Ai Huo

For twenty-two years, I had believed I was the biological daughter of the wealthy Chapman family. Yet despite that, I was always treated like an outsider while they showered Jenna with love and attention. After a family dinner, Jenna deliberately threw herself down the stairs and cried that I had pushed her. My parents didn't even ask for my side of the story. My father coldly threw a DNA report on the desk and declared that I wasn't their biological daughter after all, and that Jenna was. They stripped me of my belongings, locked me in a dark storage room overnight, and kicked me out the next morning. They handed me an address for my supposed "real" parents, claiming they were ordinary working-class people, then tossed me a few dollars as a final act of charity to get me out of their sight. I couldn't understand how twenty-two years of family ties could be erased by a single fake tear. Even after I smashed a priceless vase to prove Jenna had never actually injured her ankle, they still looked at me with pure disgust. They threw me away like garbage just to protect the daughter they believed was truly theirs. But when I took the bus to the address of my supposed "poor" biological parents, I didn't find a run-down house. Instead, I found a sprawling estate. And standing inside was the billionaire tycoon behind Montgomery Sports Group. In his hands was a new DNA report showing a 99.999% probability of a biological match. "Welcome home, Madisyn," he said, his eyes rimmed red. "We've been searching for you for twenty-two years."

I was taken from a filthy Nevada orphanage by the wealthy Tillman family and treated like a stray dog for ten years. When their company faced bankruptcy, my adoptive parents demanded I marry a known degenerate to pay off their debts, just so their precious biological daughter wouldn't have to. When I refused, my adoptive mother cut off all my bank accounts and kicked me out into a freezing thunderstorm. "Walk out that door and you will starve in the gutter where you belong!" she screamed. My fake sister mocked my lack of a background, and later, the family even posted photos online to frame me as a disgusting sugar baby to ruin my life. They thought I was just a helpless, worthless orphan who owed them everything. They didn't know the only reason I endured their abuse was to investigate the orphanage fire that burned ten of my friends alive, a tragedy their elite circles helped cover up. I didn't beg for their mercy or cry in the rain. Instead, I got into a bulletproof black SUV waiting in the storm. It was time to shed the pathetic orphan disguise, cure the paralyzed king of the underworld, and burn the Tillman family's perfect facade to the ground.

My fiancé, Keith, was supposed to pick me up from the airport after my two-week solo trip. Instead, I was stranded alone in the rain, abandoned for his "fragile" protégé, Kandice. He claimed car trouble, but a single phone call revealed the truth: he was at a party, celebrating with her. Then came the text from Kandice-a selfie of her on his lap, captioned: "Don't worry, Dr. Blackburn is all mine tonight! " Moments later, a text from Keith: "Sorry, sweetheart. Car trouble. Had to drop Kandice off first. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't wait up." The blatant contradiction, the years of his gaslighting and emotional abuse, finally shattered something inside me. He had spent three years making me feel small, insecure, and crazy, always prioritizing Kandice's manufactured drama over my well-being. I used to think love meant enduring his cruelty, but standing there, soaked and betrayed, I realized my love had its limits. So, I made a call. "Mr. Davies," I said, my voice steady. "About that five-year overseas assignment in London. I'd like to accept."

My husband told me his true love, Francesca, was dying. As a master healer, I was the only one who could save her. For months, he drained my life force in daily rituals, leaving me a hollow shell of myself. Then he demanded the ultimate sacrifice: a forbidden ceremony that would transfer my entire life force to her. It was a death sentence. "It means Francesca lives," he said, his eyes empty of the love he once had for me. He shattered the wooden bird he carved for our anniversary, forced me to sign divorce papers, and promised to remarry me after I died for his fantasy. Finally, he tied me to an altar and set it on fire. As I burned, my four-year-old daughter screamed the truth-that Francesca was faking her illness. But Kane pushed her away, choosing his lie over our lives. He watched me die. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day he first told me Francesca was sick. This time, the only life I'll be saving is my own.

On our third mating anniversary, I prepared a feast. For three years, my Alpha husband, Mark, had treated me like I was made of glass, using my "fragile" constitution as an excuse for his coldness. Still, I hoped tonight he would finally see me. But he came home smelling of another she-wolf, took one look at the anniversary dinner I'd poured my soul into, lied about an urgent pack meeting, and walked out. Days later, he demanded I attend the annual Gala to present a "united front." On the way, he took a call from her, his voice dripping with a tenderness he never gave me. "Don't worry, Sarah, I'm on my way," he said. "Your ovulation cycle is paramount. I love you." The three words he'd never said to me. He slammed on the brakes, shifted into his massive wolf form, and abandoned me on a dark, rain-swept road to run to her. I stumbled out into the storm, my heart finally shattered. I wasn't his mate. I was a placeholder, a prop to be discarded when his true love called. Just as I wished the rain would wash me away, headlights cut through the darkness. A car screeched to a halt inches from me. Out stepped an Alpha whose raw power made my husband seem like a child. His piercing silver eyes locked on mine as a possessive growl rumbled deep in his chest. He looked at me as if he'd found the center of his universe and uttered a single, life-altering word. "Mine."

The phone buzzed frantically during my board meeting. It was my mother, her voice a shredded mess, whispering, "He's here. At the university. He's making us..." before the line went dead. "He" was Gustav Bradford, the man I loved, the man who was destroying me. I raced to Westwood University to find my parents on their knees, humiliated, with Gustav standing over them, beautiful and terrifying, beside his therapist, Estelle Strong. Estelle, his new everything, whispered lies about my parents disrespecting them, while my father, a man who debated world leaders, bowed his head in shame. My mother sobled silently as a drone live-streamed their humiliation. When I confronted him, Gustav, with a chilling smile, ordered his guard to break my father's leg. A sickening crack echoed, followed by my father's agonizing scream. Then, my mother's. They both lay broken. The love I had for Gustav shattered, replaced by a cold, vast emptiness. "I will kill you," I whispered, the words tasting like poison. He just smiled, kissed my cheek, and left, telling me he'd be home for dinner. That night, my parents, in a desperate act to free me, took their own lives. My scream was soundless. I called Amit, my friend, for the drug that would make me look dead. I had to die to live, and I had to live to see Gustav Bradford burn.

The plan was simple: two weeks of quiet solitude at my apartment, a much-needed break from the relentless grind of my architecture career. But the moment I unlocked the door, a cloying, unfamiliar perfume assaulted my senses, followed by the sight of a stranger lounging on my custom velvet sofa, nonchalantly filing her nails. "Can I help you?" she drawled, dripping with disdain, as I stood dumbfounded in the doorway of my own home, apartment 3B. This woman, Tiffany Stone, introduced herself as my brother Liam' s new girlfriend, claiming this was "Liam's place," scoffing at my very career and dismissing my deeply personal space as a mere "graduation present" for a girl who "drew buildings." The audacity escalated swiftly. Tiffany and her mother, Mrs. Stone-a woman cloaked in fur and radiating venom-informed me they were "redecorating" my apartment and expected me to find a hotel. My cherished minimalist decor and art prints had vanished, replaced by gaudy, tasteless clutter. When I tried to reach my bedroom, where my personal safe contained the deed to the apartment, they physically blocked my path, declaring, "It's not your room anymore. It's our guest room." My own family, my own brother, seemed to be orchestrating this hostile takeover. The situation spiraled into a nightmare; a physical altercation broke out, leaving me bruised and bleeding, yet they accused me of assault. The building manager, Mr. Davis, shockingly sided with them, presenting falsified records to claim the apartment belonged to Liam. Then Liam himself arrived, not as a rescuer, but as the architect of my downfall, embracing Tiffany, feigning concern, and publicly humiliating me. He flatly stated he had transferred the deed to his name and then, with a chilling smile, proposed to essentially sell me off to a business associate. Every accusation, every betrayal, shattered my reality. He even revealed I was adopted, not truly a Reed, trying to strip away my entire identity. But in that moment, as I lay on the floor, a cold clarity crystallized. He had given me a weapon. I seized my T-square, shattered a mirror in a defiant act, and ran, finally breaking free to call for help. From the depths of betrayal, armed with undeniable evidence from a hidden camera and a desperate revelation that Liam, not I, was the adopted one, I watched as Liam, Tiffany, her mother, and the building manager were arrested, their carefully constructed lies crumbling on national television. This was not just about reclaiming an apartment. It was about rebuilding a legacy, reshaping my family's future, and redefining my own purpose.

My wedding day. The most beautiful day of my life, or so I thought. I stood at the altar, beaming in my white dress, ready to marry Liam Maxwell, the man I loved. Then, the whispers began. Not of happiness, but of scandal. My fiancé, the love of my life, had rushed off to a rooftop, not to save me, but his "childhood friend," Olivia Chen, who was threatening to jump. He returned with her, fragile and apologetic, yet she wore a white dress eerily similar to mine. I was humiliated, sidelined in my own fairytale, as Liam asked me to postpone our wedding for her sake, for his reputation. But this wasn't the first time. In a nightmarish vision, I witnessed our future: a gilded cage, a forced miscarriage after his careless shove, and my agonizing death, alone and abandoned. He had orchestrated my public downfall, framing me as a gold-digger and a villain, while he and Olivia cemented their twisted bond. The pain of that future, the betrayal and the loss, was too real to ignore. It wasn't a dream; it was a warning. Now, as Liam stood before me, expecting my compliant understanding, I knew I had a second chance. The naive fiancée was gone. This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would make him pay.

My name is Eli Vance, and in my world, everything has a price. I lived in a small, sagging house that perpetually smelled of stale beer and disappointment, a stark contrast to the academic potential I desperately cultivated. Every cent I secretly earned from doing other kids' homework was a deliberate step away from a future my parents had already planned for me: a grueling factory job. My younger brother, Cody, was their sole focus, their "lottery ticket," and his mediocre athletic career consumed every last ounce of their hope and meager funds. Then, one evening, they finally showed me attention-enough to deliver their verdict. "You're sixteen now," my father grunted, avoiding my gaze. "The plant is hiring full-time," my mother chimed in, her voice sharp, "You can quit school. We need the money for Cody's gear and his camp fees." My heart turned into a cold, hard stone in my chest as their words extinguished my last flickering hope for a different life. "What do you have? Books?" my mother sneered, dismissing my intelligence, my ambition, everything I was. My father sealed it with a flat gaze: "You'll do what you're told," effectively erasing my future to fund a pair of football cleats. The suffocating injustice burned a hole within me-this town, this school, my own family; it was all the same oppressive system. They saw me as a burden, a cost, a ready-made sacrifice, but I refused to accept that. How could they demand I relinquish my education, my only path to escape, for a futile dream that wasn't even mine? I couldn't fight my parents head-on, not yet, but watching the cafeteria manager's blatant favoritism, I knew exactly how to break a smaller, visible cog in this unfair machine. The battle for my freedom, and my future, had just begun-a ruthless, calculated game where I would stop at nothing to change the rules.

To save my family's vineyard and my sister, I, Ava Hayes, agreed to marry Ethan Reed, my childhood friend turned enemy. I hid a terminal illness silently consuming me. It wasn't a marriage; it was a public humiliation. At a lavish gala, Ethan announced his engagement to another, introducing me as his "desperate offering," a mocking "trophy." Trapped, I became his property, enduring relentless physical and emotional abuse, worsened by my secret illness and his fiancée Chloe's sadistic torments. Yet, I heard Ethan's inner thoughts-conflicted, sometimes tender, a secret lifeline that broke when his accidental blow severed our connection. Then came the crushing truth: my own family had conspired in my mother's murder and abandoned me to die by withholding funds for my treatment. Critically ill and with my last hope gone, Chloe abducted me. She revealed her family's involvement in my mother's death, then cruelly forced an abortion, ending my life and our unborn child's. My body vanished, my memory erased. But what will Ethan do when the horrifying truth of my death and the child lost, finally surfaces?

Daisy' s memorial service was a haze, the thick lily scent a painful echo of my little girl, gone. I stood a hollow shell, while my wife, Casey, seemed eerily calm, almost serene. Then I overheard her chilling confession: she' d authorized an "unproven" treatment that "hastened" our daughter' s death. My blood ran cold. She dismissed Daisy' s complex care as "draining," before reconnecting with her old flame, Ethan Holloway. Days later, she callously planned to convert Daisy's vibrant room into her new home office. I found Ethan lounging in my living room, Casey laughing with him, more animated than I' d seen her in years. "It's my parents' house, Alex!" she snapped when I confronted her, mocking my award-winning brewery as a "hobby." Her family had already frozen our accounts, accusing me of financial mismanagement. Now, Ethan and Casey were trying to steal my revolutionary brewing process-my life's invention, meant for our family's legacy. The betrayal was absolute, desecrating Daisy's memory and everything we built. How could the woman I loved not only hasten our daughter' s end but then brutally disrespect her memory, seemingly conspiring to ruin me? My marriage was shattered, but my spirit was not. I vowed that day to leave the wreckage, launching "Daisy Chain Brews" with my secret patents. This wasn't just for me; it was for Daisy.

I stood outside our bedroom door, the cool wood pressed to my forehead. My wife, Victoria, was inside, her voice low and urgent. "Liam, stop it. He could be home any minute." Liam. My paralegal. I froze when I heard his next words: "He needs to know you're not some broodmare, Vicky. That pregnancy scare? You told me you almost panicked." Pregnancy scare? She told me she miscarried months ago, blaming my stress. My heart turned to stone. The betrayal deepened with every new piece of evidence. My phone buzzed with anonymous photos: Victoria, laughing, Liam' s arm around her. Then came a video: Victoria, in lingerie I' d never seen, playfully fanning Liam with my inscribed first-edition Gatsby. "He' ll never know," Liam' s voice sneered. "He' s too wrapped up in his dusty old books to notice anything." Victoria giggled, "He's sweet, but so predictable." Then the ultimate blow: Liam proposing "a little Walker," and Victoria' s chilling, calculating smile as she agreed to fake illness to conceal it. I felt nothing but a vast, cold emptiness. The woman I married, the one I truly loved, was a complete stranger. She was a manipulative stranger, plotting a future behind my back, mocking me with my own heartfelt gifts. How could she be so utterly cruel? How could I have been so blindly naive? A small, cool chime sounded in my mind, a sensation only I could perceive: The Legacy. My mother' s deathbed words echoed: "One time, Ethan. A clean break. If you ever need it." I needed it now, more than anything. I watched as my hands began to flicker, growing faintly transparent. The erasure had begun. I was ready to disappear.

I, Ava Miller, an architect, spent eight years with Ethan Hayes, though our shared life felt built on shifting sand. He constantly chipped at my confidence, yet I clung to the hope of 'us'. At a New York charity auction, Ethan bought my grandmother's unique sapphire pendant. My stomach plummeted as he publicly presented "my" heirloom to his young intern, Chloe Vance, then whispered, I'd get "something new." His words were a gut punch. A video soon showed him boasting he'd propose to Chloe. He did, at a party, using my sapphire, crudely reset, branding me "strong" while asserting Chloe "needed him." Post-confrontation, he replaced the damaged stone with a worthless glass replica, convinced I wouldn't notice. His manipulations peaked when he dragged me into Chloe's staged suicide attempt at the ER, ditching me bleeding to chase her drama while caught with her lipstick on his face. Eight years of my life, systematically cheapened and discarded for his brazen, theatrical lies. The audacity, the disgusting manipulation, his absolute lack of remorse – it was suffocating. How had I been so blind? But the script truly flipped. Abandoned again at the ER, one name cut through the noise: Julian Thorne. The man who, years ago, unexpectedly offered, "Ditch the zero. Marry me." My shaking hand steadied as I called. "Is that offer still on the table?" I whispered. A liberating breath. "Okay. Yes." San Francisco was my final destination. I was coming.

In his greed to get his hands on his father's company, Jacob drugged his own girlfriend and sneaked her into his uncle's bed. And so Mandy and Andrew's story began. Filled with burning anger and desperation upon finding out the truth, Mandy would stop at nothing to get her revenge—even agreeing to cooperate with Andrew, the devil CEO. However, there is no such thing as a free lunch in this world. He drafted a contract, wanting her to be his wife and give birth to his child. Biting her lips tightly, she signed her name on the paper and sealed her fate...She made a pact with the devil. Nobody had ever managed to capture the devil's heart before... but before he knew it, he had already lost his heart to her.

I flew cross-country for my birthday, hoping for just one night of warmth with my husband and five-year-old daughter. But when I opened the door, I found my famous hockey star husband and my daughter acting like the perfect family with Dayna, a glamorous sports commentator. My daughter shrank away from my open arms. "Mama's boring. She never plays with me. Don't go, Auntie Dayna!" My husband didn't even look up from his phone to wish me a happy birthday. He coldly canceled our dinner plans, claiming he had an urgent, last-minute strategy meeting for his team. Hours later, a TMZ article popped up on my phone, featuring a brutal photo of the three of them sharing a steak at an upscale Manhattan restaurant. The headline praised Blake's "family dinner with rumored flame Dayna Nixon" and openly wondered where the current Mrs. Carlisle was. My daughter lied for this, and my husband publicly humiliated me, treating my five years of silent sacrifice like a pathetic, disposable joke. I didn't cry, and I didn't throw a desperate fit. Instead, I calmly walked into his study, signed the pre-nuptial divorce agreement he had prepared years ago, and booked a one-way ticket back to Boston. From now on, I am no longer Mrs. Carlisle. I am Corinne Sargent, and I am taking my life back.

Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town. They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done." Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me." As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world. When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?"

For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse. Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée. She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm. "Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital." As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire. I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit. "I'm done with you." The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies.

For four years, I played the part of the perfect, pathetic wife to my billionaire husband, Damian Nunez. Bleeding from a gunshot wound I took to secure a multi-billion-dollar deal for his company, I dragged myself to our penthouse, ready to finally end the charade.

After six years together, Joslyn was abandoned before her wedding when her boyfriend chose his first love over her. Then came an unexpected proposal-from Connor, her ex-boyfriend's adoptive father. "Marry me. You'll get everything you want-and you can get back at him." The deal came with its perks: a lavish monthly allowance, abundant resources at her fingertips, a husband who was practically never home, and the sheer pleasure of rubbing her new status in her ex-boyfriend's face. But the distant husband she expected turned possessive instead. While her ex begged publicly for another chance, Connor pulled her into his arms. "Say that again, and you'll be out of the family forever." Only later did Joslyn discover the truth-Connor had spent six years planning to make her his. Believing it was only a beneficial deal, Joslyn agreed. Constant traveling? A complete lie. And the promise that they'd each live their own lives? Another carefully spun deception. On their wedding night, he had her pinned beneath him, his kisses stealing her breath. And night after night, he kept coming home-utterly fixated on her.

Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire. I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper. I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he'd dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family's land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock. I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim. "If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned. So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months. Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I've suspended Hugh's executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I'm just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout. But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back.

When Natalie's hearing returned, betrayal was the devastating truth waiting for her. She repaid the cheating pair with sharp slaps, then took her sister's place in an arranged marriage. Her groom, Nathan, was rumored to be frail, vicious, and unable to satisfy a woman. Their wedding night, however, demolished every warning when he pinned her against the glass and challenged the rumor himself. Three relentless days proved the gossip laughably wrong. Later, her groveling ex begged her back. Nathan asked for a knife to deal with the "pest." Everyone saw a monster. Natalie alone knew his madness hid a love that burned only for her.

During the car accident, Katherine's fiancé shoved her toward danger just to save the servant's daughter. Waking up in the ICU shattered every illusion she had left. She called off the engagement, cut ties with her family, and stopped sacrificing herself for people who never valued her. Her brothers mocked her decision, certain she would return begging within days. Instead, their worlds collapsed one after another. Her eldest brother was baffled. "Why is the company's cash flow a complete mess?" Because Katherine had pulled her investment. Her second brother was livid. "Why is mymasterpiece being called plagiarism?" Because Katherine wasn't letting him steal her work anymore. Her youngest brother was panicked. "Why is the whole racing community shutting me out?" Because Katherine had walked away from the team. By the time they realized everything she had done behind the scenes, it was too late. Standing beside her powerful new fiancé, Katherine smiled coldly. "Your chance to fix this expired long ago."

Framed by her stepsister and husband, Emma was cast aside by her family and sent to prison to protect their precious name. Behind bars, she endured hell and gave birth to a daughter. Released with nothing, the once-famous celebrity lawyer swore never to see her ex again, only to end up cleaning for a living while he relentlessly tormented her. Then her daughter's identity exploded across high society. Emma ran, rebuilt her life, and drew a crowd of admirers. Her ex finally panicked. "Please, look at me again! Our daughter needs her father!" Emma pointed to the suitors behind her. "Get in line!"

Allison Montgomery was waiting at the airport when an audio alert from her parked Range Rover flashed on her phone. Assuming it was a break-in, she checked the live dashcam feed, only to see her fiancé, Finn, and her younger sister, Cheyanne, passionately making out in the backseat. "Tell me I'm better than her," Cheyanne whispered. "Tell me I'm better than Allison." "You are," Finn gasped. "God, you are." When Allison confronted her family with the video, she expected justice. Instead, her uncle and mother fiercely defended the cheaters. They blamed Allison's "cold and frigid" nature for pushing Finn away, victim-blaming her in front of the entire household staff. To protect their corporate alliance, her uncle ruthlessly announced that the engagement would be transferred to Cheyanne, and threatened to strip Allison of her inheritance. Stripped of her fiancé, her family, and her dignity, Allison realized her pristine twenty-year life was a complete lie. The people who were supposed to love her were actively protecting her abusers, leaving her utterly isolated and burning with a cold, protective rage. Refusing to be their victim, Allison targeted Finn's ruthless, billionaire uncle, Adam Kensington, proposing a fake marriage to secure the capital needed to crush her family. But when the notoriously untouchable Wall Street phantom not only accepted her proposal, but demanded she immediately move into his penthouse to raise his secret daughter, Allison realized she had just sold her soul to the devil.