Ajay✨

The Clinton family appears to be the epitope of perfection, with the wealth, lavish lifestyle, and impeccable manners. However behind close doors, they struggle with secrets, lies and unresolved conflicts. As tensions rise and secrets spill, the Clinton's must confront their flaws and weaknesses to find peace and redemption.

Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley. Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him. That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!" He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law." Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart.

My husband, Bennett, and I were New York's golden couple. But our perfect marriage was a lie, childless because of a rare genetic condition he claimed would kill any woman who carried his baby. When his dying father demanded an heir, Bennett proposed a solution: a surrogate. The woman he chose, Aria, was a younger, more vibrant version of me. Suddenly, Bennett was always busy, supporting her through "difficult IVF cycles." He missed my birthday. He forgot our anniversary. I tried to believe him, until I overheard him at a party. He confessed to his friends that his love for me was a "deep connection," but with Aria, it was "fire" and "exhilarating." He was planning a secret wedding with her in Lake Como, at the same villa he'd promised me for our anniversary. He was giving her a wedding, a family, a life—all the things he denied me, using a lie about a deadly genetic condition as his excuse. The betrayal was so complete it felt like a physical shock. When he came home that night, lying about a business trip, I smiled and played the part of the loving wife. He didn't know I'd heard everything. He didn't know that while he was planning his new life, I was already planning my escape. And he certainly didn't know I had just made a call to a service that specialized in one thing: making people disappear.

My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage. Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer. An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss. They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them? The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind? I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."

Luna Hayes accidentally saved Liam Moretti, the heir to Ravenwood's largest mafia family. People whispered his name with fear. They said he was merciless, ruthless, a devil in business... and even worse in bed. Yet this very man would kneel to help Luna put on her heels, afraid to hurt her. In bed, he was always gentle with her-so much so that he kept a sex slave just to satisfy his darker desires. But everything changed the moment Liam decided to let that slave carry his child.

I was about to marry Holden Dalton, the heir to a real estate empire. For three years, the world watched our fairy-tale romance: the poor art student who won the heart of a prince. But on the eve of our wedding, I discovered the truth. Our entire relationship was a lie—a cruel, three-year-long "social experiment" he orchestrated to humiliate me for the amusement of his childhood sweetheart, Estella. The truth came out after a car accident revealed I was three months pregnant. Heartbroken, I walked into a clinic alone and left our baby behind on a cold operating table. But my pain was just part of their entertainment. They staged a fake kidnapping, and Holden chose to "save" Estella without hesitation, leaving me to be pushed off a cliff onto an airbag as his friends laughed. At a charity gala for an arts center I had poured my soul into, he publicly gave all the credit to Estella, branding me a fraud. The resulting scandal caused my mentor to die from a heart attack. Then, they sent a "condolence" cake to his funeral. In cheerful icing, it read: "Sorry for your loss! Another victim of the prank!" It was signed by both of them. That was when the last piece of my heart turned to stone. I walked away from the grave, pulled out my phone, and made a call. "Gael," I choked out, "I lost the bet. I'm ready to leave."

At eight months pregnant, I thought my husband Derek and I had it all. A perfect home, a loving marriage, and our miracle son on the way. Then, while tidying his office, I found his vasectomy certificate. It was dated a year ago, long before we even started trying. Confused and panicked, I rushed to his office, only to hear laughter from behind the door. It was Derek and his best friend, Edison. "I can't believe she still hasn't figured it out," Edison chuckled. "She walks around with that giant belly, glowing like some kind of saint." My husband's voice, the one that whispered words of love to me every night, was full of contempt. "Patience, my friend. The bigger she gets, the bigger the fall. And the bigger my payout." He said our entire marriage was a cruel game to destroy me, all for his precious adopted sister, Else. They were even running a bet on who the real father was. "So, the bet is still on?" Edison asked. "My money's still on me." My baby was a trophy in their sick contest. The world tilted on its axis. The love I felt, the family I was building—it was all a sham. In that moment, a cold, clear decision formed in the ruins of my heart. I pulled out my phone, my voice surprisingly steady as I called a private clinic. "Hello," I said. "I need to schedule an appointment. For a termination."

My husband, Cleve, built a world-class research center for me. He was my knight in shining armor, the man who saved me after my family went bankrupt. But when my brother died tragically under my care, my husband didn't comfort me. Instead, he began grooming a replacement-a young protégé named Ivanna, funding her transformation until she became a younger, softer version of me. He gave her my jewelry and the keys to our private lake house. He publicly undermined my life's work at the center he built, calling my proven methods "old paradigms." He told our friends I was unstable, that my grief was making me "aggressive." The final blow came when he stumbled into my room, drunk and desperate. He tried to kiss me, to reclaim me, but the name he whispered was hers. "Ivanna." When she appeared in the doorway, he didn't hesitate. He took her side, looked at me with cold disgust, and threw me out of my own home. Lying in a hotel room, sick with a fever born from a long walk in the cold rain, I finally understood. My life had been a lie. He hadn't just replaced me; he had tried to erase me. But my escape wasn't just about survival. It was about the evidence I found before I left-a receipt showing that the drug that killed my brother was paid for by Ivanna, using Cleve's corporate credit card. I didn't just run away. I left him to discover he'd been protecting a murderer.

The sterile office felt colder than usual as Commander Davis slid a folder across the table, marking a point of no return. "Ava Mitchell, this is your last chance to back out." My once-vibrant life was about to become a calculated disappearance, replaced by the clandestine world of Agent Nightingale. I was ready to vanish. Or so I thought. Six years of playing the devoted wife to Ben Carter, a tech CEO, had hollowed me out. His "savior," Leah Thompson, his childhood sweetheart, had wormed her way into our home, and my son, Leo, idolized her as "Auntie Leah," making me feel like a prop in my own life. The breaking point arrived on a rock-climbing trip. Ben's dismissive tone, Leah's triumphant smirk, and Leo's words, "Mommy, please? Auntie Leah isn' t afraid," shattered any remaining hope. In that moment, I knew I had to escape this gilded cage. I walked away from the mountain, leaving behind the screaming, the accusations, and the life that was no longer mine. Back home, I systematically erased Ava Mitchell: my lawyer drew up divorce papers, I liquidated my assets, shredded photo albums, and even gave up my parental rights to Leo, blocking a tearful Ben and my son' s heartbroken cries. The pain was physical, but it hardened into an unbreakable resolve. Then came the messages, the perfect family photos of Ben, Leo, and Leah at the school play, Leah wearing my anniversary necklace. My old life was being replaced, piece by piece, before Ava Mitchell was even officially "dead." The final blow came from an "Eternity Locket" that revealed Ben and Leah's relationship wasn't gratitude, but a long-con, a conspiracy to "get rid of me" that predated our marriage. The hurt, the sadness, the grief of a failing marriage burned away, replaced by an ice-cold, razor-sharp rage. They wanted to get rid of Ava Mitchell? Agent Nightingale would make sure they regretted it.

The scent of gasoline and burning metal, the agonizing twisting of the car around me-that was my last memory. My sister Bella' s triumphant smile, seared into my mind as flames consumed me. Then, a blinding flash, and I was back. Not in a hospital, but in my old bedroom, years younger, my hands smooth and unscarred. The shock of rebirth warred with a fierce, tiny spark of hope. A second chance. A chance to do it right. But the past wasn't content to stay buried. The memories flooded back: my father, framed and driven to suicide; his legacy left in ruins; my life single-mindedly devoted to clearing his name. And Bella, my own sister, orchestrating my downfall, poisoning my family and reputation for her frivolous desires, egged on by her manipulative lover, Leo. The car accident wasn' t an accident. It was a calculated murder, a final betrayal. They left me for dead, my life' s work shattered, my body broken. The raw pain of that memory still gnawed at me, the bitter taste of betrayal fresh on my tongue. Why had they done this? How could a sister be so cruel? Then, the creak of a door. Bella walked in, dressed in a brand new designer dress, her face a mask of practiced sweetness. "Chloe," she cooed, "I need to talk to you about something." It was the exact same scene. The same beginning. But this time, she wouldn' t find a victim. This time, I knew the game, and I was ready to play.

My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through. That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister. But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library. They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien. Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve. I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen. This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over. "No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach."