Eydie Pfefferle

My ten-year relationship was supposed to end with our future in Dublin, a tribute to my late father. Instead, it ended when I overheard the man I loved call me a "stage-five clinger" he couldn't wait to get rid of. He had secretly changed our corporate transfer to Austin for a new intern, boasting to his friends that I'd come running the second I found out. To secure her promotion, he stole my father's priceless hard drive-his entire legacy. When I confronted them, his new girl dropped it into a puddle, destroying it right in front of me. Ezekiel didn't apologize. He shielded her and screamed at me. "Your dad is dead, Finley! Does Blake have to die over some dead guy's broken hard drive?!" He gave me an ultimatum: apologize to her and change my transfer to Austin before the midnight deadline, or else. He thought he had me on lock. But as the clock ticked past midnight, I was on a one-way flight to Dublin, my old SIM card snapped in two. This time, I was choosing my father's legacy over him.

My ten-year-old brother was dying from a bee sting, his breath catching in his throat. I was terrified, but relief washed over me when the ambulance arrived. Help was here. But the paramedic wasn't looking at my brother. She was staring at the watch on my wrist, a gift from my fiancé, Graham. When I told her his name, her professional mask shattered. "Graham is my man," she snarled. She was his psychotic ex-girlfriend. She kicked her medical bag shut and let my brother die on the grass, calling him a "bastard." Then she and her brother beat me unconscious. I woke up strapped to an operating table. With a scalpel in her hand, she whispered, "After I'm done, do you think he'll still want to look at this face?" She carved up my face and then, with chilling satisfaction, destroyed my ability to ever have children, ensuring I could never give Graham the family she believed was hers alone. She took everything from me-my brother, my face, my future-all because of a delusion. When Graham finally burst in, he didn't recognize the bloody mess on the table until he saw a tiny scar by my eye. The man I loved vanished, replaced by something cold and merciless. He looked at me, then at her, and I knew the law would never be enough. Our revenge would be absolute.

The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to me like a shroud as the doctor' s words cut through the haze: "The test is positive, Ms. Miller. You're pregnant." But his next revelation, stark and clear, truly shattered my world: "There's a mass, Sarah. It's a rare form of tumor, quite aggressive. We need to start treatment immediately, but… the treatment is not compatible with the pregnancy." It was the same impossible choice I' d faced before, a replay of a life I' d already lived and tragically lost. A chilling memory surfaced of my estranged boyfriend, David Chen, spitting venom at me in a cold penthouse: "Keep her alive just long enough to deliver the baby. I want her to watch everything she loves wither and die." He'd trapped me then, financially and emotionally, under the guise of a deadly illness only my wealth could cure, all while secretly engaged to another woman, Chloe. His true cruelty was laid bare in a whispered confession I overheard: "She's just a walking bank account. And soon, when that tumor of hers gets bad enough, the whole bank will be ours." The sheer audacity, the betrayal, the knowledge that they planned to destroy my brother, Tom, for my life insurance, burned through me. They were monsters, and I had been a fool, blind to their horrifying scheme. But this time, I wasn't the naive artist. This time, I had a choice, my choice. I looked the doctor straight in the eye, my voice steady, devoid of the hesitation that had crippled me before. "I want an abortion." It wasn't a surrender; it was a declaration of war.

The O'Connell's American dream was simple: securing Kevin's college fund and ensuring Mom's life-saving surgery. Mike, a humble steel mill supervisor, and Lisa, a diligent part-time waitress, meticulously clawed every dollar, slowly building their future brick by painstaking brick. Then came Thanksgiving, and the bitter scent of burnt turkey wasn't just from the oven. Lisa, pale and trembling, confessed a shattering truth: their entire $25,000 savings – every penny, every hope – had vanished in a single, rigged poker game. Their meticulously built future crumbled into dust, Mom's surgery and Kevin's college dreams instantly ripped away. Lisa was a broken woman, sobbing on the cold kitchen floor, their world crashing down around them. The vast emptiness now where their savings once lay was a gaping wound. But Mike knew this wasn't mere bad luck or a costly mistake. This was a calculated, cruel trap, set by Lisa's manipulative "friend" and a notorious cardsharp, exploiting their vulnerability. The quiet steelworker felt a burning injustice, a cold, hard knot of resolve forming in his gut. How could they possibly let this stand? By morning, the quiet family man had made his decision. He would walk back into that dimly lit bar, armed with a mere $200 and a secret past, to face the predators who stole their future. Because Mike O'Connell was more than just a supervisor; for his family, "The Philadelphia Phantom" was coming out of retirement for one last, desperate game.

The last thing I remembered was the sharp crack and my head hitting the polished wood floor. Then, darkness-an endless void. I died. I gasped awake in my old room, years ago, sunlight streaming through the window, my heart hammering as the vivid memory of Jessica' s rage, her violent shove, and my undeniable death flooded back. Minutes later, Jessica, my cruel younger sister, glided in, already brimming with sickeningly familiar stories about her wild night with Jake and her predatory plans to snag a wealthy husband, just as she had before she meticulously ruined my life, stole my fiancé, and ultimately committed murder. They genuinely believed I was still the same naive, emotional Sarah, easily manipulated by Jessica's feigned innocence and Mother's relentless favoritism, but the crushing injustice of my previous silent suffering and violent end had transformed into a cold, unwavering fury, a chilling resolve born from their unforgivable betrayal. This wasn't merely a horrifying relapse into my past; it was a brutal, utterly undeniable second chance, and I would exploit every dirty secret and every hidden vulnerability I knew to make Jessica and Mother pay, meticulously rewriting every single, bloody word of our future.

I was Ethan Miller, a visionary architect, on the brink of launching my revolutionary "Phoenix Project"-a design poised to change the world. My brilliant girlfriend and collaborator, Chloe Vance, was right there with me. But then, an unimaginable betrayal by Chloe and her manipulative protégé, Ryan Bell, shattered everything. They publicly accused me of industrial espionage, a devastating lie. The industry instantly blacklisted me, destroying my career. My honest parents, reeling from the stress and shame of their crumbled construction business, died. I soon followed, alone and utterly broken. How could someone I loved plunge a knife so deep, abandoning truth for ambition? The burning injustice consumed me, even in death. But then, I woke up. Reborn. Back to the exact crossroads where my downfall began. The chilling twist? Chloe was here too, still blind to Ryan's deceit, still intent on sabotaging my life. When she deliberately shattered the model of my life's ambition – echoing the destruction of my first timeline – I knew. This wasn't just a second chance, but a war for my soul. It was time to rewrite destiny, not with vengeance, but with unwavering resilience, and build a truer legacy with unforeseen, powerful alliances.

My life was merely surviving my stepfather Jedediah's escalating abuse in our remote, dusty shack. His greedy eyes always gleamed with ruthless schemes, each one promising more control over me. Then came Lily, a beautiful "Dreamweaver" Jedediah bought from Mama Maeve, believing she'd conjure immense wealth. His incessant demands for gold quickly warped into escalating violence, until one horrifying night, Lily's true power unleashed. She utterly drained Jedediah, transforming my tormentor into a withered husk before my own eyes. But the horror only deepened when Lily revealed the shattering truth: she was my birth mother, returned not to embrace, but to harvest my "pure" Dreamweaver essence for unparalleled power. How could the woman who bore me coldly seek to consume me, abandoning my life as just a tool for her ruthless ambition? They gravely underestimated me; my adoptive mother had secretly trained me in a unique, amber power of protection. In a desperate battle for my very soul, I didn't just fight back; I subdued her, forcing my formidable, murderous birth mother to become the living source for my own burgeoning power. My life was a cage, but now I hold the keys, ready to forge my own dark destiny.

Olivia Hayes, an ambitious tech queen, was soaring, immersed in her glitzy wedding plans with COO Marcus Thorne. Unseen, her young ward, Ethan, battled a terminal leukemia diagnosis, his quiet love for Olivia his only anchor. Desperate, Ethan revealed his illness and a radical last hope: experimental cryopreservation. But Olivia, consumed by her own world and Marcus' s insidious influence, shockingly dismissed his desperate plea as a manipulative stunt. Fueled by Marcus' s lies and a rigged medical report, Olivia publicly shamed Ethan for "faking" his death sentence. Heartbroken, Ethan vanished silently on her wedding day, his legal status brutally terminated, leaving a void Olivia initially chose to ignore. Then, the horrifying truth: Ethan wasn't faking. He was dying, and Marcus had betrayed them both. Olivia was left reeling, consumed by a crushing guilt for her monumental blindness, her dismissal of his genuine love, and the unimaginable suffering she inflicted. How could she have allowed herself to be so tragically misled? In a furious storm of regret and a dawning, fierce love, Olivia vowed revenge and redemption. She decimated Marcus' s empire, poured her vast fortune into bringing Ethan back, and made the ultimate vow: to enter cryosleep herself, joining him across time, ensuring he would never awaken alone again.

I gasped awake, my throat burning. Downstairs, Mom shrieked at Dad about 'Emily' again, their usual symphony of bitterness. I was used to it, used to being Mom' s property, something she controlled, ever since she trapped Dad with a fake pregnancy years ago. She never forgave him Emily, and she never forgave me for being his daughter. But this morning, a chilling memory, vivid as real life, clung to me: peanuts, my throat closing, Mom just watching. A taste of death. It wasn't a dream. It was a premonition, my own death at her hands, if I didn't act. The thought alone sent shivers down my spine. This wasn't just a difficult mother; I saw her clearly for the first time: a monster. My heart hammered, a desperate drumbeat, as every sugary word, every controlling glance, every public humiliation she inflicted felt like a suffocating vice. Dad, weak and defeated, could only offer whispered apologies, seeing my suffering but perpetually helpless. I wouldn't be her victim anymore. I wouldn't end up on that kitchen floor, struggling for breath while she calmly watched. Not this time. My resolve hardened into something cold and sharp, a desperate decision: I had to get out, and I had to take Dad with me.

The Greyhound bus hummed, a low rumble promising a new life at the Boeing apprenticeship program, far from this dead-end town. My fiancé, Jake, stood blocking the bus depot doorway, radiating control, scanning the street for Brittany Smith. But this wasn't the first time I'd lived this moment; in my last life, Jake’s hands had closed around my throat on our wedding night, his eyes blazing, blaming me for Brittany's tragic end. Now, I was back at the same bus stop, and he was once again holding everyone’s acceptance letters and bus tickets hostage, waiting for her, wielding a Zippo as a silent threat. He reveled in his power, convinced his County Commissioner father’s influence was an impenetrable shield, openly mocking our desperate hope to escape this town. The chilling truth hit me like a physical blow: Jake was reborn too, seemingly to ensure Brittany’s success this time, but embodying a far more calculated cruelty. Why was fate so twisted, bringing me back to this precise, suffocating moment of manipulation, when the memory of my horrific death still burned? This time, I let my hand fall from his arm, a silent promise to myself that my feigned compliance was a trap he’d never see coming. Because this time, I was playing a different game, armed with the precise knowledge to expose his family’s corruption and Brittany’s lies, ensuring their carefully constructed dreams would spectacularly collapse.

I'm a mortuary cosmetologist, with both looks and money. My sister-in-law is a fan of my brother and always wants me to be her sister-in-law. As her brother approaches forty, someone introduced me for marriage. She brought people to the funeral home to cause a scene, claiming I was a mistress. In the end, I personally cremated 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.

For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave. The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for. In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in. "Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer." His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient. "I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now." He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.

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.