Lan Zhen

My billionaire husband spent three years and a fortune to find a donor heart to save my life. He was my hero, my entire world after a woman named Karma Smith framed my father and destroyed my family. Then, I discovered he'd been protecting her all along. She was his mistress, pregnant with his child. Overnight, I became the villain in his eyes. He ignored my calls for help as her thugs beat me and dragged me behind their car. He forced me to kneel in the snow all night as punishment for the miscarriage she faked and blamed on me. The final act of his cruelty was a sea burial for the "baby" I had "murdered." On his yacht, he held her in his arms, his eyes burning with a hatred that seared my soul. When she "accidentally" dropped the urn into the ocean, he turned his rage on me. "Then you'll jump in and find it!" he roared. I looked at the monster who wore my husband's face, the man I had loved more than life itself. And without hesitation, I threw myself into the icy water.

For seven years, I lived in Liam Sterling' s shadow, meticulously crafting his academic success. Tonight, at our graduation party, he stood on stage, arm around his new girlfriend, Skye Miller, and publicly humiliated me. He announced they were going to Northwood Community College, then suggested I come along, sneering, "You know you can' t manage without me telling you what to do. It' s for the best." Murmurs and snickers filled the room. "His lapdog." "He owns her." Humiliation burned my cheeks, but this time, something snapped. The suffocating feeling that had always compelled my obedience vanished. All the years of silent suffering exploded into rage. When Liam, unaccustomed to resistance, tried to order me around again, I looked him straight in the eye. "No," I said, my voice clear and loud for the first time. His face reddened, but I wasn' t done. "I' m not going to community college with you, Liam. I' m not going anywhere with you." His control shattered, Liam escalated. He and Skye led a mob to my house, turning my sanctuary into a frat party. They poured wine on my graduation dress, laughed at my humiliation, and when I saw my grandmother' s locket-a precious heirloom-around Skye' s neck, a piece of my soul was torn. Liam had stolen it from my room and given it to her. "It' s just a piece of cheap metal, Ava," he scoffed. "It was my grandmother' s! It' s all I have left of her!" I cried, but he just said, "Get over it." Then, Skye whispered to Liam about my college applications, suggesting he destroy my future. My heart pounded as he headed for my room, a cruel smile on his face. No! My future. My laptop. He publicly deleted my Ivy League applications, replacing them with Northwood Vocational School, and submitted it. Then, he smashed my laptop. They dragged me to the basement, locking me in, knowing my deepest fear. My world ended there, swallowed by darkness and their laughter. But somewhere, a father was about to get a call, and Liam Sterling was about to learn a very painful lesson.

My life was a constant struggle, cleaning up after Ethan, a musician with "the devil's blood" and a cruel wife, all while trying to save for my son Caleb's therapy. But when Ethan bought his mistress a diamond bracelet with Caleb's therapy savings, then locked my terrified boy in a closet just for her amusement, I knew I was living in hell. The real nightmare began when he dragged Caleb to the edge of a bottomless quarry, threatening to push him, making me believe he was about to murder our child. Saved at the last moment by the Sheriff, Nathaniel, a man rumored to be the sworn enemy of Ethan's family, I thought I'd found sanctuary. But my ex-husband's control, rooted in a terrifying blood pact, threatened to destroy us all, pulling every loved one into his spiral of sadism. Even Nathaniel, my supposed savior, had his own dark secrets, revealed by a chilling recording on what was meant to be my wedding day. His calm dismissal of my pain and his true motives shattered my last ounce of hope. How could the man who rescued my son from the brink of death be using me as a pawn in his own twisted family game, willing to sacrifice my comfort and trust for his ambition? Why did he send my child away right before our ceremony, claiming it was for "safety"? I ripped off the wedding dress. I wasn't just leaving that wedding; I was leaving behind every lie, every manipulation, and redefining what it meant to fight for my son and myself, no matter the cost, no matter the man.

I lived a life of enviable luxury in my pristine Colorado mountain cabin, nestled deep in the Rockies. Then, I died, frozen solid just outside my own front door. My last sight was Ethan, my boyfriend, feasting on my food inside, watching me claw at the glass until my fingers bled. His family, the Scotts, laughed as I froze, adjusting curtains to block me out, celebrating my demise. They left me to perish in the brutal blizzard, utterly and completely abandoned. That death was absolute, excruciating, and unforgettable. But then, I jolted awake, submerged in 1200-thread-count sheets, the Rockies bathed in sunlight outside my window. It was ten days before the storm, before my betrayal. A wave of nausea hit me, the phantom hunger and cold still clinging to my bones, but then a cold, hard fury replaced it. This time, my cabin, my wealth, and my meticulous planning wouldn' t be my downfall; they would be my ultimate weapon.

My senior year was supposed to be the start of everything. My award-winning screenplay, "Echo Park", had captivated a young producer named David, and my dream film school, USC, was within reach. But then, everything shattered. My SAT scores inexplicably plummeted, a disaster that strangely coincided with my best friend, Olivia's, perfect score. A year later, Olivia's mysteriously acclaimed screenplay, almost identical to mine, landed her the very deal David had offered me. Every ambition, every relationship, everything I cherished, she systematically stole, leaving me in a devastating spiral of depression that ended in an accidental overdose. As darkness consumed me, a terrifying truth slammed into my consciousness: Olivia, clutching a shimmering "Script Switcher," used it to rewrite my fate, three times over. How could my closest friend harbor such monstrous envy, possessing a magical device that allowed her to meticulously dismantle my entire life? Now, I'm back. Reborn on the exact day my downfall began, but this time with a chilling certainty and a ruthless plan. Olivia may still have her notorious Switcher, but I have the memories of a life lost and a cold resolve to make her steal nothing but my most spectacular failures.

I was eight months pregnant, suffocating inside a gilded cage for ten long years. My marriage to Ethan Vanderbilt was nothing but a cold, calculated transaction. His family paid for my little brother Leo's experimental, life-saving medicine, and in return, I endured Ethan's endless parade of mistresses and his cruel, dismissive taunts. My only flicker of hope, a fragile, dangerous thing in that house, was the life growing inside me. Then, a blinding flash of red on the road. A blaring horn too late. Tiffany Hayes, Ethan' s latest social media darling, caused the crash. I fumbled for my phone, fingers slick with something warm, gasping his name: "Ethan, accident! The baby..." His voice was cold, impatient, as Tiffany's giggle echoed in the background: "Don't be such an attention-seeker." He hung up. In the sterile hospital room, amidst the quiet hum of machines, the doctor' s words were a death knell: "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Vanderbilt. The baby… he didn't make it. Stillborn." My world shattered into a million pieces. Then, my phone rang again, pulling me deeper into the abyss. It was Dr. Ramirez. Due to Ethan's malicious disruption of payments, Leo' s condition had deteriorated rapidly. "He passed away an hour ago, Sarah." My brother. My son. Both gone. Numbness, a heavy blanket, descended. But then, a video message buzzed on my phone: Ethan and Tiffany, hours after the accident, laughing, kissing. "Sarah? She's probably just milking it for sympathy," Ethan slurred from the screen. The casual cruelty of it, the utter, monstrous indifference, curdled my grief into bitter resolve. How could any man be so devoid of a soul? How could a lifetime of sacrifice end in such devastating, calculated malice? That night, something inside me broke free. My baby would be buried in the Vanderbilt plot as was his right. But Leo? His ashes would come home with me. I wasn't just escaping a marriage. I was reclaiming my very soul, leaving the ashes of a destroyed life behind.

I clutched the USB drive, halfway to Havenwood's town hall, rehearsing the speech that would expose GlobalCorp's ruthless fracking operation and save our community. Suddenly, the ground bucked violently, an unnatural tremor that tore through the town, confirming my worst fears. Before the dust could even settle, Mrs. Henderson's shriek pierced the din, echoing across the shattered town square: "It's her! Sarah Miller! She did this!" My adoptive father, the Mayor, looked at me with dawning horror, not for my safety, but for his failing reputation, while my brother Ethan's expression solidified into something cold and unrecognizable. Even Mark, my Mark, the boy who'd promised me forever, was already by Veronica Hayes's side, his arm protectively around her, refusing to meet my desperate gaze. They twisted my desperate attempt to force an investigation into GlobalCorp's inherently flawed safety equipment into an act of "eco-terrorism," blaming me for the town's destruction and even framing me for a beloved librarian's tragic death. The angry mob surged, so my own family shoved me towards the outskirts, leaving me no choice but to flee Havenwood, branded its monster, its ungrateful scapegoat. How could they so easily believe I, who had tirelessly tried to protect them, was capable of such malevolent destruction, completely ignoring the crucial proof I held in my hand? For months, I existed in the shadows, a ghost haunted by the bitter taste of betrayal and the crushing agony of a truth no one would hear, my life utterly destroyed. But a reclusive, Pulitzer-winning journalist, Alistair Finch, found me and called a fateful town hall meeting, promising to finally reveal Havenwood's full, devastating truth. Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, the one they cast out and branded a traitor, will finally return, not as a broken fugitive, but ready to expose the real villain and reclaim my story as the defiant heir to the formidable Vance Justice Foundation.

My engagement party, the culmination of five years poured into Ethan Cartwright and our future, was supposed to be my fairy tale. But hiding on the terrace, his voice, cold and dismissive, echoed through the night: "Sarah? She's perfect. Adorably naive, utterly devoted. She won't rock the boat. Won't challenge me. And she certainly won't interfere with Isabelle." The words hit like stones, shattering my world and sending me tumbling into darkness. I woke up with amnesia, the doctor explaining recent memories were gone – Ethan's name meant nothing. But this man, a stranger, kept pushing me, forcing me into public appearances purely for his convenience. At his gala, his actual lover, Isabelle, deliberately pushed me down a grand staircase. I learned later that fall cost me a baby I never knew I carried – *his* baby. Yet, he showed zero concern. Instead, Ethan demanded I issue a public apology for "attacking" Isabelle, threatening to annul our engagement on grounds of mental instability and destroy my family's business if I refused. A man I couldn't even remember was trying to ruin my life, dismissing my pain and accusing me of deceit. The amnesia, meant as a curse, became my liberation. Looking into his empty eyes, I finally spoke, my voice steady: "This is the last thing I will ever do for you. Consider our ties severed." I walked away, leaving behind a life I could no longer remember, eager for a new beginning in Chicago with someone whose warmth offered a fragile promise – Noah Evans.

My sister, Lily, was dying. Leukemia, rare and aggressive. Only an experimental bone marrow transplant could save her, costing seventy-five thousand dollars. Insurance called it "experimental," so they wouldn't cover it. I worked double shifts at the grimy diner, counting every dollar of my meager tips. It was never enough for Lily. Then Jess, my flashy old high school friend, showed up. She had an "unconventional" job, she said, with "huge pay." A vigil for a dying man, Adam Blackwood, a wealthy recluse in rural Louisiana. They needed a "pure-hearted young woman," a virgin, to perform "comforting rites" for his soul's passage. And a "discreet examination" afterwards, to confirm my "commitment." One hundred thousand dollars. More than enough for Lily. Despite a creeping unease, Lily’s pale face flashed in my mind. I took the thirty thousand upfront, let Jess drive me to the massive, gothic plantation. Mr. Blackwood was cold, Mrs. Blackwood tearfully obsessed with my "purity." They immediately took my phone, locking me alone in a dimly lit room with "Adam." He lay still, impossibly sedated, his breathing shallow, his pupils constricted pinpoints. He wasn't dying naturally. He was being drugged. The chilling truth slammed into me: this wasn't a ritual. The "pure-hearted" vigil? A calculated farce. "Adam" wasn't dying of illness; he was being systematically poisoned. And he wasn't Adam Blackwood at all. He was Ben Carter, an FBI agent, deep undercover in an antiquities smuggling ring. I was the perfect scapegoat, framed to take the fall for his impending "death." Jess, my friend, had sold me out, a willing accomplice in their deadly deception. Trapped, utterly betrayed, and staring down a dangerous criminal conspiracy, Lily's money no longer mattered. Now, it was about survival. I had to save Ben, expose the Blackwoods, and fight my way out of a nightmare.

She was an arrogant and spoiled lady, born with a silver spoon in her mouth. However, there was a secret behind her identity. He was a rising star in the business world. In just five years, the whole city was under his control. In order to achieve her goal, she provoked him and set him up. But when she tried to seduce him, she was frightened by his coldness. The moment she was about to run away, she was pulled into his arms. He landed an aggressive kiss on her lips.

When Tabitha was just about to graduate from high school, her father sold her to Boris, one of the most powerful businessmen in the world. He agreed to marry her just so his family would be pleased, but his coldness drove her away. Eventually, he realized he had fallen for her innocence and sweetness and tried to win her heart. However, she was not convinced of his love. But Boris was undeterred. He was determined to make her fall in love with him - whatever the cost.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins-a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. "It's time to reveal your true identity, darling."

Betrayed by her fiancé and stepsister a day before her wedding shattered all Lina's dreams about love. She was heartbroken and in pain. Being drugged and unknowingly loosing her virginity to a stranger is not as painful as being betrayed by her loved ones. She promised to make her pretentious step sister and her unfaithful fiancé pay back hundredfold for what they did to her. On her journey to seek revenge, the stranger she had a one night stand with, came knocking at her door with a marriage contract in hand. Without her knowing he was the one she has that blissful one night stand with, she agreed on the marriage contract for some reasons. Will she find out he was the one she had that blissful one night stand with? Will she fall in love with him after being betrayed? Will she be able to get her revenge on those that betrayed her? Find out in this amazing book "Contracted After Being Betrayed"

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune. For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me." He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster. He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous. The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built.