President's true daughter… were all her. When Cary came crawling back, a ruthless tycoon had him kicked out. "She's my wife now. Get lost."

After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."