Dong Shengxue

It was my ninety-ninth wedding day with Mark Johnson, ten years of my life waiting, and I stood on the cold stone steps of City Hall, my simple white dress already damp. My phone rang. It was him. "Olivia, I can't make it today." He was ditching our wedding, our ninety-ninth attempt, for a limited edition Chronos watch for his mistress, Sarah Miller. The rain soaked into my hair, my dress, my soul. He hung up. My bouquet of white roses scattered on the wet pavement. Ten years. Ninety-nine broken promises. I had put so many projects on hold for him, for a future he never intended to build. A wave of cold fury washed over me. "He's not coming, is he?" A deep, smooth voice asked. Liam Black, Mark's biggest business rival, stood under a large black umbrella. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "I've had enough proposals for one lifetime." He looked at me, a flicker of something I couldn't read in his cool, intelligent gray eyes. "Marry me instead," he said. I stared. He was honest. It was business. A power play. And I was tired of being a pawn in Mark's game. "You want to marry me to piss off Mark?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "And you need an escape. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement." My voice tasted like freedom. "Okay, let's get married."

On New Year's Eve, I was ready to go public with my secret boyfriend of a year, Alberto. Instead, I watched him kiss another woman and announce their engagement in front of my own parents. He didn't just break my heart; he publicly humiliated me. "And this is Charlotte," he said with a cold smile. "She's like a little sister to me." He had systematically erased every trace of our year together, even packing my things from his apartment-our home-into a storage unit to make room for his new fiancée. A year of stolen kisses and whispered promises, all a lie. He had used me, then tried to erase me, expecting me to quietly disappear. But when I quit my job, he tracked me down at the airport, thinking he could threaten me back into line. Instead, I gave him an ultimatum: transfer $100,000 to my account, or his new fiancée would get a full, detailed history of our 'secret affair,' complete with screenshots.

For five years, I was the devoted girlfriend of a corporate heir, Alden Stone. He gave me a single red rose every month, a symbol of his love. But it was all a beautifully crafted lie. On our anniversary, I discovered the truth: the roses were named "Gabriella," for the woman he was obsessed with. He didn't just break my heart; he stole my life's work-a revolutionary cancer formula-and gave it to her to secure their family alliance. At the gala celebrating her supposed genius, I confronted him. "Don't make a scene," he hissed, his eyes cold. "Gabriella is pregnant. If you try to expose her, I will personally see to it that your career is over." From the stage, Gabriella gave me a predatory smile, flaunting a diamond bracelet I had designed for myself. My love, my future, my life's work-all sacrificed for his obsession. He had played me for a fool and left me with nothing. So I faked my death. I recorded a video exposing their lies, set it to go viral, and sailed his yacht straight into a storm. The world would believe Katelynn Walls was dead, but I was just getting started.

I announced my retirement, and the whole SWAT team erupted in celebration. They popped champagne, hoisted me onto their shoulders, cheering. Only one person wasn' t celebrating: Ethan, my rising star colleague, pushing through the crowd, face pale, eyes desperate. He was searching for me. The media swarmed, asking how he felt about "Prophet Cop" Alex retiring. He forced a smile, "Captain Alex is a legend. We'll all miss him. He taught me everything I know." Lies. All of it. Because this wasn't the first time. In my previous life, a decorated SWAT leader, my career was flawless until Ethan, with his "danger prediction," arrived. He' d sense hidden bombs, get hunches about suspects' locations, always right. He became the "Prophet Cop." I became the joke. The team mocked me; the public called me incompetent. My fiancée, Sarah, also my second-in-command, had stopped me on our final mission. "Alex, wait! Ethan says it's too dangerous for you to go first." As I hesitated, she shoved me. I tumbled over the cliff edge, the last thing I saw was her cold face, standing beside Ethan. They didn't save me. Then, darkness. And I woke up in my own bed, phone buzzing with a message about a hostage rescue operation. The same day. The day I fell. I had a second chance. I remembered this day, the beginning of the end, when Ethan publicly overshadowed me. I wouldn't let it happen again. "Gear up," I ordered. "We're changing the route." But as we screeched to a halt, the warehouse was already surrounded. By the Narcotics Unit. And standing there, cuffing the last suspects, was Ethan. "What the hell?" Miller muttered. "How did they get here so fast?" I remembered this exact scene: We arrived late, a hostage died, and I was blamed. Sarah accused me of incompetence, Director Thompson, my mentor, backed her. My career was ruined. I stood there, watching Ethan soak up the glory, and made a vow. This time, history would not repeat itself.

At just ten years old, my life in the sleepy, fading town of Oakhaven was unremarkable. We were a hardworking family, simple and honest, clinging to the quiet hopes for a decent future. Then Brittany Evans, who lived just a few houses down, cornered me by the old park swingset. Her voice was too grave for a child, her eyes too knowing. She declared, "Everything good that's supposed to happen to you? It's mine now. I'm taking it all." She claimed to be reincarnated, privy to the "original script" of my life. And she proceeded to steal it. My father' s long-awaited promotion, my mother' s cherished dream of a small business, even my crucial college scholarship-all systematically diverted to Britt or her parents. When a devastating flood wiped out our home and savings, Britt merely smirked, claiming it was her "prediction," clearing the way for her own gains. We were left with nothing, forced to abandon the town. How could one family so consistently snatch away every opportunity? Was Britt genuinely disturbed, or was there an unsettling truth to her chilling pronouncements? The utter injustice, the persistent feeling of being targeted by an unseen force, left me confused, isolated, and raw with a burning, desperate rage. But as we left Oakhaven, facing an uncertain future, a fierce determination rose within me. Britt thought she' d stolen my fate. She was wrong. I would build a new life, brick by brick, far from her reach. A life she could never, ever claim as her own.

It was the grand opening of my dream restaurant, Aura, the culmination of years of hard work, my moment of triumph as an acclaimed chef. But then, a woman I barely knew, Isabella Vance, stormed in and publicly declared my husband, Ethan, was her husband, waving a marriage certificate dated years before I even met him. My perfect night shattered, replaced by screeching headlines, ruined bookings, and vicious online attacks branding me a homewrecker. My daughter, Lily, came home crying, asking why kids said Daddy had another Mommy. Ethan, the man who swore he loved me, became a ghost, offering only evasive "it's complicated" excuses as Isabella unleashed a relentless public smear campaign against me, even involving my own protégé. How could the man I built a life with, the father of my child, harbor such a devastating secret? Every truth he withheld felt like a fresh stab, leaving me reeling in a vortex of humiliation and betrayal, with nowhere to hide. My entire life was collapsing, and the world watched, laughing. Now, trapped in a nightmare of lies and public assaults, I have only one choice: fight for my daughter and expose the insidious truth, no matter the cost.

Every day of my life, I, Hailey, was keenly aware I was nothing but an unwanted burden to my parents, Frank and Brenda, their every word and action reserved instead for my coddled younger brother, Kevin. Thanksgiving approached, and their solution to saving money for Kevin's new gaming console was horrific: I was to travel hundreds of miles, locked inside an old, smelly footlocker, checked as luggage on a Greyhound bus. Buried in suffocating darkness, I scratched at the lid with weakening fingers as the air dwindled, until my desperate struggle became nothing more than a final gasp before floating into oblivion. Upon arrival, my parents, eager to enjoy the holiday, left my tomb in a corner, only to casually open it a day later to find my lifeless, blue body, eliciting Frank's curse and Brenda's chilling remark about the "bad luck" I brought before they paid a local man, with the money saved from my bus fare and food, to bury me swiftly and quietly in an unmarked grave, forgotten for Kevin's new treats. To them, my life was merely an obstacle, and my agonizing death was nothing more than an inconvenience, solidifying their profound and terrifying indifference towards me. But then, with a choked gasp, I bolted upright in my bed, the morning sun streaming through my window, and realized I had been given an impossible second chance: it was the same fateful Thanksgiving morning, the old footlocker by the door, and this time, I wouldn't just obey.

Ethan Miller, a successful architect, believed he had it all – a fulfilling career and a beautiful, powerful wife, Isabella Vanderbilt, the CEO of a luxury empire whose name dripped old money. Publicly, they were Manhattan's golden couple, striving to conceive a Vanderbilt heir. But his seemingly perfect life shattered when he discovered Izzy' s chilling deception: unable to conceive naturally, she had secretly orchestrated a plan with Liam O' Connell, a younger man disturbingly similar to Ethan, to be the sperm donor and pass his child off as Ethan's. His cherished home transformed into a gilded prison at their Hamptons estate as Izzy isolated and gaslighted him, her cold ambition eclipsing any remorse. He was subjected to a horrific ordeal, physically and psychologically tormented by Liam, the very man who usurped his place and lineage. How could the woman he loved and trusted so deeply betray him with such cruel precision, turning his entire existence into a meticulously crafted lie? The pain of her treachery was a physical wound, deepening his confusion and overwhelming sense of injustice. Just as despair threatened to consume him, facing ultimate humiliation and potential death, a dramatic rescue by his brother revealed the full, brutal scope of Izzy's manipulations. Now, Ethan must decide whether to seek justice and rebuild a life far from the wreckage, or remain tethered to the toxic legacy that nearly destroyed him, and the child caught in its snare.

Ava Miller, a twenty-one-year-old ballerina, had loved her step-brother Ethan Hayes since she was fifteen. For six years, their passionate, secret affair was her entire world, filled with whispered promises of Europe and forever. She believed he was her soulmate, the king to her queen in their private realm. But after a horrific car accident shattered her legs, the truth shattered her heart even more profoundly. From her hospital bed, she overheard Ethan, the man she adored, calmly admitting he orchestrated the crash. He sneered, revealing their entire relationship was a meticulously planned revenge plot against her mother. He wanted to destroy her dancing career and publicly humiliate her, calling her a "gold-digger's daughter." Her dreams, her body, and every memory of their stolen moments were reduced to a tool in his cruel game. Even as he feigned devastation and vowed to care for her, her world crumbled into excruciating pain and utter betrayal. He later brought his childhood love, Chloe Vanderbilt, into their home, showcasing his true affections right before Ava's eyes. He then abandoned Ava, leaving her to die, not once, but twice. Six years of her youth, her devotion, her very self, were all a lie, a twisted performance for his twisted revenge. How could the man she loved so deeply harbor such venomous hatred? The raw agony of his betrayal was a physical ache, eclipsing even her broken bones. But as her mother offered a sliver of hope for recovery in Vail, a fierce, cold determination ignited within Ava. She vowed to heal, escape, and make him pay for every tear, every broken bone, and every beautiful, shattered lie. Her revenge would be swift, public, and far more devastating than anything Ethan could have imagined.

My fiancé, Jake, stood impatiently by the Greyhound bus, his hand on my back, promising a new life away from our dying West Virginia town. But this wasn't our first trip. In another life, just moments after boarding this very bus, his hands closed around my throat. I remembered the cold fury in his eyes and the hiss of another woman's name: Brittany. That life ended with my world going dark. My hero father' s legacy, his survivor benefits, and even his house, systematically stolen by Jake' s family, the Millers. They' d taken me in after Grandma died, only to exploit every cent, while Brittany, the town's "it girl," brazenly used my father's name for her own gain, all with Sheriff Miller's complicit blessing. How could I have been so naive? So blind to Jake's possessive obsession with Brittany? To the quiet exploitation that turned my father's honorable memory into a tool for their greedy schemes? The realization burned, a colder wrath than death itself. Now, I' m back. The naive Ava is dead, burned away by the memory of my own murder. This time, I won't just board the bus; I'll wait. I' ll make them wait. Because this second chance isn't about escaping-it's about justice. For my father, for my stolen life. And I know Jake remembers too. He' s already planning.

Manson's life had been saved by a girl. The only thing he could remember about her was her smell. Her fragrance lingered in his memory for the past two years, a sweet and unforgettable impression that came back to him whenever he closed his eyes. He had been trying to find her for a very long time. At last, he found her. It seemed that his lucky stars had favored him! Bella was like one in a million, and he couldn't help but love her for it. Like a plant spreading its roots slowly and quietly, it seemed that his love had grown and grown during their long separation until it was strong and deep.

The minute he caught sight of her, he immediately knew that she was the one. James casually handed Gail his business card—he had offered her a job working in his company. As expected, she successfully passed the interview. She was now an intern. On Gail's first day of work, she found that James was actually the CEO of the company. Taken aback, she had no idea what was in store for her.

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

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.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

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.

The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost. Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal. This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline. I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war.

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.

Zane and I were together for ten years. When he had no one, I stayed by his side, supporting his hockey career while believing at the end of all our struggles, I'll be his wife and the only one at his side. But after six years of dating, and four years of being his fiancée, not only did he leave me, but seven months later I receive an invitation... to his wedding! If that isn't bad enough, the month long wedding cruise is for couples only and requires a plus one. If Zane thinks breaking my heart left me too miserable to move on, he thought wrong! Not only did it make me stronger.. it made me strong enough to move on with his favourite bad boy hockey player, Liam Calloway.