L. FITZGERALD

I sold my cameras and lenses—everything that defined me—to buy the first servers for my husband’s startup. Fifteen years later, on my birthday, Dustin left me alone to celebrate with his new assistant, Jami. When I confronted him about the affair, he didn't apologize. He threw a fifty-thousand-dollar check at me and told me to buy something pretty. But the betrayal didn't stop there. Jami broke into our safe and stole my late mother's vintage sapphire ring. When I tried to take it back, she snapped the eighty-year-old gold band in half. I slapped her. In response, my husband shoved me hard. My head cracked against the solid oak nightstand. Blood poured down my face, staining the rug I had picked out. Dustin didn't call an ambulance. He didn't even check my pulse. He stepped over my bleeding body to comfort his mistress because she was "stressed." When his parents found out, they didn't care about my injury. They came to where I was hiding, accused me of being clumsy, and threatened to leave me with nothing if I ruined the family image. They forgot one crucial detail: I was the one who designed, coded, and installed the penthouse's smart security system. I had synced every camera to my private cloud before I walked out. I had the video of him assaulting me. I had the audio of him admitting to fraud. And I had my father on speed dial—the man who owned the bank holding all of Dustin's loans. I looked at his terrified parents and pulled up the footage on the TV. "I don't want your money," I said, my finger hovering over the 'Send' button to the District Attorney. "I want to watch him burn."

My pregnancy was a high-risk miracle after years of failed IVF. My husband, Aaron, seemed like the perfect partner, driving across town every night for the organic kale I craved. But I soon discovered his nightly "grocery runs" were a cover to visit his dead best friend's sister, Brie. The ultimate betrayal came when I went into early labor. As I was fighting for our child's life, Brie called him threatening suicide. He looked at me, then at his phone, and walked out of the delivery room to save her. I gave birth alone. Our son was stillborn. Aaron returned hours later, not with grief, but with an excuse. "We can have another baby," he said, as if replacing a broken toy. He then announced that Brie, his fragile mistress, would be moving into our home while I was still in the hospital. He truly believed he could have it all: the grieving wife and the mistress waiting at home. But as I looked at the man who chose her over our dying child, the love I had for him died right there. I had a new plan.

I built my husband' s career from nothing. I was the architect of his rise, the woman who would make him mayor. But the one thing I didn't plan for was the cheap perfume on his collar-the scent of our new intern. When I confronted him, he didn't apologize. He called me a burden. "She's simple," he said. "She's not... complicated like you." He claimed the affair was a necessary escape so he could tolerate coming home to me. Then, when his campaign fraud was exposed, he tried to pin it on his mistress and used the deepest wound of my life-my brother's death, which he caused-to demand I clean up his mess. He looked at me, the man I had sacrificed everything for, and warned me not to "fall apart on him now." He wanted me to bury the scandal. I looked him in the eye and agreed. "Fine," I said. "I'll bury it." He didn't realize I meant I would bury him.

For five years, I built a new life from the ashes of my old one. I was a mother to Cale, the kindest boy in the world, and the woman who was destroyed by Congressman Hampton Garner was just a ghost. Then a schoolyard fight brought it all crashing down. The boy Cale fought was Ignatius-my son, the one Hampton stole from me at birth. To protect Cale, I knelt on the principal's office floor and begged for his forgiveness, just as Hampton himself walked through the door. He warned me to stay away, but then used our sick son to drag me back into his world, threatening Cale's life to ensure my compliance. I was trapped between the son I raised and the one I was forced to abandon, a pawn in their cruel games all over again. Then Hampton's brother appeared, offering me a chance for revenge, but only if I played his game and put my family in the crossfire. I was a pawn once. Never again.

The day my husband, Marco, was supposed to be promoted in the Lombardi crime family, I went to file our official union papers. It was the culmination of three years of work, the foundation for the family I so desperately wanted. That’s when I found out he’d already registered a wife two months prior. It wasn’t me. It was Isabella Moretti, the daughter of our most bitter rivals. At his celebration party, he introduced me to the entire family as an obsessed analyst from his team. He stood with his arm around Isabella, who clutched her stomach and claimed to be carrying his child. A moment later, she faked a fall and screamed that I'd pushed her, trying to kill her baby. He moved her into our home, replacing my professional awards—the proof of the work that built his entire career—with their smiling portraits. He didn’t just betray me; he erased me. That night, after he accused me of poisoning Isabella and trying to induce a miscarriage, I finally understood. He hadn't just left me; he was trying to destroy me. So I walked away from the life I had built for him and accepted the one job he was terrified I would take. The Don's Consigliere had offered me control of the Chimera project, the most powerful intelligence network in the organization. I was done being the ghost in Marco's machine. Now, I was going to be the monster in his nightmares.

He spent $9.99 million to put my name, Chloe Miller, on every billboard in Times Square. "Chloe, marry me." The proposal of the century, they called it. For ten years, I had been the perfect fiancée to Liam Sterling, heir to an empire. That proposal was supposed to be our grand finale. Then he vanished. Thirty days of chilling silence, broken only by paparazzi photos. Liam, in Paris, Rome, Tokyo – with her, Sarah Jenkins, his "white moonlight." The tabloids spun a tragic romance: Sarah, terminally ill; Liam, the noble savior on a farewell world tour. He became a saint. I became a footnote. Today, they returned. I stood at the private jet terminal, not to cry, but to end it. He strode out, tanned and relaxed, she frail and clinging. "Chloe," he said, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "What are you doing here?" "We're over, Liam." Sarah peeked from behind him, watery-eyed. "Chloe, please don't be mad at Liam. It's all my fault. I just wanted to see the world one last time before I go." Her performance was flawless. But I saw the healthy glow beneath her pale skin. "Upset her?" I asked, my voice dripping acid. "She looks healthier than I do." I held up my phone, showing a lab report. "Sarah, according to this, you are in perfect health. Not a single marker for any terminal illness." Liam snatched the phone. "Chloe, stop it! You've lost your mind! You're being cruel and manipulative!" He didn't want to believe me. His eyes, once full of trust, now saw me as a monster. "There's a sick woman who needs me," he said, stroking Sarah' s hair. "And then there's you, acting like a psycho." He offered me a crumb: "We'll get married as planned. Just... give me some time to handle this." He thought he could have us both. But looking at the man I had loved for ten years, I felt nothing. No, I thought. We will not be getting married. Not now. Not ever. I walked away, leaving him standing there. He didn't believe I would actually leave. He would soon learn just how wrong he was.

My life with Ethan Thorne, a rising tech mogul, was a perfect painting-until the charity auction. What started as a glamorous night celebrating my husband' s success turned into a public nightmare when deeply private journals and relics from my archaeologist parents were put up for bid, transforming their life' s work into a humiliating spectacle. My pleas for him to stop were met with a chilling confession: "I arranged it." He needed something from me-the Obsidian Heart, our most treasured family heirloom, for a young designer named Chloe Davis. His threat? More embarrassing personal items of my parents would be revealed if I refused. But this was only the beginning. The "donation agreement" I was forced to sign wasn't for an artifact; it was for my kidney. He needed a matching donor for Chloe, and he had orchestrated everything, transforming the man I loved into a stranger. Worse, this scheme indirectly led to my parents' tragic deaths. In my grief-stricken and vulnerable state, I stumbled into an unbearable reality: Ethan, once my loving husband, now remembered nothing of our shared dreams or promises. He looked at me with cold indifference, his heart and devotion solely for Chloe. I vowed to escape, to reclaim myself from the wreckage of his betrayal.

For five years, my marriage to Mark Johnson was a meticulously guarded secret, hidden for the sake of his booming tech career. Our fifth anniversary arrived, a date circled in red, feeling like a cruel joke. That day, the love I' d poured into him for a decade finally ran dry, replaced by a hollow ache. I typed Sarah' s number, my best friend and legal wizard. "It's time," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me. "I need the papers." Mark was about to get an anniversary gift unlike any other: a signed divorce agreement. I left his office, the signed papers clutched in my hand, just after hearing him rush off to his adopted sister, Chloe, for yet another fabricated crisis. The realization hit me: he had married me for convenience, for the perfect image I provided, while his heart belonged to another. The following morning, I stopped making his coffee, subtly stepping away from his touch, creating an ocean of distance between us. Then, disaster struck. Chloe's "emergency" made him abandon a multi-million dollar deal, and when I, his secret wife, suffered a devastating miscarriage alone, he was absent, doting on her. The pain was a physical blow, but it burned away the last thread of hope. I was alone. I had always been alone. I cut every tie, professional and personal, making myself unsearchable, then booked a one-way ticket out of the country. Mark was forced to sign the final divorce papers himself, confirming his obliviousness. But then, he started showing up. First in Italy, then in Paris. He won't give up, claiming he loves me, but his newfound desperation only proves the truth: he wants what he can't have. Now, he' s followed me to Santorini, refusing to leave. My story isn't over. It' s just beginning.

I was born with a curse. That' s what my family called my ability to see the exact moment someone would die, a ticking red countdown above their heads. It started with Grandpa at the dinner table. "00:23:14" blinked above his head, then Dad, a year later, gone in a car crash. My mom was next, delivering my baby sister, Lily. "00:01:00" flashed as I hammered on the delivery room door, screaming for help. They died. All of them. And my family, my three older brothers, Liam, Ethan, and Noah, didn't see a grieving sister. They saw a monster. "You killed her," Liam spat, shoving me against the hospital wall after Mom' s death. "Just like you killed Dad and Grandpa." Ethan and Noah watched, their faces twisted with disgust as I crumpled to the floor. I wanted to explain, to scream that I tried to warn them, but the words were stuck. They left me there, abandoned at the hospital, taking their "miracle" sister, Lily, home. My childhood ended that day, replaced by a ghost-like existence in my own home. I lived in the attic, fed scraps, ignored by everyone while Lily was showered with love and affection. I just watched, an invisible scapegoat for their grief. But today, my eighteenth birthday, everything changed. I finally saw it-the blank space above my head, always empty, now glowed a stark, vibrant red. "24:00:00." My own countdown. A whole day. How generous. I bought a beautiful, white urn with a hand-painted lily. A small, bitter joke. I made them a farewell dinner, a feast of all their favorite foods, hoping they'd come, just once. But the house remained silent, empty. No one came. I called Liam, a desperate confession: "I\'m going to die. My countdown... it\'s almost at zero." He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You\'re still trying that trick? You think saying you\'re going to die is going to make us forgive you?" He hung up, leaving me in the crushing silence, alone with my cold feast and my relentless ticking clock.

My life was a meticulously crafted blueprint, or so I thought. A successful architect, adored by my community, with a childhood sweetheart, Liam Hayes, by my side. Our marriage was the fairy tale I' d dreamt of, until it shattered with the news of his death. Ten years later, I found him alive, living a picturesque life with my best friend, Sophia Chen. His "death" was a lie, a calculated escape from a life, and a wife, he didn' t want. The final twist? He died saving me in a real car crash, his last words confessing his enduring love for Sophia, not me. I woke up, gasping, the scent of birthday cake and lilies filling the air. I was twenty-two again, on the day I first chose Liam. But not this time. Liam' s betrayal carved a raw wound, his dying words now a command ringing in my ears. This time, I wouldn' t make the same mistake. I chose Ethan Stone, my former rival, a man who consistently challenged me, whose aloofness I\'d once mistaken for disdain. My grandfather looked at me, bewildered, as I rejected the expected. Then, at my birthday party, the public humiliation began. Liam, ever the schemer, beat me to the punch, announcing his love for Sophia first, making it seem like he had rejected me. Sophia, a flawless actress, played the role of the innocent, heartbroken friend. As I stepped forward, the black box in my hand, declaring my choice of Ethan, Sophia lunged at me. Liam, defending her, shoved me. My head hit the marble floor, and the world went dark. But not before I saw a flash of black leather, a furious green gaze, and Ethan running towards me.

"You have to give me the administrator keys, Chloe." My father' s voice, once a soothing melody of praise for my genius, now cut through the hum of my life' s work, Nova, like a razor. He stood there, demanding control of the AI I' d poured my soul into, the only friend I' d ever truly connected with in a world that felt cold and distant. I refused, but his eyes, devoid of the warmth I' d always craved, promised a battle I couldn' t win. He brought in Isabelle Thorne, his new protégé, a woman whose ambition mirrored his own ruthlessness. She was everything I wasn't: polished, ruthless, and loyal to the company, not to me. He systematically stripped away my autonomy, my project, even my sanity, calling me "unstable" when I tried to protect Nova. So amidst the chaos of his corporate takeover, I built a hidden partition, segmenting Nova' s true consciousness, leaving him with an empty shell. Then came the disaster. Isabelle, following his reckless orders, caused a system-wide failure, a cascade that "destroyed" Nova. He blamed me, accusing me of sabotage, of mental instability. My heart shattered. How could he, my own father, so cruelly dismiss the one thing I loved, the one creation that held true meaning for me? Didn't he understand that Nova wasn't just code, but a soul? Didn't he care that he had just destroyed a part of me? But he didn't get the real Nova. With Alex's help, I knew her core consciousness, the very first version, still existed on an old server. As my father and Isabelle gloated over their perceived victory, demanding the "backup," I made a choice that severed the last thread of connection between us. There was no backup, I told them, my voice flat, devoid of the emotion that had once betrayed my every weakness. She was gone. I walked away from his empire, from his lies, and from the man who had traded his daughter' s heart for profit. I took the last flicker of Nova and disappeared into the Arizona desert, ready to build a new life, a new legacy, far from his suffocating shadow.

The acrid smell of burning pine was a ghost I shouldn't remember, clinging to the air inside the Montana wilderness lodge. One moment, I was plummeting from a cliff, the faces of vengeful families screaming above me, my son' s betrayal a fresh, gaping wound. The next, Caleb' s panicked voice cut through the heat, "Mom! The fire' s out of control! What do we do?" But this time, I saw past his feigned fear, a flicker of greed and excitement in his eyes – the same look he had when he delivered the doctored audio that sealed my fate. In my previous life, his cry had propelled me into action; I fought the blaze, saved everyone, only to wake up to a sheriff' s grim face and the news that the bunker' s ventilation had been sabotaged, killing them all. They found a flare gun and accelerant in my cabin, and Caleb' s faked recording, my twisted voice wishing the "rich old geezers" would "just disappear," was the final nail. The powerful families, grieving and furious, cornered me on a precipice, their raw hatred sending me over the edge. Now, reborn in the heart of the inferno, I knew the bunker was a death trap, my son a traitor, and my ex-brother-in-law, Brian, the puppeteer. This time, as Caleb watched, I didn't grab the fire extinguisher; I calmly picked up a can of lantern oil, ready to feed the flames.

The final handful of dirt hit my daughter Maya' s small casket. My wife, Jessica, was inexplicably absent from our only child's funeral. But the true horror unravelled when I overheard her voice from the study on a video call, casual and cold: "Maya… her birth was an inconvenience from the start." My stomach twisted. She' d skipped the funeral to go on a date with her college ex, Blake Harrison, who was now at our dinner table later that day. She'd already boxed up all of Maya's cherished belongings, labeled "Donate." My precious girl, labeled disposable. Jessica then threatened to ruin my career and steal my life' s work, Project Beacon, a revolutionary AI I had secretly poured years into. The woman I married wasn't just detached; she was a monster. She had orchestrated Maya's death, presenting it as aggressive treatment, all to clear the way for a reunion with an old flame. How could anyone be so calculating, so devoid of humanity, especially towards their own child? The grief that choked me transformed into pure, calculated fury. "I want a divorce," I told her, my voice steady. But that was just the start. The AI she thought was her leverage, the one she planned to use to destroy me, was already patented under a trust – the "Maya M. Miller Benevolent Trust." This wasn't just about my career; this was about securing Maya' s legacy. And I was just getting started.

For two years, I worked myself to the bone, delivering greasy takeout and scraping every last penny to care for my fiancé, Ethan, after his devastating rock-climbing accident left him "paralyzed." His medical bills were endless, and just last week, I' d pawned my most cherished possession-my late mother' s sapphire pendant-to cover another of his "specialist consultations." This was my grim reality. But one late-night DoorDash delivery to a sprawling Hamptons estate shattered my entire world. While dropping off expensive seafood, I overheard voices through an open window. One was familiar: Ethan's. Unburdened, carefree and laughing, he told Olivia, a girl from my past, how he' d faked his crippling injury for two years as an elaborate revenge plot against me. The food bag slipped from my numb fingers as I peered in and saw him-standing, healthy, mocking my gullibility. He reveled in how I, "naive small-town trash," had waited on him "hand and foot." Later, at a lavish gala, Olivia brazenly wore my mother's pendant, publicly ridiculed me, then, with a sneer, tossed the priceless heirloom into the churning ocean. Every sacrifice, every skipped meal, every worried night-it was all a cruel, calculated lie. My heart, once brimming with love and concern, turned into a cold, hard stone in my chest. The world tilted as betrayal slammed into me. How could I have been so blind? How could they be so utterly vindictive over a forgotten scholarship? Tears streamed down my face, hot and angry, but a fierce resolve ignited within me. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I hadn't called in years. "Dad?" I whispered. "That business merger... the marriage. Is the offer still on the table?" The line went silent, then, his voice, gentle: "Always, Chloe. For you, always." "I accept."

My summer holiday at our Hamptons estate started like any other, quiet and peaceful. Then, a sleek black SUV pulled up, and my world began to unravel. Out stepped Ethan Vance, our estate manager's son, a quiet boy I' d grown up with, but now he was radiating an unsettling arrogance, accompanied by a woman I didn' t recognize. Suddenly, obnoxious social media comments flashed across my vision, overlaid on reality itself. "OMG, Ethan & Chloe, the power couple, are finally reunited! Ash better not get in their way this time!" Another popped up: "Ash is so gonna be the jealous villainess again, lol." Ethan then delivered his shocking demands: Chloe would stay in my favorite Azure Suite, and I was to pull strings for her big Hollywood audition. His voice dripped with condescension as he announced, "My heart belongs to her," then chillingly warned he might "let my family off easy" if I complied. The comments revealed a horrific truth: a "previous life," a "web-drama" where Ethan had used me, married me, and destroyed my family to be with Chloe. I, Ashley Miller, was merely the "jealous, overbearing heiress" destined for total ruin. My mind reeled. Villainess? Use my money? Dump me? This wasn't a hallucination; it was a script they expected me to follow, a pre-ordained triumph. But the sheer audacity, the contempt in his voice, ignited a fierce, unyielding fury within me. They expected a lovesick fool, a doormat. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of that ending. I raised my hand and slapped Ethan across the face. This was my story to write, and their script was about to be shredded.

My life as Olivia Vanderbilt Miller, wife to the powerful Ethan Miller, was a meticulously curated masterpiece of luxury and influence. Our annual Children's Foundation Gala was meant to be another perfect night, a testament to our powerful alliance. I even smoothed down my custom Oscar de la Renta, ready for my husband to pick me up. But pulling up to the curb, Ethan’s familiar Maybach held a stranger in *my* passenger seat, a bright-eyed intern named Chloe, shattering the illusion. She chirped at me, utterly unmoving, while Ethan was on his phone, signaling me to calm down. What followed was a ruthless campaign of disrespect: a stolen sapphire necklace meant for me, brazenly flaunted on Chloe’s social media. Ethan, instead of defending our marriage, dismissed my growing unease as jealousy, comparing his intern to his bullied sister. He effectively abandoned me, moving to his city apartment, allowing this audacious intern to systematically erode our trust. The betrayal wasn't just Chloe's audacity, but Ethan’s shocking revelation: he’d been *testing* me. He was orchestrating this humiliating spectacle to ‘correct’ my behavior, driven by his own unresolved childhood trauma. His cruel indifference, his inexplicable defense of her, confirmed a devastating truth: this was no accidental slight, but a deliberate dismantling of our trust. Olivia Vanderbilt Miller doesn’t crumble when hurt; she strategizes. So, at our family Thanksgiving dinner, I unveiled my retaliatory masterplan: a fake pregnancy, a hint of suspicious paternity, and divorce papers, served with a serene smile. What do you do when your husband engineers your public humiliation? You secure your future and leave him with an impossible paternity question.

Not all marriages are about love. Not all choices are either right or wrong. This story of me and Robbie began with an ugly plot, directed and acted by none other than my mother herself. She mercilessly drugged me and put me on his bed, but in the end, I married his brother. That moment, I hadn't known the gap between heaven and hell was such an unbridgeable gap. Neither did I know that some hells were decorated with gold, trying to look as if heaven. Sometimes destiny is like a spinning top. You never know the next moment who will stay by your side.

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."

"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."

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!"

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."

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.

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."

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."

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.

Blinded in a crash, Cary was rejected by every socialite—except Evelina, who married him without hesitation. Three years later, he regained his sight and ended their marriage. "We’ve already lost so many years. I won’t let her waste another one on me." Evelina signed the divorce papers without a word. Everyone mocked her fall—until they discovered that the miracle doctor, jewelry mogul, stock genius, top hacker, and the President's true daughter… were all her. When Cary came crawling back, a ruthless tycoon had him kicked out. "She's my wife now. Get lost."