Falstaff

I sacrificed five years of my freedom to save my husband' s billion-dollar empire. I walked out of prison expecting gratitude, but instead, I found his assistant wearing my life like a second skin. And when his company faced a new crisis, he didn't look to me for support-he looked at me as the prime suspect. Jasper thought a luxury suite at The Plaza could erase five years of silence. He claimed he was "protecting" me, while Candice, the woman who orchestrated my fall, blocked my letters and managed his heart. But the moment his laptop was wiped, his mask of devotion crumbled. He accused me of sabotage instantly, blind to the real enemy standing right beside him. I didn't argue. I just walked away. He screamed that I' d be destitute without him, that I was throwing my life away for a "nobody." Instead, I found Cohen, the inmate who had protected me inside when Jasper abandoned me. Months later, Jasper called, sobbing. He' d finally found the security footage proving Candice' s guilt. "I'll wire you ten million dollars," he begged, his voice breaking. "I'll even give Cohen a construction job. Just come home." I looked at Cohen, who was gently painting a crib for our unborn child in our warm, safe home. "Keep your money, Jasper," I said. "We're already taken care of."

My hands trembled as I smoothed my dress, waiting for Alpha Arthur to return. He had survived the transplant. I thought our Fated bond would finally be sealed. But when the heavy doors swung open, the warmth I expected was gone. Arthur walked in clutching another woman, Diana. He looked at me like I was a stain on the rug. "The Moon Goddess played a trick," he sneered, his eyes glazed with a chemical devotion. "My donor's blood chooses her. The blood bond overrides some archaic fate." He didn't just reject me; he made me a servant in my own home. When Diana framed me for breaking a ring, Arthur didn't hesitate. He ordered the Silver Whip. "Arthur, please! I'm pregnant!" I screamed, shielding my stomach. "Stop lying to save your skin," he spat. He lashed me ten times with wolfsbane-dipped leather. I lay in the snow, feeling the warm blood of my miscarriage soak the ground, while he walked away to comfort his mistress. He killed his own son for a lie. That night, I signed my rejection in blood and vanished into the darkness. Five months later, I returned. Not as a weak Omega, but as the legendary White Wolf, holding the hand of the most powerful Alpha in the region. Arthur fell to his knees in the mud when he saw me, weeping. "I'll do anything. I'll give up the title." I looked down at him coldly and handed him the whip. "Ten lashes," I whispered. "For the baby you killed."

My parents dropped me off at college like a princess, with a platinum card and no worries. My new life, full of independence and excitement, was just beginning. My roommate, Sarah, seemed sweet at first, a quiet girl with kind eyes. But her sweetness quickly turned sour, poisoned by resentment over my privilege. She' d sneer at my new laptop, comparing it to her brother' s grueling factory job. Then, the unthinkable happened: my emergency debit card, with over a hundred thousand dollars, vanished. A bank alert confirmed my worst fear: a $5,000 withdrawal attempt blocked. I knew, with a sickening certainty, who the thief was-the quiet girl consumed by jealousy. The betrayal shattered my idyllic college dream, leaving a bitter taste. I called the campus police, my hands shaking with fury. Sarah was arrested, my card found in her bag, and my sense of home was destroyed. I moved into a new apartment, seeking peace, but my mom' s well-meaning housekeeper, Mrs. Davis, brought a new kind of terror. She started with subtle criticisms, then tried to turn me into her domestic servant. Her demands escalated, culminating in an outrageous proposal: she wanted to control my finances and marry me off to her unemployed son, Kevin. The audacity of her plan, the sheer delusion, made my blood run cold. When I fired her, she called my mom, trying to slander me, but my mom shut her down cold. As she stormed out, my grandmother's silk scarf, a cherished gift, was found crumpled in her bag. Just like her daughter, she was a thief and a liar. I thought the nightmare was over when Kevin, her "good, strong boy," was leaning against my apartment door. His sneer, his entitlement, and the reek of stale cigarettes chilled me to the bone. He raged about his family, about how they were entitled to my money, our money. The fear was sharp, but my own anger surged. Then, I came home to a ransacked apartment, my belongings destroyed, and Kevin sitting in my armchair, drinking my dad's scotch. Mrs. Davis was there too, silently watching, complicit. My phone was shattered. They laid out their plan: I would empty my accounts, sign over my car, give them everything. Then, maybe, they' d let me go. Trapped, I feigned submission, my mind racing for an escape. In a desperate, reckless moment, I grabbed my heavy coffee pot from the kitchen. With a surge of pure, unadulterated rage, I swung.

I was Sarah, a dedicated Program Coordinator at Hope Community Initiatives, genuinely good at my job and deeply committed to our mission. My life was professional, orderly, and I was well-respected. But then Chloe arrived, our new intern, seemingly fresh-faced and innocent, assigned directly to me. What followed was a cascade of bizarre "accidents"-a simple email became a three-hour typo-ridden mess. A crucial grant review meeting was rescheduled to 9 PM, nearly jeopardizing our youth program's lifeline. Then came the staff lunch incident, a severe nut allergy completely disregarded, almost sending a colleague to the hospital, all thanks to Chloe' s "good intentions." The climax dropped like a hammer: bursting into our most critical donor meeting, Chloe, with practiced tears, pointed a shaking finger and wailed that I was bullying her. My own boyfriend and colleague, Mark, shockingly stood up, not to defend me, but to confirm her story and accuse me of disloyalty, of planning to leave for a rival non-profit. David, my boss, instantly fired me, without a second thought. My career, my reputation in the entire local non-profit world, was instantly, brutally destroyed. The accusations, Mark' s shattering betrayal, the loss of everything I' d worked for-it was an unbearable weight. I sank into a profound despair, unable to eat or sleep, feeling myself fall into an endless void. How could a single intern, my supposed protégé, and the man I loved, orchestrate such a complete, devastating undoing of my life? The sheer injustice of it gnawed at my soul; I had been perfectly good at my job, only to be cast aside for a lie. Then, with a jolt, I blinked. I was back at my desk, the familiar hum of the air conditioner, my computer screen showing Chloe' s first day. A do-over. The nightmare was real, but this time, the rules had changed, and I was ready to play.

Ten days from our wedding, I planned a surprise for Izzy: custom platinum bands. For five years, I' d been her "supportive husband," putting my own life on hold for her skyrocketing marketing career. Then I overheard her Instagram Live. "Ethan? He' s sweet, but he' s basically my well-kept house husband. My career pays for this lifestyle, he just makes good coffee." The rings crashed to the floor. Five years of sacrifice. Five years reduced to a sarcastic joke. Her intern, Liam, was far more than just a colleague. Soon, his arrogant social media posts confirmed my worst fears: their late-night "work sessions" and private jokes. She repeatedly lied to my face, dismissing me while planning our wedding. A vast, cold emptiness settled in my chest. My entire life with her felt like a cheap movie set, and I was merely an uncredited extra. How could I have been so utterly blind to her contempt and betrayal, to the true nature of the woman I was about to marry? But the emptiness became a catalyst. I typed a text to my estranged billionaire father: "Dad, I' m ready to come home. I' m in on the merger. Cancel Izzy' s company' s contract with us." This wasn't the end; it was my beginning.

I came with a mission to kill the Lord of Eric. "Lilah, I am pleased with you." The fireworks bloomed for me, and I looked down at Eric, who was kneeling on one knee. The knife hidden in my sleeve involuntarily shrank back. "Are you willing to marry me as your wife, from now on, for a lifetime?" "Yes." The system's alarm sounded repeatedly in my mind, but I still went ahead without hesitation. However, reality slapped me hard. "Lilah, as Eric's wife, you must not leave for three years and gracefully step down." "Okay." I replied lightly, just as I had agreed to his proposal. At night, a fire burned down my yard and freed me from my misery. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day he proposed to me. But this time, he cried and said, "Lilah, don't go."

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic. Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold. "Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'" The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip. Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet. I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child. But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame. "I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done." I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down.