Afrodite LesFolies

My childhood sweetheart, Bryce, swore he'd never leave me, even after he was revealed as the long-lost heir to the Larson crime family. He was my home, my future, my protector against his ruthless new world. Then my sister, Diana, reappeared as the polished daughter of a rival Don, and he fell for her instantly. When Diana was "poisoned," Bryce didn't hesitate. He ordered doctors to take my blood for the antidote, a rare transfusion that could kill me. When she framed me as a rat, he had me thrown in a cellar. There, I was beaten, branded like an animal, and left for dead. The man who swore to protect me had me tortured and broken, all for his new love. His final act was to marry me off to a powerful stranger, a political move to get rid of me. But as the black armored car carried me to my new life, he finally came chasing after me, begging for forgiveness. I looked at the man who destroyed me and delivered my final vow. "My name is Callie Benton. And you, Bryce Larson, are nothing but a stranger from a life I no longer remember."

For five years, I played the part of the devoted wife to a billionaire who despised me. I endured his coldness, his public affair with his mistress Gisele, and every humiliation he threw my way. All of it was a performance, a long game for one single purpose. On our fifth anniversary, the day my contract ended, I finally collected my deceased fiancé Julian's ashes. His last wish was to have them scattered on Mars, a dream only accessible to me through my marriage to his identical twin brother, Clayton. With my mission accomplished, I asked for a divorce. But Clayton, the man who had ignored me for half a decade, refused. He laughed, then kissed me with a brutal possessiveness I' d never felt before. "You're not going anywhere," he whispered. "You're mine now." He dragged me from our sterile penthouse, his eyes burning with a terrifying obsession. He offered me a real marriage, a child, a future I never wanted. He couldn't understand that my heart had always belonged to his dead brother. When I finally revealed the truth-that our entire marriage was just a means to fulfill Julian's last wish-he didn't let me go. He broke. He abandoned his mistress, begged, and even kidnapped me, convinced he could force me to love him. "You'll learn to be mine," he snarled, his sanity unraveling as he held me captive on his private jet. "We'll have children. They'll bind us together. You'll never leave me then." But he was wrong. This wasn't the story of a woman won over by a monster's late-blooming love. This was the story of my escape, and I was finally ready to be free.

Six years ago, I destroyed the only man I ever loved to save him. Today, he walked back into my life to take the only thing I have left. I was dying of leukemia, with only months to live. My only wish was to spend that time with my daughter, Kenzie. But I was being sued for custody by my deceased husband's sister, who demanded a fortune I didn't have. Then, the opposing lawyer walked in. It was Bryan Flores. He stood by, his face a mask of indifference, as his client slapped me across the face. He threatened to take my daughter, calling me an unfit mother. "Sign it," he said, his voice like ice. "Or I will see you in court, and I will take everything from you. Starting with your daughter." He didn't know Kenzie was his child. He didn't know I was dying. He only knew he hated me, and he now had a new family with the very woman whose family had destroyed mine. I had sacrificed everything to protect him, pushing him away with cruel lies so he could have a future. But my sacrifice had turned him into a monster, and he was now the weapon being used to destroy me completely. To save our daughter, I gave up my life-saving treatment money and sent her far away. As he celebrated the birth of his new child on the floor above, I died alone in a hospital bed. But I left him a letter. A letter that would burn his perfect world to the ground.

The call came at dusk: my brother, Ezra, had been in a motorcycle accident. The doctor, his voice chillingly calm, said he needed immediate surgery. Then came the news that shattered my world: his leg was amputated. The surgeon, Dr. Kaitlin Russo, cited "complications," but I, an investigative blogger, smelled a lie. It wasn't a complication; it was a botched procedure. My exposé went viral, detailing her negligence. And then, it vanished—scrubbed from the internet. My husband, Hayden Bridges, a titan of Silicon Valley, was suddenly unreachable. My sister, Ivy, disappeared from her apartment, leaving behind nothing but a set of muddy footprints and a scent of fear. I found Kaitlin admiring a new diamond bracelet, a smirk playing on her lips. "Hayden takes very good care of me," she purred. The truth hit me like a physical blow. My husband wasn't just her powerful backer. He was her lover. He forced me to issue a public apology to Kaitlin, making me watch a live video feed of Ivy, terrified and weeping in a dark room. "She's safe," he promised, his voice cold as ice, "as long as you drop this." I had no choice. But my choice meant nothing. Ivy was tortured by Kaitlin's monstrous brother, Kyle, and died in my arms. Days later, Ezra was found dead in his hospital bed. In the desolate quiet of my grief, a new, cold purpose ignited within me. They had destroyed my family. I would burn his empire to the ground.

Chloe Miller and Blake Harrison were husband and wife, a title that masked three years of mutual hatred and separate beds. Then, a gang abducted and brutally murdered Chloe. But instead of peace, she woke to the Grim Reaper' s voice: "Ms. Miller, you have desires you have not resolved. You cannot be reborn yet." She was granted ten days to return to life and fix her problems, or risk eternal damnation. Chloe returned to find Blake celebrating her "death" with her adoptive sister, Amelia Miller, the woman Blake truly loved. Blake, believing her to be a manipulative ghost, grabbed her throat. "You have the nerve to come back!" he snarled. He thought she faked her kidnapping, mocking her with twisted accusations alongside Amelia and her parents. Chloe, overwhelmed, saw the prayer beads she' d gotten for Blake during his accident, a symbol of her wasted devotion. Her past devotion felt like a torment now, a chain she needed to break. She pulled the beads from his wrist, scattering them, severing their hold. "I' m tired, Blake," she said, her voice clear and firm. "Let' s get a divorce." His eyes widened in shock. He refused. He' d always refused. But this time, Chloe wasn' t fighting for him. She was fighting for herself. She was finally ready to rewrite her own story, leaving behind the shattered pieces of her past.

Sarah Miller poured her heart and soul into creating the perfect launching pad for her daughter, Emily-a cozy apartment near university, smelling of fresh paint and new beginnings. She envisioned a safe space for Emily to flourish, a place where her bright, kind daughter could study and grow into the amazing woman she was meant to be. But that peace shattered within three days when Emily' s voice, broken by sobs, revealed a nightmare: her best friend Ashley' s family had invaded the apartment, pushing boundaries, eating their food, and leaving a trail of disrespect. Worst of all, Ashley' s brother had crept into Emily' s room at night, watching her sleep and whispering unsettling words, only for Ashley to dismiss it as a joke. Sarah' s blood ran cold when she heard the terror in Emily' s voice, caught between fear and a desperate plea to avoid a scene. How could a supposed best friend allow such a violation, turning kindness into an open invitation for chaos and harassment? Driven by a mother' s primal fury, Sarah walked into her daughter' s apartment, witnessing the wreckage of their new beginning-stale smoke, greasy food, and a smug intruder. The complacent smirk of Ashley' s brother, coupled with his callous remark about Emily being "high-strung," ignited a firestorm in Sarah. She saw red and acted, a resounding slap echoing through the ruined living room, setting the stage for an inevitable confrontation. This was no longer just about boundaries; it was about reclaiming sacred ground and protecting her daughter' s sanctuary. With that decisive blow, Sarah declared war on anyone who dared threaten her child' s peace, peace she had worked her entire life to provide.

For ten years, I, Eleanor Vance, played the perfect wife, silent and supportive, while my celebrated architect husband, Robert, built his monuments of glass and steel-and enjoyed a revolving door of ninety-nine mistresses. But the real crack in my meticulously constructed facade came when his latest, Liam, moved into our guesthouse and began digging up my most cherished possession: my rose garden, a sacred memorial to the two children we lost. Not only did Robert permit this desecration, but he publicly humiliated me, praising Liam as a "dazzling talent" at a lavish party more extravagant than our wedding, while our social circle whispered and pitied me. The ultimate blow came when he used the memory of our dead children as a weapon, ordering me to kneel before Liam. How could he so casually dismiss my grief, my sacrifices, and the sacred space I carved out of our shared tragedy? How could a man I loved with every fiber of my being tear down my very soul for an empty imitation of a past ghost? In that shattering moment, as a cruel smile spread across his face, I knew my love for him was finally dead; and Eleanor Vance, the dutiful wife, chose to embark on a radical, irreversible path to reclaim her life, her dignity, and her legacy, planning a public, messy fight he wouldn' t see coming.

I woke up in 1982, my 22-year-old body buzzing with memories of a 72-year marriage to Mark Johnson. This was my second chance. Today was the day Mark proposed in our past life, and my heart beat with familiar hope, ready to relive our perfect love story. I found him at the town gathering, my heart leaping. But he wasn't looking for me. Instead, Mark went straight to Bree Thompson, his confident smile fixed on her. Then, loud enough for everyone, he asked her out. My treasured memory, my entire hope, shattered instantly. That perfect marriage, all those cherished moments, felt poisoned. He was reborn too, and he clearly wanted someone else. Public humiliation, malicious accusations, and finally, deliberately snapping my guitar string right before my talent show performance-his cruelty knew no bounds. My beautiful past was ruined. Was our entire 72-year marriage a lie? Was I just a convenient second choice? The rage and disbelief at this changed man consumed me. Why was he so intent on destroying me? Why did he hate the life we' d built? The confusion was a constant ache. But defiance sparked. I sang acapella, winning a demo deal. Enraged, Mark dropped his charade, spewing venom about how I'd held him back. "We're done!" I declared, finally seeing the selfish parasite he always was. This was my true second chance: to embrace my music, my freedom, and my own splendid future.

For two years, I, the quiet girl from the town' s greasy diner, nursed a secret, pathetic crush on Ethan Hayes, our school' s golden boy and star quarterback. He embodied everything I admired, a perfect hero from a storybook. Then, one day, I collapsed at a noisy pep rally, and when I came to, he was kneeling beside me, offering a hand, his voice laced with concern. But a chilling, disembodied voice pierced my mind – his actual thoughts: "Ugh, she' s always staring. So clumsy. Probably smells like that greasy diner her parents own." The boy I' d idolized, the kind, perfect Ethan, was instantly replaced by a sneer I hadn't seen but had devastatingly heard. His disgust became a physical weight, overshadowing the relentless bullying from Brittany, his queen-bee friend, which he passively allowed. The final blow came when I was publicly accused of cheating on an exam, and he, the one person who knew Brittany' s true intentions, remained a shameful, silent observer. How could my hero be such a snob, such a coward, letting me be publicly ridiculed and unjustly branded a cheat? The overwhelming unfairness of it all ripped through me, leaving me shattered and utterly alone. But in that deepest pit of humiliation, a scorching resolve ignited within me. I decided then and there to turn all that pain into raw fuel, to outwork everyone, especially him, and secure my escape to a future where my worth wasn' t dictated by their petty judgments.

For four years, I' ve played the part of Alex Miller, the broken, grieving husband of powerful CEO Cassandra Davenport. She believed she "saved" me after my sister Sarah's tragic DUI. But the truth was a horror: Sarah wasn't just in an accident; Cassie, her brother Dylan, and even my ex-fiancée executed a calculated plan to harvest her organs for Dylan. Cassie then married me, thinking my grief would ensure my silence and control. Every feigned hug, every comforting word, every moment of pretend devotion was a step in my meticulous hunt. I used my honed cybersecurity skills, patiently navigating their labyrinthine lies, gathering the cold, hard evidence of their depravity. They thought I was docile, a puppet on their strings, completely unaware of the raging storm building beneath my placid facade. The injustice of Sarah's stolen life, and their smug impunity, fueled every waking moment. Tonight, with the irrefutable evidence of their conspiracy and their global organ trafficking rings finally secure, my pretense shatters. This isn' t a story of healing; it' s a meticulously planned detonation. The Davenport Foundation' s lavish awards gala, their shining hour, is about to become the stage for their very public downfall.

I was dying. Late-stage cystic fibrosis. Months, maybe a year. My last wish? To finish my art installations and reconnect with Ethan, the man who once promised me forever. But Ethan, now a renowned architect meticulously planning his life with perfect fiancée Sophia, wanted nothing to do with my "chaos." I blackmailed him with his father's dirty secrets, forcing him into a 60-day contract to help my art. He dismissed my fading health as "drama," relentlessly judging me. Sophia publicly humiliated and framed me, and Ethan chose her every time, even sending thugs to "scare" me away. On his wedding day, a desperate old acquaintance fatally stabbed me. I died alone, my final cries for connection misunderstood as manipulation, my love overshadowed by public shame. Why did he hate me so much? Why couldn't he see beyond the chaos to the dying woman begging for a final human touch? It wasn't until my death, when Ethan found my hidden journals and saw the truth of my terminal illness, that he understood. Crushed by regret, he dismantled his life, realizing the love he'd denied. Years later, inexplicably drawn back into his orbit, I met him again. Not as Ava, but as Mia. My soul, reborn, for a second chance at a love he never truly let die.

I opened my eyes to a miracle: A second chance. Reborn into my past life, I knew I was meant to cherish Ethan Cole, the husband I’d scorned, the man who’d loved me silently and died for my sake. This time, I vowed to be the wife he truly deserved. For a few precious weeks, there was hope; he, too, seemed reborn, gazing at me with cautious affection. But then Sophia Vance appeared, and everything shattered. His eyes, once full of tender light, turned relentlessly cold. He began to inflict systematic cruelty, using Sophia as a pawn in a twisted game of "testing" my love. He coerced me to sacrifice my dying mother for Sophia’s sibling, subjected me to public humiliation, and threatened me with physical harm. When my mother’s life and my own reputation weren't enough, he targeted my deepest fear: threatening my parents’ lives unless I confessed to Sophia’s absurd lies. My desperate love for him withered under this relentless onslaught, replaced by a chilling terror. How could the man who died for me become such a monster? Was this his perverse way of making me pay for my past sins? Or had his own reborn hope curdled into a devastating, calculated revenge? The man standing before me was a stranger, inflicting unimaginable cruelty, and I was trapped. I knew then: I wouldn't break. I would escape his torment. My only choice was to fake my own death, leaving him to his own regret and finally reclaiming my freedom.

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."

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!"

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."

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."

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?

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."

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.

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."