Meng Meng

I was a top-tier CTO in Boston, but I threw it all away the moment my grandmother’s heart began to fail. The only doctor who could save her was in Manhattan, protected by a wall of money and power I didn't have. Then the real blow landed: the man who destroyed my family was now a billionaire at Zenith BioTech. Conrad King hadn't just stolen my grandfather’s company; he had orchestrated the hostile takeover that led to my grandfather's stroke and left us with nothing but debt and a broken name. We moved to New York, but the city was a nightmare. The elite specialist's office laughed at my pleas, and I was nearly trampled by Sean Sterling, a cold-blooded mogul who looked at me like I was a glitch in his perfect world. My grandmother gripped my hand in her hospital bed, weeping as she begged me to stay away from the man who had ruined us. "Promise me you won't go to him," she rasped through her oxygen mask. "He'll chew you up." I promised her, but it was the biggest lie of my life. I watched the news as Conrad King smiled at charity galas, living the life that belonged to my family. The unfairness of it burned in my chest like acid. How could a thief be celebrated as a hero while we were left to die in the shadows? I'm done being the victim. I’ve sanitized my resume and applied for a position at Zenith BioTech. I’m going to infiltrate his empire, take back what he stole, and burn his smile off his face.

To force my husband to sign the divorce papers, I had to press a blade against my own neck until I bled. He was hesitating because he didn't want a scandal, even though he had just watched his mistress push me down the stairs, killing our unborn child. While I lay bleeding on the floor, Calvin didn't call an ambulance for me; he comforted her because she was "scared." I walked away with a jagged scar and a broken soul, leaving them to their stolen happiness. Five years later, at a party, the game "Never Have I Ever" brought everything crashing back. Calvin looked at me with haunted eyes, ignoring his now-wife Brea, and whispered, "I made a mistake. I want you back." Brea went ballistic, screaming that I was the home-wrecker, and tried to attack me again in a jealous rage. But this time, I wasn't the victim. I turned to my handsome neighbor, Derek, and closed the door on Calvin's pleading face. The next morning, a headline flashed on my phone: "Tech Mogul Calvin Bishop Stabbed to Death by Wife in Police Station." I touched the scar on my neck and finally smiled. Karma didn't just knock; she kicked the door down.

I nursed my husband back from a coma, pregnant with the child I thought would complete our perfect life. Then his ex-girlfriend reappeared, also claiming to be pregnant with his baby. During a staged kidnapping, he made his choice. He offered me and our unborn child to the kidnappers in exchange for her. He watched me fall, saw the blood staining the concrete, and walked away to save the woman who was lying to him. He thought he was leaving me to die. But I survived. And the first thing I told my rescuer was, "I'm thinking of changing my baby's father."

"The position has been waiting for you for three years, Elaine. Just say the word." The voice on the phone was calm, deep, and familiar. It was Evan Mcknight, her former mentor, now a world-renowned architect. An hour earlier, she' d signed papers for her younger brother, Kelsey, to be moved to palliative care. The experimental treatment that could save him required a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit she didn' t have. Her savings were gone, and her business, built from scratch with her boyfriend, Brett Vega, was a success, but he' d locked her out of the accounts. As she stood up to pawn her Patek Philippe watch, a commotion erupted. Brett burst through the doors, cradling Daniella Chen, who was wailing dramatically about a sprained ankle. He didn' t even glance her way. He spotted her, pulled her into a supply closet, and hissed, "What are you doing here? This is all part of the plan. I' m making her think she' s won." He stuffed five hundred dollars into her hand, telling her to leave before Daniella saw her. He thought she was there for money, for pocket change. She let the bills fall to the floor. He was so good at lying, at performing. He didn' t see her brokenness, her grief, only an inconvenience to his grand scheme. It was over. She knew it with a certainty that was both terrifying and liberating. It was time to go to London.

For five years, my world revolved around Sarah "Oracle" Vance, my boss and the woman I loved, pouring every ounce of my devotion into her life. Then came the mission that broke everything: Sarah was "captured" by a rival tech conglomerate, and the ransom was my life's work, an AI called "Ghost." Without hesitation, I sacrificed Ghost, my greatest creation, enduring a torturous procedure that nearly killed me, all to save her. But when I staggered back to the agency, hollowed out and aching, I found Sarah wrapped in the arms of another man, Dr. Ben Carter, laughing at me, calling me a "love-sick puppy" and "desperate for validation" – exposing that her capture was a lie, a setup orchestrated by her to steal my AI. My world shattered, every memory of my devotion twisting into a sick joke. Just as I resolved to walk away, fully broken, Sarah's young daughter, Lily, was kidnapped by unknown assailants, held hostage in the very data center I designed, rigged to explode. Despite Sarah's betrayal, a primal instinct took over, and I plunged into the inferno, racing against a digital timer, shielding Lily with my own body as bullets tore through me, making the ultimate sacrifice as the building collapsed around me. They declared me dead, a heroic casualty, but I was saved and rebuilt by Olivia Thorne, the CEO of the very company Sarah blamed. Now, a ghost reborn, the world believes I' m gone, leaving me free to uncover the true architects of this agonizing betrayal and exact a reckoning for the life they stole.

The Fairmont ballroom shimmered with expensive light. It was supposed to be the happiest night of my life, my engagement party with Sarah, my girlfriend of six years. Everything was perfect until Liam, Sarah's assistant, crashed in, drunk and enraged. "A toast!" he slurred, holding a champagne bottle like a weapon. "To Sarah. A woman I love. Not him. Me. It's always been me." The room fell silent as Sarah rushed to him, taking the bottle, her entire focus on placating the man who had just publicly sabotaged our engagement. She led him away, not sparing a glance for my humiliation. My father's words echoed in my ears: "You have three days." The Hayes family pact loomed – an arranged marriage if I wasn't wed by my 35th birthday. Sarah returned, feigning apology, then accepted Liam's smooth, practiced apology on behalf of us both, drawing a line in the sand with me on the other side. Later, back at our apartment, a pocket-dialed voicemail from Sarah revealed her intimate laughter with Liam, confirming their secret connection. A photo, sent by a friend, sealed it: Liam kissing Sarah against an alley wall, a deep, consuming kiss. The final piece of evidence, burning into my mind. This wasn't just a drunken mistake; it was a calculated betrayal. My six-year future, the one I had fought for, lay shattered by deceit. I picked up my suitcase, the fight drained from me. There was only one path left. "Confirm it," I told my father's assistant. "My meeting with the Chen family is scheduled for tomorrow at noon."

A splash of ice-cold water shocked me awake, but the smell of stale takeout and cheap air freshener told me something was terribly wrong. The last thing I remembered was a dark cargo container, the scent of the sea, and the chilling realization that my own brother, Liam, had sold me to human traffickers to pay off his gambling debts. I was supposed to be dead, yet here he was, whining about co-signing a loan, completely oblivious. Then I saw the date: three years ago. Three years before my life completely fell apart, three years before he' d betray me. A cold, sharp rage drowned out years of guilt and my mother' s dying wish: "Always look after your brother, Chloe. Promise me." That promise had been a chain around my neck, strangling me until I lost my marriage, my savings, my home, and finally, my life. Not again. I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time without the filter of sisterly obligation. I saw a parasite. Then I did something I had never done in my entire life. I slapped him. His eyes widened in disbelief. "What the hell, Chloe?" he shrieked. "No," I said, my voice low and steady. "I'm not signing anything. Not today. Not ever again." "You don't get to be 'done'! You owe me! I'm your brother!" he snarled, grabbing my arm. "A brother doesn't sell his sister to traffickers for a hundred grand," I said calmly. The blood drained from his face as his grip loosened. He hadn't done it yet in this timeline, but the idea, the calculation, flickered in his eyes. He didn' t know how I knew. And that gave me all the power. I was back, and this time, I would be the one writing the ending.

The glossy magazine cover screamed it: "Chloe Van Der Bilt to Wed Titan of Industry Richard Sterling." My heart, which I' d poured into every stainless-steel surface and Michelin-starred dish of "Ember" -the restaurant I built for her-shattered. For five years, I' d sacrificed everything, clawing my way from a greasy spoon to a critically acclaimed chef, all because she whispered a dream in my ear, a promise of acceptance from her elite world. But now, a "courtesy copy" of her wedding announcement, delivered by her family' s publicist, felt like a public dismissal, a warning shot. The humiliation intensified: a fake health inspection, then a calculated smear campaign in the press painting me as an "obsessed stalker," all orchestrated by her and her new husband. Even after Richard Sterling, her new husband, casually dismissed my love as a "youthful infatuation" to my face, dismissing my entire struggle, the final blow came when Chloe's own brother, Julian, and his thugs brutally beat me in an alleyway, all while Chloe herself called to ensure I got the message, coldly confirming she had set me up. Lying battered on the pavement, I realized the woman I adored was a stranger, and the dream I chased was a meticulously crafted lie, leaving me with nothing but ashes and dust. But lying there, something shifted. The broken man she left behind wouldn't stay broken.

My ex-fiancé, Andrew, and my sister's fiancé, Brian, were powerful men, state senator and chief of staff, constantly parading us, the last two Spirit Weavers of our tribe, as their exotic, sacred accessories. But when a corporate militia captured us in a desolate cannery, and the men we loved finally showed up, it wasn't to save us. Terrified for an ambitious intern, Molly Johns, Andrew and Brian screamed to save her, not us. Then, with cameras rolling, they participated in our brutal torture, nailing our hands to pillars, sawing off my sacred tribal tattoo, tearing my sister' s heirloom earring, and finally, spiking our feet to the ground, leaving us crippled and bleeding for our new captors. The pain was agonizing, but the betrayal cut deeper. How could the men who claimed to love us mutilate us so cruelly, casting us aside like trash for their political careers? Why did they choose that girl over us, over our ancestral land, over everything? Just as we were dragged toward a windowless van, a deafening roar filled the air: the Iron Totems MC, led by my childhood friend, Rufus, and my sister's, Caleb, crashed through the police barricade. They rescued us, but then revealed the truth: this entire nightmare was their calculated plot to expose Andrew and Brian, to free us from their poisonous control, and to finally allow us to reclaim our power.

The morning after Ethan and I made love, his lawyer showed up at our apartment. He laid a large manila folder on the coffee table: a deed to our condo, car keys, and a wire transfer confirmation for $1.8 million. "Mr. Lester considers this a severance package," the lawyer stated, his voice flat. Just hours before, Ethan had whispered promises, his touch tender. Now, he was gone, to an arranged marriage in Dallas. I wanted to scream, but only felt a chilling confusion. How could the man who held me so close be so cold? Was our four-year love story just a transaction? My world, once vibrant, collapsed into a silent, sun-drenched cage. But one detail struck me, a bizarre act of kindness in the midst of betrayal: Ethan had instructed his lawyer not to disturb my sleep. Why would a man dishing out such cruelty care if I got enough rest? It was a nonsensical flicker of concern that screamed one thing: he was being forced. There had to be more to this. I wouldn't accept it. I picked up my phone, not to call him, but to call a number he never knew I had. "Anthony," I said, my voice steady. "I need a flight to Dallas. Immediately."

Mark was back, living in the guest room, but our house felt colder than ever, a hollow shell of a marriage. Our new normal was suffocating, filled with his dismissive anger and my quiet ache of betrayal. Then, one night, searching his laptop for our daughter' s school project, I stumbled upon a hidden file: "Elysium." My blood ran cold. Inside were two years of intimate messages, saccharine poems, and their grotesque plans for a shared future that meticulously excluded me. He wrote about our "stifling" marriage, about my "lack of understanding" for his so-called "artistic temperament." She was his "true north," his "anchor," his "twin flame"-a bond "spiritual" and "above common morality." At a company dinner, consumed by rage, I confronted them, only to be shoved, hitting my head, and waking up in the ER. Instead of justice, I faced his family's fury and baffling pleas from my own mother: I should apologize for the "scene." The world felt tilted, upside down. I, the betrayed wife, was now cast as the vindictive villain who had "ruined everything," while his mistress, Olivia, was the "fragile" victim. How could I possibly apologize for discovering his affair, for being assaulted, and for his blatant lies? His ultimate demand shattered any remaining illusion: I was to formally apologize to Olivia for him to "forgive" me for this "mess." That was the moment the rage turned cold, precise. My answer wouldn't be an apology. It would be a quiet, devastating storm he never saw coming.

For eighteen years, I meticulously crafted a lie, playing the part of a struggling wife. I pushed my hardworking husband, Michael, and our brilliant son, Ethan, to strive for every penny, every academic honor. All while my secret fortune was poured into the life of another man's son, a spoiled rich kid named Brandon. Then, the unthinkable call came: Ethan was dead, a victim of a hit-and-run. My husband was shattered, but my first, chilling reaction was to dismiss him, to protect my opulent charade. Michael, heartbroken and now terminally ill from years of stress, made a horrifying discovery: Brandon, the boy I' d coddled, was the one who took our son' s life. The words I' d once spoken, "A little suffering is fine," became a tormenting echo as Michael' s life ebbed away, destroyed by my deception. How could I have so profoundly failed them? Ethan' s worn diary, discovered amidst his modest belongings, laid bare his silent struggles, his tireless efforts to ease our fabricated poverty. The guilt was a physical blow, awakening a dormant fury. When the dust settled, two new graves stood side by side. My husband, unable to forgive my betrayal, had followed our son. His final words to me, a brutal dare to atone, resonated in the silence. Now, holding a small bottle, standing where my entire world lay buried, I finally understood what true expiation demanded. This was my last act for them.

Our fifth anniversary was supposed to be Napa, a romantic getaway at a quiet vineyard resort, just me and Chloe. We' d planned it for months. Then, two days before, Chloe called, claiming a last-minute 'huge work conference' in Chicago, apologizing profusely. Later that night, scrolling Instagram, I saw a picture that shattered everything: Chloe and her college ex, Ryan, clinking wine glasses in Napa, at our resort. The caption: 'Always knew we' d make it back here. #AnniversaryVibes.' My blood ran cold. Her 'work trip' was a chilling lie. The phone almost slipped from my hand; my heart hammered. She returned radiating a glow I hadn' t seen in months, making me sick, even as she feigned apologies for 'missing Napa.' I watched her, numb, as betrayal settled hard in my gut. The doting husband was gone, replaced by something cold and pragmatic. The insincerity of her actions, especially a 're-gifted' golf putter I later realized came straight from Ryan, felt like a deliberate slap in the face. How could she so casually lie, then try to buy my affection with stolen moments and secondhand gifts? I decided right then that this wasn't about anger, but calculated survival. I wouldn't fight her. I would protect what was mine-my wealth, my company, my future. The power dynamic in our marriage was about to change. Drastically. I called my lawyer.

Cindy planned to surprise her husband with the news she was pregnant. However, it seemed that she was the one who got “surprised” when she found out he was cheating on her with her best friend. Overwhelmed by this betrayal, she demanded a divorce and swore to herself that she would take revenge by making them pay for what they did. At the same time, thanks to a misunderstanding, she met Bruce, and all of a sudden, she saw herself trapped with the domineering CEO. Now, not only would he help her carry out her revenge, but he would also give her all of his deep affection.

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!"

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."

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.

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?

For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."

After two years of marriage, Kristian dropped a bombshell. "She's back. Let's get divorced. Name your price." Freya didn't argue. She just smiled and made her demands. "I want your most expensive supercar." "Okay." "The villa on the outskirts." "Sure." "And half of the billions we made together." Kristian froze. "Come again?" He thought she was ordinary-but Freya was the genius behind their fortune. And now that she'd gone, he'd do anything to win her back.