Karyelle Kuhn

To save her family from bankruptcy, Serena was forced into her twin sister's wedding dress to marry a notorious, paralyzed billionaire. On her wedding night, she tried to escape the terrifying mansion, only to be violently stopped by her own father. He dug his thick fingers into her bruised arm and threatened to cut off her hospitalized sister's life support if she dared to run away. Trapped with no way out, Serena endured harsh humiliation from her new husband, Julian, who thought she was just a desperate gold digger thanks to her stepmother's sabotage. The next morning, things got even worse. Julian's terrifying grandmother, the family matriarch, threw a ten-million-dollar check at her. "Take the money and file for a quiet annulment today. Leave the cripple immediately." "If you refuse, I will personally ensure your family is crushed into dust before Friday." Serena stared at the crisp paper that could instantly buy her freedom and save her sister. Her own father was using her sister's life as blackmail, and Julian's own flesh and blood treated him like a disposable liability. But she remembered the traumatized, broken man who had blindly held her hand through a severe PTSD attack the night before. She didn't take the easy money. Instead, Serena slid the check right back across the polished mahogany table. "My marriage to Julian is not for sale," she stated firmly, officially declaring war on the powerful matriarch.

Kaitlynn's mother forced her to entertain Jorden, a cold, overbearing professional esports captain who she only remembered as an annoying, mud-eating brat. She despised him in real life, saving all her admiration for "Hex," the god-tier player in her favorite MMO who constantly spoiled her with thousand-dollar rare items. Trapped in Jorden's luxury car during a forced errand, Kaitlynn couldn't stand his arrogant attitude anymore. She proudly bragged about Hex, claiming her online master's mechanics were vastly superior to any so-called professional player. "He's the absolute ceiling," she declared defensively. "He's way better than you." Jorden just smirked, his dark eyes dismissing her entirely. "Sounds like a nerd living in his mom's basement." Kaitlynn was furious, ready to scream at him, until his work phone suddenly rang. Right in front of her, he casually commanded his team using an extremely rare, high-tier strategy exclusive to her game. Kaitlynn's mind completely short-circuited. Why would the captain of North America's biggest esports organization know Aethelgard's secret meta? And why did his commanding, ruthless voice suddenly sound exactly like the low, comforting chuckle that echoed in her headset every night? As Jorden's gaze dropped to the rare assassin class keychain resting on her lap, a wicked, knowing smile flashed across his face. The untouchable esports tyrant had just realized his rebellious real-life enemy was his deeply pampered in-game student, and her peaceful double life was about to end.

I stood in front of New York City Hall in my vintage lace wedding dress, my heart pounding with a nervous joy. I was minutes away from marrying Bradford Sterling, a move I thought would finally help me reclaim my mother’s legacy from my family’s crumbling empire. But as I reached for his arm, he flinched. A black Lincoln Navigator screeched to the curb, and his mother, Victoria, stepped out, slamming a restructuring document against his chest. She didn't even look at me as she delivered the killing blow: my sister, Eden, had just seized every cent of my voting rights and family trust. "Marrying her is a net negative yield," Victoria said coldly. Bradford didn't fight for me; he didn't even blink. He simply pushed my hand away and adjusted his tie as if I were a junk bond he was ready to offload. Seconds later, my sister Eden arrived in a red Ferrari, wearing her own bridal gown, and stepped into my place by his side. I was standing on the pavement, humiliated in front of a crowd, while the man I loved for three years treated me like a failed transaction. My sister laughed in my face, calling me a "liability" while she stole my wedding and my life. The grief was instant, but the rage that followed was a white-hot rupture in my chest. I didn't just walk away; I slapped the life out of Bradford and dove into the first black SUV I saw, desperate to escape. I didn't check the plates, and I didn't see the man in the wheelchair sitting in the shadows of the backseat. I had just "carjacked" Jefferson Montgomery, the most dangerous billionaire in the city. To save him from a parole violation during a sudden police raid, I agreed to a fake marriage that very night. They wanted to treat me like a negative asset? Fine. They have no idea that they just handed a world-class hacker the keys to the Montgomery fortune, and I’m going to liquidate them all.

I died on a filthy bed in a back-alley clinic. I willingly sacrificed my own corneas so the Mafia man I loved could see the light of day again. But my soul was forced to stay behind, watching another woman claim my sacrifice as her own. Dante reclaimed his throne as the Mafia boss. Believing the lie that I had abandoned him, he unleashed his vengeance upon my family. "Where the hell is she hiding?" He shattered my brother's hands and drove my mother to her death. He absolutely refused to believe the fact that I was already dead, convinced instead that I was just cowering from his wrath. It wasn't until my medical records were thrown right in his face that Dante finally realized whose eyes he was using to look at the world. The truth drove him completely insane. He burned the whole world down just to beg for my forgiveness. "Gianna, please wait for me!"

The neurosurgeon looked at me with pity, delivering a diagnosis that severed seven years of devotion in a heartbeat. According to the scans, my husband, Dante Rizzoli, remembered how to strip a Glock blindfolded and launder millions. He just didn't remember loving me. Overnight, I went from being the cherished Mafia Princess to an unwanted stranger in my own penthouse. While I filled our home with his favorite lilies trying to spark a memory, Dante brought home Gia. She was loud, tacky, and draped over him like a cheap suit. The Capo had forgotten his wife, but he seemed to remember his lust perfectly fine. I swallowed the humiliation, clinging to the hope of his recovery, until I stood outside his office door with a tray of espresso. I heard his dark, amused laugh rumbling through the wood. "The amnesia is the most useful card I've ever played," Dante told his soldier. "It buys me time to enjoy Gia without the family breathing down my neck. Elena is a boring, safe relic. I need fire, not a porcelain doll." My heart didn't race. It stopped. The medical anomaly was a lie. He hadn't forgotten me; he was just done with me. I set the tray down silently. I wasn't going to wait for him to remember anymore. I walked out of the penthouse and dialed a number I hadn't used in years. "Get the new ID ready," I whispered into the phone. "Elena Vitiello dies tonight. Livia Moretti leaves at dawn."

The scent of lemon cleaner usually filled our home, a fresh reminder of the life my husband Ethan and I built. But returning from my architecture conference, I was hit by Chloe' s cloying perfume, a scent that tasted like a premonition. I found my best friend Chloe on my sofa, eyes red, trembling as she confessed: "I slept with Ethan… on your wedding night. And Ava… I' m pregnant." Then came the weapon-a positive pregnancy test and a deepfake video, my face superimposed on hers, titled "homewrecker" by an online mob. My world shattered as Ethan walked in, rushing to Chloe, shielding her with promises of protection, his eyes cold when they met mine. He chose her, the baby that wasn' t mine, and watched as a rock shattered our window, screams of "homewrecker" filling the air. I ran, but they caught me, fists and feet raining down, Ethan' s voice shouting Chloe' s name, not mine, as I blacked out. Waking in a hospital, bruised and broken, I instinctively went home, only to find Ethan feeding Chloe grapes, treating her like royalty. He dismissed my injuries, stating coolly, "You' re a private person, you can recover. Chloe' s reputation was on the line; this would have destroyed her." The man I loved saw me as a calculable loss, my safety less valuable than an influencer' s social media career. The audacity of his request that I accept his pregnant mistress into our home for the "baby' s sake" made my blood run cold. He even used the unborn child as a weapon against me, threatening my guilt if anything happened to it. But the anger, the ultimate betrayal, ignited something in me, a cold, clear certainty. I zipped my suitcase shut, the sound a definitive end. "Get out of my way, Ethan," I demanded, no longer pleading, no longer afraid. He stood stunned, his manipulation failing. "I' m leaving this house. And I am never, ever coming back."

My life was a perfectly curated symphony, a testament to my hard work. From my luxurious hotel in Napa, overlooking rolling green hills, I believed my children, Leo and Mia, were thriving, showered with everything money could buy. Then a tiny, discordant note shattered the illusion: a seemingly insignificant $85.50 charge from a pawn shop. Before I could process the unsettling anomaly, my phone rang. Sarah Jenkins from Child and Family Services. Anonymous report. My children. The world tilted again as a fraud alert flashed on my screen, locking Mark' s account – the bottomless well funding their lives. The house was dark, silent, too quiet. I found my confident son, Leo, thin and bruised, and my vibrant Mia, dull-eyed and bearing circular bruises, clinging to a faded t-shirt. Through their broken whispers, the horrific truth spilled out: Mark had been selling their possessions, spending my money on his new girlfriend, Karen, and her daughter, Jessica. He' d hurt them, physically and emotionally. How could the man I trusted with my most precious treasures become this monster? What kind of depraved mind preys on children, especially his own, for profit and pleasure? A cold, hard resolve solidified in my chest. This ends now. He had stolen their childhood, their safety, their trust. He would pay. I grabbed my phone, and with three taps, cut off his lifeline, ready for war.

Five years. Five years I' d spent in that gilded cage, paying for my father' s sins, trembling under the cold gaze of Arthur Blackwood. He liked me broken, delighted in my anxiety, while his brother, Ethan, used my mute sister, Daisy, as a silent stand-in for his dead lover. The breaking point shattered with the ceramic cat, a symbol of everything I' d lost, everything they' d taken. I tried to leave, to finally escape the mansion and the men who called themselves family, only to be dragged back, the cold steel of a knife at my throat. They thought I was helpless, a victim easily silenced, but they underestimated a desperate woman' s fury, a sister' s love, and the truth hidden deep within their own family' s dark past.

Divorced and a multi-millionaire, I finally packed my bags and left Silicon Valley behind. All I wanted was to return to my hometown in Ohio, reconnect with my blue-collar family, and embrace a simple, honest life, especially with my sister-in-law expecting. But when I arrived, their embrace was anything but warm. To test their loyalty, I lied, claiming I was broke, expecting sympathy. Instead, my brother raged that they were "counting on my payout," and my pregnant sister-in-law, wearing the expensive Rolex I gifted her, sneered, demanding I pay rent to live in the very house I bought and owned. The betrayal escalated. They claimed my master bedroom, threw out my belongings, and openly mocked my alleged financial ruin. My mother and stepfather, whom I' d supported for years, stood by, silently endorsing the cruelty. My stepfather even tearfully confessed he'd put my house in my brother's name to secure his marriage, then tried to manipulate me with a fabricated story about paying for my college. How could my own family turn on me like this? Why were they so filled with greed and contempt? What hidden resentments festered beneath their supposed love? When I finally ripped off the mask of poverty and exposed my true wealth and ownership, their carefully constructed lies shattered. But the shocking truth about their betrayal was nothing compared to the dark secret I was about to uncover, a secret buried for two decades that connected them directly to my father' s mysterious death and a chilling attempt on my own life.

It started as our eighth wedding anniversary, a day I used to circle with a red heart, but this year the circle was empty. I baked Andrew, my rising City Councilman husband, his favorite chocolate lava cake, hoping to surprise him at his "late-night strategy session." Instead, I found him at a high-end steakhouse, clinking glasses with his sycophantic aides and his 21-year-old intern, Madisyn, practically glued to his side. Hiding behind a pillar, I heard him laugh and call me his "perfect political asset," a "boring sedan" he was "stuck" with, admitting he "can' t even stand to touch her anymore." The words hit me harder than any physical blow, crushing eight years of foolish hope and love. Andrew returned the next day, reeking of Madisyn' s perfume, offering fake apologies and a lavish trip, still lying even as her texts buzzed relentlessly on his phone. The next shock came at a clinic where I' d gone to confirm I wasn't pregnant; I overheard Andrew coldly demanding Madisyn get an abortion, threatening to ruin her life if she didn't-all to protect his career and public image. I knew he was selfish, but this was monstrous; he' d destroy anyone, even his own child, for personal gain. That's when I decided I would burn it all down. The game changed when Madisyn, pregnant again, brazenly texted me taunts and ultrasound photos, claiming Andrew was moving her into a luxury condo near me. She celebrated my broken marriage, boasting Andrew found me "old and dried up," but she had no idea who she was truly up against. I calmly sent her the recording of Andrew coercing her into an abortion, and her frantic pleas instantly confirmed her terror. The polite wife who endured humiliation was gone; I was ready to use every weapon at my disposal. I left the luxurious life, packing a single suitcase, leaving divorce papers on his desk, and booking a one-way flight to Rome-ready to start over. Andrew' s desperate phone calls to "fix things" were met with my chilling truth: "The problem is you." He tried to trap me by withdrawing the divorce papers, but with one furious kick to his groin, I made my intentions clear. That night, utilizing his mother' s desperate desire for an heir, I forged a medical report stating I was barren and anonymously sent it to her. She immediately forced Andrew to sign the divorce papers himself, ironically ending his own quest for a legacy. At his lawyer's office, Andrew pleaded for me back, still blind, clinging to the naive idea it was just about another woman. With a final, devastating blow, I handed him his true fertility report, revealing his low sperm count and the tragic irony: he had forced Madisyn to terminate what was likely his only chance at a biological child, the heir he so desperately wanted. Watching him crumble, finally understanding his self-inflicted destruction, I knew I was truly free.

I poured five years, every dollar I earned as a graphic designer, into funding Ethan' s dream, believing our life was building towards a future, a marriage he promised me. But then I found the bank statement: $20,000, my life' s savings for my own studio, gone from our joint account, spent on a "spiritual connection" weekend for him and his wellness guru, Sabrina. As their social media bliss exploded, I became the publicly jilted woman, scorned by his mother, taunted by Sabrina, and ultimately, deliberately used as a human shield by Ethan when Sabrina' s past caught up to her. He then stole my work computer, my remaining cash, and escalated his cruelty by drugging me and arranging for a homeless man to enter my room, attempting to utterly destroy me. Broken, penniless, and fleeing a literal nightmare, I had one desperate, unexpected option: a childhood friend from Montana, Andrew Scott, whose quiet voice on the phone asked, "Maria, is everything okay?"

I gave her everything for five years – my love, my devotion, my entire life. I meticulously planned our engagement party, hoping it would finally make her see me, truly see me. Instead, at that very party, she publicly humiliated me, calling me her "charity case" and her "lapdog," then abandoned me to rush to another man's side. As her car disappeared, a cold, synthetic voice in my mind announced "Objective Failure," initiating a memory wipe sequence. I was forced to watch a live feed of her tenderly caring for him, realizing she' d never once shown me such warmth, before five years of my life and every emotion tied to her dissolved into pure white noise. I woke up in a hospital, five years of memory a blank, the woman whose name was the only emergency contact treating me with utter contempt. Sent back to her ranch, I found a journal detailing her casual cruelty, her abuse, and my desperate, unrequited love for a stranger. How could I have been so blind, so pathetic, so completely devoted to someone who treated me like a disposable toy? Leaving her behind, I started a new life, finally free from the shadow of a love I no longer remembered, yet whose documented pain was undeniably mine.

The gavel fell, sealing my fate as a spectacle on a hidden auction stage in New Orleans. My once-great family, the Sinclairs, was bankrupt, and my parents had sold me. Just hours before, my fiancé, Liam Vanderbilt, had broken our engagement, his handsome face a mask of pity as he declared a Vanderbilt couldn't be associated with disgrace. Now, I was a piece of property, and the man who bid for me was Jax Devereaux, my lifelong rival. In my first life, I spat at him, screaming I'd rather die than be his charity case. I still believed Liam would save me. I was a fool. My rejection humiliated Jax, and a man named Julian Croft bought me instead. He was a monster, putting a diamond choker around my neck, and my life became a living hell. When Liam saw me later, he laughed, calling me "high-class trash." I learned Jax died trying to save me-the woman who publicly shamed him. The abuse, the betrayal, Jax' s sacrifice… it was too much. I found a way to end it all. Then I woke up, back on that stage, the auctioneer's voice booming: "Jax Devereaux bids one million dollars. Going once…" This time, I didn't hesitate. "I accept." My voice was quiet but clear, cutting through the silence. Jax, typically arrogant, was utterly speechless. He had expected a fight, a scene, another public rejection. He didn't get one. Instead, he got me, and I kissed him, hard and desperate-a silent 'thank you,' 'I'm sorry,' and 'please, don't let Julian get me.' But Julian Croft, the monster from my past, was already banging on Jax's penthouse door, screaming that I was his property. My body trembled, the memories of torture flooding back. How could I escape him again, now that he knew where I was? And what was Julian' s real connection to this horrifying human trafficking ring?

My life was a gilded cage, bought and paid for. Ethan Vance, the man who saved my mother's life, owned me. I was his successful lawyer, his beautiful lover, his "investment." Then, his college sweetheart, Chloe Davenport, returned to New York. The termination letter came first, cold and impersonal, followed by public displays of their rekindled romance. Just like that, I was disposable. The harassment began subtly, then spiraled. Chloe's best friend, Brittany, smeared my name online, then ambushed me, photos flashing, leaving me bruised and broken. Ethan visited me in the hospital, not concerned for me, but worried about Chloe's reputation, ordering me not to press charges. He told me I was still his possession, that our "arrangement" meant eternal servitude. He thought he owned my life. But I was done submitting. So, I began to plot my escape. My mysterious illness wasn't a sickness; it was a strategy. I repaid my debt, cutting the financial cord, and meticulously planned my dramatic disappearance, ensuring his perfect proposal unveiling would be ruined, leaving him with an unforgettable loss.

For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett. Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid. When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives. "Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself." I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together. Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company. He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life. He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire. I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer. "Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant."

For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties. But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom. Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot. Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years. "You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic." My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support. They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets. I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life. But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree. Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate. When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block.

Scarlett Hayes thought marrying James Whitmore would finally make her family see her as more than a burden. Instead, it destroyed her life. Framed for crimes she didn't commit, betrayed by the people she trusted most, and sentenced to prison while pregnant, Scarlett lost everything in a single night. Then came the cruelest blow of all. After giving birth in chains, she was told her baby had died. The people responsible believed she would spend the rest of her life rotting behind bars. They were wrong. Five years later, Scarlett returns. No longer the discarded daughter of the Hayes family. No longer the broken woman they left behind. Now she is Commander Scarlett Hayes-a decorated war hero, the unseen force behind a global intelligence empire, and a woman powerful enough to make governments tremble. She comes back for one reason only: revenge. Her ex-husband, the stepsister who stole her life, and the family who buried her alive are about to learn exactly what happens when a woman with nothing left to lose takes back everything they stole. But as Scarlett tears through the secrets of her past, one truth threatens to change everything- the child she mourned for years may not be dead. And the mysterious man connected to the night that changed her life has been watching from the shadows all along.

They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, mine didn't. I came back with a marriage certificate bearing a stranger's name, a ring worth more than my parents' love ever was, and a son whose father I've never seen, never known, never remembered. I went to Vegas for a racing competition. I won. I celebrated. And somewhere between the victory and the sunrise, my life changed forever. For six years, I've lived with the consequences of one reckless night. I built an empire. I raised my son. And I searched for the man who changed my life without even knowing it. Then fate laughed in my face. My sister married my ex-fiancé-the man I was promised to since childhood. The man I was supposed to become Mrs. Windsor for. The man who now wears my family name... and looks far too much like my child. Every time I'm near him, the past presses closer. Every glance feels like a question I'm terrified to ask. I shouldn't notice him. I shouldn't feel anything. He is my sister's husband. But some secrets refuse to stay buried. Because the truth about Vegas isn't just in the ring on my finger or the child in my arms. It's standing right in front of me. And when it finally comes out, it won't just destroy a marriage, it will burn an empire to the ground.

On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call. He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar. In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave. But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund. They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime. I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets. Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess. The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow. Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door. This time, I didn't shed a single tear. I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street. "The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."

My four-year-old daughter was dying of leukemia, waiting desperately for a bone marrow transplant. I begged my billionaire husband to just call the registry or visit her, but he claimed he was too busy with board meetings to care. Until the hospital informed me that my daughter's life-saving bone marrow had been suddenly reallocated to another patient. When I walked down the VIP hallway, I found my husband. He wasn't at a board meeting. He was gently peeling an apple, playing the loving father to his widowed mistress's daughter. When my pale, sick daughter called out for him, he instinctively stepped back in disgust. I later discovered the mistress had bribed the hospital to swap the registry numbers, stealing my daughter's marrow for her own child. When I demanded a divorce, my husband laughed in my face. "You haven't worked a day in four years. You're a purchased asset. You don't get to walk away." He threatened to freeze my accounts, assuming I would be starving on the streets and begging to come back. His family and the mistress publicly mocked my background, waiting for me to be utterly humiliated. They thought I was just a useless, penniless housewife who relied entirely on his last name to survive. They didn't know I never needed a single cent of his money. I packed my bags, took my daughter, and made a single phone call. Three days later, at his family's elite banquet, my husband waited to see me beg. Instead, the most powerful corporate magnate in North America walked right past him, bowed to me at a perfect ninety-degree angle, and spoke. "Welcome back to the throne, Madam."

For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart. Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig. He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce. His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement. He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash. Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage. I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion. Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up. He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions. Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line. "I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more." Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.

I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart. But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage. When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway. He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop. At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me. They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond. When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue. "Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?" He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests. Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died. To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around. I didn't cry, and I didn't beg. I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival. It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground.

Rain lashed against the twisted metal as Hallie lay pinned in the wreckage of her car, her chest crushed and fading fast. The paramedic found her phone and desperately dialed her husband, Aidan. "Your wife has been in a severe car crash! We're losing her!" the paramedic shouted over the storm. A harsh, mocking laugh came through the speaker. "Tell her this is a pathetic way to stop the divorce," Aidan sneered. "I do not have time for her crazy games." The line went dead, and Hallie's heart flatlined. Separated from her body, Hallie's ghost was forced to witness the horrific aftermath of her own death. Her mother refused to claim her corpse because there was no insurance payout, telling the hospital to throw her in a ditch. Pulled back to her penthouse, she found Aidan gently holding her sister, Cecile. Cecile sobbed about Hallie's "fake crash" in Aidan's arms, but the moment he looked away, a wicked smirk of victory spread across her face. Cecile was the predator, and Aidan was her willing protector. He even ordered Hallie's brilliant, life's-work sketchbook to be thrown into an industrial shredder, giving all her corporate resources to fund Cecile's debut. Hovering in the cold air, Hallie watched her three years of devotion turn to ash. She was treated like garbage, a mere stepping stone for her sister's rise. But just as her soul turned to ice, Aidan's face suddenly grew paranoid. "Check her medical records," Aidan ordered his assistant coldly. "Find out who is helping her fake this injury." Hallie's invisible spirit shivered with a dark, vengeful anticipation. What would her arrogant husband do when his relentless digging finally uncovered her cold, dead body?

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.