Cry Out Loud

Catalina woke up in the hospital with broken ribs after a horrific car crash, her only thought being her husband, Broderick, who had been paralyzed in a wheelchair for two years. Dragging her battered body to the adjacent VIP suite to check on him, she peeked through the door and saw her paralyzed husband standing perfectly straight, passionately kissing his ex-girlfriend. Broderick chuckled, bragging about faking his paralysis for two years just to secure his trust fund, mocking Catalina as a clueless, free nurse who fetched his water like a trained monkey. When Catalina refused to give up her own hospital bed for his mistress's fake migraine, Broderick flew into a violent rage, publicly humiliated her, and ruthlessly cut off all her credit cards to stop her medical treatments. "Since you are so independent, you can figure out how to pay for this room yourself. Let her rot here." Watching the mistress flaunt the Cartier diamond bracelet Catalina had bought with her own money, Catalina's heart didn't break, it turned into solid ice. She could not understand how she had sacrificed two years of her life serving a monster who treated her like disposable garbage. Discharging herself against medical advice, Catalina grabbed her crutch and headed straight for the lavish party Broderick was throwing at their estate, ready to expose his miraculous recovery to the world and burn his entire empire to the ground.

For three years, I played the perfect, uneducated housewife to my billionaire husband, Bradley. Then I received a photo of him sleeping in our custom bed, a woman's hand resting intimately on his bare chest. It was my half-sister. When I confronted him, he didn't apologize. He defended her, saying she was just scared of thunderstorms. "You are her sister. Why is your mind so dirty?" I handed him signed divorce papers, leaving with absolutely nothing. He sneered, pointing at the door. "A woman who didn't even finish high school? You will be begging on the streets in a week!" Later, he violently dragged me away from a friend's house, only to kick me out of his car on a freezing, pitch-black mountain road just because my half-sister called crying about a power outage. Standing alone in the dark with bleeding heels, the last ounce of warmth in my heart turned to solid ice. He truly thought I was a helpless nobody who would eventually crawl back to him in tears. He had no idea who he had really married. The next morning, I put on a tailored power suit, walked into the towering headquarters of MY Corporation, and took the Chairman's seat. It was time for him to meet Anna, the mysterious business tycoon he was about to go to war with.

I am an orphan taken in by the pack, and the powerful Alpha, Ryker, is my guardian. He is also my secret fated mate. But next week, he is marrying another woman for a political alliance. While I was forced to help his fiancé pick out her wedding gown, Ryker cornered me in a fitting room and aggressively marked my neck, claiming me as his own. When his fiancé almost caught us, his eyes turned cold. He shoved an unlimited black credit card into my hand, telling her it was just "charity" for his dead Beta's daughter. Then, they drove away together, leaving me to take a grimy public bus back alone. Back at the dorm, my roommate saw the unmistakable, possessive bite marks of an Alpha on my collarbone. Knowing my reputation was about to be ruined, I fled to a remote campus building to hide from them all. But my adoptive mother's maid suddenly appeared at my door. She didn't come to comfort me. Instead, she delivered a chilling warning. "Do not repeat the terrible mistakes of your family and the Blackwoods regarding the wrong kind of attachments." I froze, my blood running cold as I realized I was under constant surveillance. I thought Ryker's toxic obsession was my biggest nightmare. But what exactly happened between our families in the past, and why did everyone want me trapped in this beautifully decorated prison?

My wedding day was supposed to be the merger of two dynasties, the day I was handed over on the steps of City Hall like a lamb to the slaughter. Instead of a ring, my fiancé tore our marriage contract to shreds in front of the world's press. He screamed that my family was a "cesspool of lies" and that I was "damaged goods" he refused to accept. The cameras swarmed me, their questions like daggers. Was I mentally unstable? Did I know about the family's secret debts? Had my father disinherited me? I played the part of the broken doll perfectly, my shoulders shaking as I shrank into my white dress. Everyone saw a victim, a poor little rich girl publicly shamed and discarded. They thought my father's cruel world had finally crushed me. They had no idea I wrote the script. As the limo pulled away from the chaos, my driver caught my reflection in the mirror. The trembling bride was gone. In her place was a woman whose eyes held something he couldn't name. It looked almost like satisfaction. And my performance was just the opening act.

Before I died, I used my life's work in robotics to build a bionic replica of myself for my husband. She had my exact face and body, but none of my temper. She never threw tantrums, never picked fights, and never raised her voice. Yet my husband, Ethan, had no idea she was actually a machine. He despised "my" newly submissive and obedient attitude. To provoke me, he constantly brought women home, desperately trying to drive me mad with jealousy. But he never succeeded. Until one day, his first love—the one who had once walked out on him—threw a cup of scalding coffee right in "my" face. To Ethan's astonishment, not only did I not scream in pain, but my skin didn't even turn red. He finally realized that I was already dead.

My father, the Alpha Supreme, sealed my powers and sent me to the Turner Pack as a test. He wanted to see if my Fated Mate, Ignatz, would love the girl, not the Royal title. Ignatz failed. For five years, I was his slave, the "No-Wolf" he kept around to clean up after his mistress. When I discovered I was pregnant with his child, I thought he might finally show mercy. Instead, he looked at me with pure disgust. "I will not have a weak, wolfless bastard tainting my bloodline," he roared. "Get rid of it." I begged. I screamed. But his mother and mistress watched with glee as the doctor scraped my womb clean, killing the only thing I had left. Hours later, bleeding and hollowed out, I was dragged onto the floor of the pack's banquet hall. Ignatz stood on the stage, holding his mistress's hand. "I, Ignatz Turner, reject you, Genevieve, as my mate," he announced, treating me like garbage to be discarded. He thought he was breaking a weak human. He didn't realize he was unlocking a monster. The pain of the rejection didn't kill me; it shattered the seal on my powers. The scent of ozone and Royal Lilies exploded through the room, bringing every wolf to their knees. My bones cracked, reshuffling into the massive form of the legendary White Wolf. As my father’s Royal Guards blew the doors off their hinges, I looked down at Ignatz, who was now trembling in the dirt. "I accept your rejection," I growled. Now, the hunt begins.

For eight years, I gave up my family fortune and my hearing to help my boyfriend, Emiliano Reed, become a rock star. I was his muse, his guardian angel, the silent partner in his success. Then, a miracle happened: my hearing returned. Just in time to catch him with a college student, and hear him call me a "burden" and a "charity case." The betrayal didn't end there. When his new girl wrecked the vintage car my late father gave me, I confronted her at the police station. Emiliano rushed in, not to defend me, but to protect her. He shoved me so hard I hit the floor, and the world went silent again. My hearing was gone, for a second time, because of him. "Are you deaf?" he roared at me, furious that I wouldn't just forgive him. "I gave you everything! It was exhausting, suffocating!" I looked at the man I had sacrificed everything for, the man who had just destroyed me all over again. He had no idea I'd heard every single, hateful word. "No, Emiliano," I said, my voice clear and steady. "The question is, are you deaf? Or are you just a coward?"

The picture on my phone was a punch to the gut. It showed my husband, Julian Vance, the cold, untouchable tech CEO, smiling genuinely at a young woman I' d never seen before, his hand resting on her shoulder. This wasn't his public, polished smile for the cameras. It was something real, something he hadn' t directed at me in years. My seemingly stable world tilted on its axis, unraveling years of accepted emotional distance. "Lily Chen. Struggling artist," the private investigator' s text read below the photo. I knew our five-year marriage was a business arrangement, but I thought Julian was emotionally detached from everyone. I thought wrong. That night, at the annual Vance Technologies gala, I confronted him. His eyes, usually unreadable, flickered with annoyance before settling into their practiced mask. "Our marriage is a business arrangement, Scarlett. You knew that when you signed the papers." He handed me a divorce settlement, already drafted. "I want her. I will not have you in the way." I crumpled the paper. "And if I refuse?" A chilling ruthlessness crossed his face, not meant for a business rival, but for me. "Don' t make this difficult, Scarlett. You will lose." The next week was a nightmare as he systematically dismantled my family' s company, Hayes AI. Our top engineers were poached, contracts sabotaged, stock plummeting. The final blow came when Julian called, his voice emotionless. "I have your parents, Scarlett. They are safe, for now. Sign the papers. You have one hour." He sent a live video feed: my parents, tied to chairs, terrified. I drove frantically to his office, ready to sign. But as my pen touched the paper, Julian spoke one word into his earpiece. "Now." On screen, two masked men entered, brutally ending my parents' lives. The world went black. Then, I gasped, eyes flying open. I was in my bed. Sunlight streamed in. My phone buzzed. It was a notification from my PI. A photo had just arrived: Julian and Lily in her studio. It was the same day. The day it all started. I was back.

The two pink lines on the test stick perfectly embodied five years of quiet hopes and hushed prayers-a dream finally coming true. But that dream shattered when I overheard my husband David, in his study, confessing that she could "never find out," followed by his best friend Liam's horrified reply: "Five years. You' ve been living a double life for five years." Rebecca. The name of the struggling artist my family' s charity had sponsored, the woman David always dismissed with pity, was not only his wife but the mother of his son and heir, Thomas. Not only had my entire marriage been a lie, a performance for his "sweet, trusting" mistress, but I was also carrying the child of a man who secretly plotted: "She can never, ever get pregnant." He had been replacing my birth control pills with placebos for years, orchestrating my pain and feelings of failure, all to protect a life I never knew existed. The final insult came on my birthday, when the Astor sapphire necklace David had "promised" me appeared on Rebecca' s neck, a cruel trophy. And then, she introduced herself: "Thank you… brother-in-law." Something inside me snapped. He thought I was easy. He wanted me to disappear. Fine. I would disappear. I called an old contact, my voice steady, saying: "I need your help. I need to fake my death."

I opened my eyes, and the familiar gilded ceiling of my childhood bedroom swam into view. I was twenty-two again, on the day of the "Future Leaders" charity gala. This was it. But this wasn't a fresh start; it was a horrifying replay. Because in my first life, this very day marked the beginning of my agonizing descent into hell. All thanks to Ethan Hayes. He hated me, blaming me for losing his "true love," Izzy Vance. He systematically destroyed my family, ruined my esteemed father's career, and wiped out everything I held dear. My family's assets were frozen, our reputation shattered. My father, broken by shame, suffered a stroke. I was condemned to a miserable, impoverished existence, ostracized, until I died alone. I had been a naive girl, a pawn in a cruel political game I never understood. His vindictive revenge was suffocating, impossible to fight. Now, reborn, the terror of that past clawed at my chest, alongside an unyielding, burning resolve. This time, I wouldn't be his victim. I would save my family at any cost. My desperate plan: fade into obscurity, avoid any powerful connections, and use an unassuming stranger as my strategic shield. What I didn't know was that my chosen "nobody" would shatter all expectations, revealing a destiny more shocking and powerful than revenge itself.

My tenth wedding anniversary gala at our lavish Napa Valley estate should have been a dream, but for ten years I’d lived a gilded nightmare crafted by Julian Thorne. Tonight, my tech mogul husband took his public humiliation ritual to new depths, introducing his barely-out-of-her-teens mistress on stage, then demanding I strip my designer gown and a priceless family heirloom necklace to give to her as a "welcome gift." When I finally uttered "divorce," he scoffed, offering a multi-million-dollar "severance package" but coldly emphasized that my ailing father's costly medical care depended entirely on his whims, turning my raw pain into a grotesque public spectacle for the guests to bet on. That very night, fueled by rage, Julian trapped me in the wine cellar, convinced I'd never truly walk away, as my mother lay dying from a car accident I couldn't reach her from, leaving me to beat bloody fists against the locked door. Reaching the hospital too late, and later enduring a final, devastating blow as Julian’s mistress orchestrated my father’s quiet death with his chilling disregard, left me utterly shattered, yet terrifyingly, undeniably, free from his last cruel hold. With every lifeline severed, and nothing left for Julian to control or threaten, the broken woman he thought he owned finally died, and a new, formidable force awoke, ready to unleash a vengeance he never saw coming, starting now.

On the day Mino was helping her friend catch her cheating boyfriend in the act, she accidentally ended up in Ryan’s hotel room. He was the most powerful man in the city. However, she had gotten herself into this mess. Later, they met for a second time, and Ryan asked her to marry him to meet his grandfather’s wish. After being threatened, Mino reluctantly agreed to his proposal and became his wife. Although Mino consented to marry Ryan, she had never given up on running away from him. But it was already too late–she was completely trapped inside this madness.

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

Lillian woke in a werecreature universe as a total loser. Good news was that women ruled here and could take multiple mates, yet she still ended up as the one everyone looked down on. Compared to her talented sister at every turn, she watched her first match get stolen and her next four mates reject her without mercy. The first mate was the King of Succubine himself. On their very first meeting, he warned Lillian that he was only staying long enough to recover from his injuries-and that there could never be anything between them. The second mate was a merman. He took one look at her and said he had no interest in a loser like her, tossing her some cash so she could break off their bond herself. The third mate was the progenitor vampire-over a thousand years old. He admitted to admiring her sister instead and made it clear he had no interest in a layabout like Lillian. Lillian cut every bond and chose her own path instead. But as she rose higher and higher, those same men returned, full of regret and begging her to look at them again. The fourth mate was a werewolf Lillian had rescued from an underground fighting ring. She thought he might actually stay-until he revealed himself as royalty. And of course, he wanted to break their bond for more power.

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family's social standing. During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me. I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn't care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst. She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side. "Men get angry," she told me coldly. "It's your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house." I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip. My heart went completely dead. So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn't hesitate. I walked back into my parents' house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table. "I won't be apologizing to Preston. I got married today."

Her sister is marrying her ex. So she brings her best friend as her fake fiancé. What could possibly go wrong? Savannah Hart thought she was over Dean Archer-until her sister, Chloe announces she's marrying him. The same man Savannah never stopped loving. The man who left her heartbroken... and now belongs to her sister. A weeklong wedding in New Hope. One mansion full of guests. And a very bitter maid of honor. To survive it, Savannah brings a date-her charming, clean-cut best friend, Roman Blackwood. The one man who's always had her back. He owes her a favor, and pretending to be her fiancé? Easy. Until fake kisses start to feel real. Now Savannah's torn between keeping up the act... or risking everything for the one man she was never supposed to fall for.

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

Kayla stood outside the CEO suite, holding a custom suit for her fiancé, Brennon. They had spent seven years building a tech company from a freezing garage into a billion-dollar empire. But through the cracked door, she heard the breathy laugh of Evelin, the newly hired director. Then came Brennon's low, careless voice. "The wedding's a PR milestone for the IPO, nothing more." Kayla's blood turned to ice. "She's comfortable. Makes sense on paper," Brennon continued. "But you, Evelin. You understand ambition." The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. She had written the core code that made him a billionaire. She had stayed up until 4 AM debugging while he slept on a futon. Now, he was mocking their relationship to his mistress and handing over her life's work to a woman who couldn't even read a data log. Seven years of loyalty, reduced to a PR stunt. She didn't cry. Instead, a cold, violent clarity washed over her. Why should she let him keep the crown she forged? Without a word, she pulled the three-carat diamond off her finger and dropped it into her bag. She walked out of the building, drafted her resignation, and accepted a VP position at his biggest Wall Street rival. It was time to show Brennon what happened when the real genius behind his empire decided to tear it down.

I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting." When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home. Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name. He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal. I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing. As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life.

I skipped my final lab review in Geneva and endured a fourteen-hour flight to surprise my husband for our fourth wedding anniversary. Instead, looking through the window of our beachfront estate, I saw him playing the perfect, loving father to a "tragic widow's" daughter, kissing the widow with practiced, casual intimacy. Fleeing in pure panic, I got into a horrific car crash. Waking up in the VIP hospital room, I kept my eyes shut and heard my husband talking to his best friend right beside my bed. "She's just a party girl who knows how to swipe a black card. I only play the part because I need her father's proxy vote for the IPO." "Every time I have to touch her in bed, it feels like a corporate obligation. It makes me sick." Later, even my own father demanded I step down from my company role and publicly welcome the mistress, just to protect the family's investment in the upcoming ten-billion-dollar IPO. Four years of marriage and quiet humiliations, all reduced to a calculated lie. They all thought I was just a brainless, hysterical socialite who could be easily manipulated and discarded. They didn't know that the core anti-aging algorithm his entire empire relied on was secretly built by me. I calmly pulled out my phone and texted my divorce lawyer. "I want him bankrupt. On the day his company rings the bell, I am going to burn his entire life to the ground."

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.