Luo Xi

My husband unveiled a custom pink car on live TV, calling it a "tribute to our love." The internet hailed him as the perfect man. But I knew the truth. That car was the exact place he cheated on me with his VP, Keri. And the lipstick stain on the passenger seat wasn't mine. He thought I was at home, waiting to celebrate his success. Instead, I was at a clinic, signing a waiver to surgically remove my memories. I aborted the child he desperately wanted. I smashed the jade locket he claimed bound our souls together. I burned my passport, my license, and every photo of us in the kitchen sink. When he finally came home, he found nothing but an empty house and a gift box containing the remains of our unborn child. A year later, he crashed my engagement party in Charleston, falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness. I looked down at the weeping billionaire and felt absolutely nothing. "I'm sorry, sir," I said calmly. "But do I know you?"

I was once the CEO of a pharmaceutical empire, but now I was a ghost in my own kitchen, forced to serve the husband who stole my life. Bolden didn't just take my company and frame me as insane; he sat with his mistress, Kandace, and forced me to eat their table scraps like a dog. They poisoned my father to seize his legacy, gaslit the world into believing I was unstable, and made me scrub floors until my hands were raw and bleeding. Every day was a performance of submission, a calculated risk to protect my infant son, Leo, from their cruelty. They thought my silence was defeat. They believed the drugs had turned me into a hollow shell, unaware that I had been faking taking them for weeks. When they bulldozed my childhood home and desecrated my father' s grave, the last ember of my old life died-and a cold, ruthless resolve took its place. Tonight, I' m not just escaping with my son. I' m taking the evidence of their murders and fraud with me, and I won't stop until their stolen empire burns to ash.

I caught my husband cheating at his own club. I made him sign a post-nup: one more time, and I get everything. He didn't just cheat again; when I confronted him, he shoved me so hard I cracked my head open on a marble table. He left me bleeding and concussed at the hospital. He ran to his mistress' s side after she faked a suicide attempt for attention. His mother told me he called me "dramatic" as he abandoned me. Lying there, I saw his post on social media, calling her "my darling" while I was being treated for a head injury he caused. I finally understood. He didn't just betray me; he would have let me die for her. So I picked up the phone and called my lawyer. "Enforce the post-nup. Every single clause. And file the felony assault charges. I'm taking his entire empire, and then I'm putting him in jail."

"You could have hurt the baby," my husband snarled, shoving me onto the cold marble floor of the Met Museum. He didn't check if I was bleeding. He was too busy cradling Alya, the twenty-two-year-old intern I had hired two weeks ago. Bennett Calloway, the ruthless King of New York, was parading his mistress in front of the city's elite while treating me, his loyal wife of fifteen years, like a clumsy nuisance. He thought he was teaching me a lesson in obedience. I later overheard him telling his men, "Kelsey needs to be broken. When she hits rock bottom, she'll come crawling back. That's how you train a wife." He gave her my vintage Hermès scarf. He let her wear my family diamonds. He stood by as she mocked my infertility, claiming she carried the heir I never could. He waited for the tears. He waited for the screaming, the begging, the jealousy. But I didn't cry. I simply went to our bedroom, took the sketch of the nursery we had planned fifteen years ago, and lit a match. I watched the dream turn to ash in the wastebasket. Then, I signed the asset separation agreement, deleted my social media accounts, and threw my SIM card into a sewer grate. Bennett thought he was breaking a horse. He didn't realize he was freeing a prisoner. By the time he realized his mistake and tore the world apart looking for me, I was already in Paris, learning that love isn't supposed to hurt.

On my wedding day, the giant screen in the ballroom was supposed to show a romantic video of my fiancé and me. Instead, it played a sordid deepfake video of me with another man. My fiancé, the celebrated tech mogul Edward Ford, pointed at me in front of New York’s high society. “Amelia Stone, you are a disgrace.” My own father then stepped forward, not to defend me, but to condemn me. He publicly disowned me, announcing he had another, kinder daughter who would take my rightful place. He gestured to the side, and my illegitimate half-sister, Dara Chase, stepped out, looking innocent and fragile. Betrayed by the two men I loved most, I fled the ballroom in shame. As I ran into the street, a car hit me with horrific force. As I died, I floated above my own broken body. I watched as Edward and Dara embraced, their mission accomplished. But then I saw him. Josiah Craft, a guest at the wedding, fell to his knees beside me, his face crumbling into raw, animalistic grief. I opened my eyes again. I was back in my penthouse, just days before the wedding that was supposed to be my end.

The silence in the practice room was where my future unfolded, a shared dream with my quartet: Juilliard, then the NYC Philharmonic. Ethan, my secret love; Chloe, my stepsister; and Noah, our steady violist. But the night before my scholarship audition, the dream shattered. Hidden on the stairs, I heard them-Chloe' s sharp voice, "She gets everything. It' s my turn." Then Ethan, the boy I adored, "Avery' s good, but she holds us back with all that… emotional playing." Betrayal twisted in my gut as I watched my future, a beautiful melody, curdle into a horrifying, dissonant chord. He didn' t love me; they weren' t my friends. During my audition, my A-string was loose, buzzing horribly. I saw Chloe' s triumphant smile, Ethan staring at the floor. My dream was over, stolen by those I trusted most. My own family echoed their cruelties, my mother accepting the lie that I had "choked." Then, they tried to take the silver locket, my father' s last gift. Ethan held me, Noah pried my fingers, and Chloe snapped the chain, kicking me as I clutched the broken silver. "What did you do?" Ethan asked Chloe, but it was too late. In the shattering pain, a cold resolve formed. I would not be broken. When my mentor offered a chance at the Royal Academy of Music, I seized it, a secret spark of hope in the suffocating darkness. My escape began.

The acceptance letter for architecture school abroad felt like my escape, a tangible sign I was finally putting myself first after years of playing a role. I was Ava Green, once a vibrant art history student, who threw it all away to become the devoted caretaker for Liam Hayes, the brilliant tech mogul who lost his sight in a devastating accident. His family, grateful for my endless devotion, "helped" my grandmother with her medical bills, creating a silent, crushing obligation that bound me to them and to Liam, for years. I became his eyes, his anchor, abandoning my own dreams to stitch his shattered life back together, believing our shared trauma forged an unbreakable love. But then Chloe Davis, his ex-fiancée, a glamorous concert pianist from his "real" world, returned, and I watched his affection fracture, then shift entirely. At his company' s gala, I saw Liam laugh with Chloe, a genuine, unguarded sound I hadn' t heard in months, a brutal reminder that I was just a placeholder. Later, I overheard Chloe tell Liam that I couldn' t be his partner, "not really," and his silence was all the answer I needed. My heart shattered, the realization hitting me: I was a glorified nurse, easily discarded the moment his true equal returned. The public humiliation came swiftly at a charity gala, when Liam' s sister, Sarah, cruelly exposed me as a "charity case" and publicly shamed me, dousing me in wine, while Liam, lost in Chloe' s orbit, remained oblivious. Why didn' t he see me? Why did he let them do this to me after everything I sacrificed? That night, packing my bags, I knew I had to escape this gilded cage; I would reclaim my life, pay back every cent, and build a future where I was seen, for myself.

My name is Caleb Duncan, "The Architect" of D.C., and I built my wife, Nicole Hewitt, into a political powerhouse. We were the ultimate power couple, our lives a seamless blend of ambition and strategy, all focused on her rise to the Senate. But on my birthday, a seemingly innocent Instagram post from a young mentee, Wesley Clark-a kid Nicole and I were putting through college-showed my wife, laughing intimately with him at our old diner, with a caption hinting at stolen moments. When confronted, Nicole feigned innocence, then dismissed my concerns with cold contempt, revealing a side of her I hadn't known. Just weeks later, at her biggest campaign gala, she projected photos of me on a giant screen, then publicly branded me a "whore" who slept his way through D.C., attempting to auction me off to donors like a piece of meat. The woman I had loved, built, and trusted more than anyone had orchestrated my public humiliation, my complete professional and personal destruction. How could she do this? Why this level of calculated cruelty? Drugged and cornered, I saw no escape, until a familiar face, my wife' s fiercest rival, Gabrielle Johns, pulled me from the jaws of despair, ready to help me fight back and burn her world to the ground.

My father, the most honorable man I knew, was slipping away, but hope glimmered-a lung transplant. Sitting by his hospital bed, holding his hand, I told him we had so much time left. I stepped out for a moment, and returned to a nightmare. Masked men stood over my father. A phone blinked red, livestreaming. They slammed me against the wall, forcing me to watch as they tore at my clothes and my father, horrified, coded. The world exploded. The livestream of my humiliation was everywhere, twisted to paint me as a party girl responsible for my father' s death. Ethan, my perfect fiancé, abandoned me. The hospital sued me. Then my mother, broken and blaming me, took her own life. I was utterly alone, an outcast, haunted by a question that screamed in my mind: Why? Why us? Why me? What unimaginable darkness could orchestrate such public, brutal destruction? Five years later, a man I thought was my savior, my loving husband, delivered the chilling answer that shattered my entire reality. I was a fool, but being a fool had just become my greatest weapon.

I woke up in my luxurious bedroom at the Governor' s mansion, silk sheets, sunlit, on the eve of my debutante ball. This wasn't the cold, damp room where I' d breathed my last. But then, the memories slammed into me, a tidal wave of betrayal. My own brother, Harrison, my fiancé, Brent Astor, and Chloe, my father' s orphaned campaign manager' s daughter we' d taken in, had conspired to destroy me. Chloe, in my special gown, stealing my moment. Their public smear campaign, framed as a 'charity initiative,' was a front for an offshore nightmare that meticulously ruined my name. My father's health mysteriously deteriorated, he died, and Harrison ascended to Governor. I, Savi, died alone, my reputation in tatters, branded for 'mistreating' sweet, innocent Chloe. The phantom pain of my last breath still haunted me. How could my closest family members unleash such malevolent destruction, assassinating my character and ultimately my life, all while posing as heroes? Why was I, the victim, painted as the villain? I looked at the calendar: it was that day. The debutante ball. I was back. A fierce, cold rage extinguished the fear. This time, things would be different. Chloe wouldn' t steal anything. Harrison and Brent would pay, dearly. And my father' s honorable legacy? I would secure it, no matter the cost.

Sarah Miles, a passionate journalist, was just days away from her dream: a prestigious UN Human Rights Correspondent Fellowship in war-torn Lendu and a wedding to her devoted fiancé, Ethan. Her life, meticulously built, felt like it was finally ascending. Then, a sudden, insidious message shattered everything. Anonymous photos and videos flooded her phone, revealing Ethan, naked, with Chloe Hayes – Sarah' s own half-sister. The man who had relentlessly pursued and championed her ambitions was a brutal liar, caught in a sickening affair. His desperate excuses and attempts to manipulate the situation only deepened the agonizing wound. Adding insult to unspeakable injury, Chloe' s chillingly cruel taunts made it clear this wasn't mere infidelity; it was a calculated act of destruction. How could the man she loved betray her with her own family? Why would Chloe, whom she was just beginning to connect with, orchestrate such pain? The sheer audacity and inexplicable malice left Sarah reeling, grappling with a profound sense of injustice and a world turned utterly upside down. With her meticulously planned future in ashes and her heart irrevocably broken, Sarah made a defiant choice. The fellowship in Lendu transformed from a career ambition into a desperate, immediate escape. She systematically dismantled her entire life, prepared to plunge into the chaos of a war zone, determined to find a future free from her shattered past, even if it meant confronting unthinkable dangers alone.

Another wire transfer pinged. It was another "apology payment" from Victoria Sterling, my girlfriend of five years. This one was different: $500,000. Far more than her usual fifty thousand, a sum that had already made me secretly rich. I' d played the role of the devoted, slightly naive boyfriend perfectly for too long. But this unprecedented amount felt less like an apology and more like a severance. Then, a video message arrived from Dylan Price, from Vicky' s social circle. It showed Vicky at a party, her arms wrapped around a young man, kissing him deeply. He looked unsettlingly like me, a younger, perhaps less worn version. Dylan' s text followed: "That' s Caleb Vance. Her childhood flame. Guess who\'s back?" Suddenly, Vicky' s pet name, "My C," and her online handles like "ForeverC," made a sickening kind of sense. I was never "C" for Ethan. I was a stand-in. A sharp pang of genuine hurt hit my chest. I remembered being a scholarship kid from Appalachia, chasing her, believing she saw something in me. Her friends had called me a "charity case." I later found her hidden love letters to Caleb, recently signed, calling me "just a boy, a distraction." When I finally confronted her during our breakup, she exploded. "You don\'t break up with me, Ethan. I decide when this is over! You belong to me!" I was shocked by the raw possessiveness in her voice. Her absolute conviction that she owned me, body and soul. She saw me as nothing more than an expensive pet, a compliant placeholder. How could I have been so blind, so foolishly naive for five years? But that immediate hurt quickly turned cold, pragmatic. If I was a substitute, I was a well-paid one. That $500,000 wasn't severance; it was a bonus for a long-term performance. With millions now in my accounts, I was financially independent. It was time to leave Vicky and her gilded cage behind.

Sarah Miller always felt like an outsider among her Omega Alpha Chi sorority sisters, yearning for a place at the heart of their tight circle. One fateful night, after a typical bonding party, she woke to an unspeakable horror: all five of her friends lay dead, victims of acute poisoning. Sarah was the sole survivor. Instantly, the spotlight of suspicion turned to her. The police presented a chilling web of evidence: a panicked audio recording from Chloe' s phone, capturing her sisters' dying pleas, "Sarah, wake up!"; records showing Sarah's key fob used when she claimed to be sound asleep; and a disturbing handwritten note in her own script, confessing a desire for peace if "they were gone." Sarah vehemently denied everything, desperate to believe she was asleep, but her memories were a terrifying blur. How could she be involved in such a monstrous act? The pieces didn't fit, adding to her dread: a pre-death text about a "prank" targeting her, and Danielle's chilling journal entry stating, "That wasn't Sarah." Then came the devastating truth: a forgotten psychiatric history, revealing Dissociative Identity Disorder. And the final, grainy footage – "another Sarah," calmly exiting the room after the murders, a faint, chilling smile on her face. Now confined, Sarah lives in an inescapable nightmare, realizing the horrifying killer is not outside, but an integral, malevolent part of herself, waiting to re-emerge.

I was nineteen, trapped in a nightmare, living in a house where my mother' s fists were a constant presence, leaving me bruised and broken. My father was my only hope, a beacon of normal in the chaos, though often conveniently absent. One day, my boyfriend Ethan, witnessing another brutal attack, finally called 911, but a mysterious video my mother showed him twisted his concern into chilling disgust in an instant. He walked out, abandoning me, branding me "sick" and "dangerous." Before him, my own grandparents, the very people who once hugged me tight, had turned their backs after seeing that same hidden footage. My father, who promised to protect me, also saw the video and joined the silent chorus of condemnation, leaving me utterly alone. The beatings continued, escalating, my world shrinking to a painful, isolated cell. What was on that damned video that could turn everyone I loved, every single person, against me, twisting their affection into hatred and judgment? The injustice burned, the confusion was a constant ache, an unbearable mystery that defined my monstrous new reality. Pushed to the brink of death in a final, savage assault, the truth finally surfaced: the horrifying secret the video held wasn't about me at all, but my own father' s unspeakable abuse of my sisters, and my mother' s twisted, monstrous attempt at protection. I was just a pawn in their dark game, but now, finally, I knew their secret, and this time, everything would change.

I stood on the polished stage of "Startup Goldrush," a triple-major Ivy League prodigy, ready to pitch myself and make my working-class family proud. Then, Victoria Sterling, the lead judge, unleashed her attack: dismissing my credentials as "just paper," demanding I decode her vague tech jargon, and insinuating my degrees were fake. A 'technical glitch' conveniently wiped my digital proof, and then, in a staged "accident," she soaked my physical diplomas with sticky kombucha, smirking as they disintegrated into an illegible mess. The lowest blow came when my own brother, manipulated backstage, walked out and publicly told me to apologize, demanding I stop embarrassing our family. Betrayed and humiliated, my world crashed, and I crumpled to the floor in a panic attack on live television, branded an "Ivy League Imposter." How could years of relentless hard work, incredible sacrifice, and genuine achievement be twisted into such a horrifying, public destruction? They tried to bury me, but as I lay in the darkness, remembering my brother's calloused hands and unwavering belief, a furious resolve ignited – I wouldn't just survive this, I would fight back. I opened my laptop, my fingers trembling but firm, and began drafting an email to Dean Thompson, Harvard University, ready to expose their lies.

Eighteen years. That's how long Marcus had spoiled Cindy. Ever since she could remember, only one man had a special place in her heart. Whatever she wanted, Marcus spared no effort to give it to her. But it didn't matter how much she loved him. He announced his engagement to another woman, and she was devastated. When Marcus' fiancee died under mysterious circumstances, Cindy was charged with her murder. Then, tragedy struck—she herself died in an explosion. Five years passed. Marcus moved on and found someone else to love. In fact, he proposed to her. But Cindy suddenly walked back into his life. She was supposed to be dead! Is someone else impersonating her? Or are there other forces at work here?

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!"

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.

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."

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.

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?

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."

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."

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."