Yi Mo

For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world. On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him. But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!" He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds. Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe. The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself. The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most. I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt. I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number. "Dad," I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York."

Ava Miller lived a dream life, running a successful interior design firm, and happily married to her college sweetheart, tech CEO Ethan Hayes. Their bond felt unbreakable, solidified by years of shared history and Ethan's fierce vow never to cheat, a promise backed by a prenup securing 70% of his assets for Ava if he ever strayed. But a creeping shadow emerged: Chloe Vance, a former intern, obsessed with Ethan, staging public scenes and faking crises. Ava dismissed her as a nuisance, always trusting Ethan to handle such issues firmly. On their third anniversary, Ava surprised Ethan at his gleaming office tower, a small gift in hand, wishing for a rare spontaneous moment. She pushed open the door to his private office and found Chloe there, half-dressed in Ethan's silk shirt, suggestively caressing his cherished Montblanc pen-Ava's gift to him. Ethan walked in, stopping dead, his eyes wide with guilt, looking first at Chloe, then at Ava. He stammered, then shockingly asked Ava to "handle" Chloe, to "get her dressed," claiming she was "in a fragile state." Ava was stunned; this was entirely unlike the man who once had security remove Chloe instantly. Later that evening, she watched him carefully clean and pocket the very Montblanc pen Chloe had just defiled. That was it. The pen, his treasure, now tainted, yet still cherished above all. A cold, hard clarity replaced her shock and pain. The next morning, Ava walked to their safe deposit box and retrieved the prenuptial agreement. Then she picked up her phone and called Liam Walker, Ethan's biggest business rival.

My husband, Julian Mcgee, the golden boy of Manhattan and heir to a powerful dynasty, was once utterly devoted to me. He defied his elitist parents for our love, promising me forever. Then Katia French appeared. I found a secret folder on his laptop, filled with hundreds of her photos and detailed analyses of her life. It was an obsession laid bare. He promised it was nothing, just "curiosity," and I, clinging to the memory of the man who adored me, chose to believe him. His "handling it" was to begin an affair, bringing her to public events and humiliating me. When I found out I was pregnant, I hoped our baby would save us. For a few weeks, he seemed joyful. Then Katia called, claiming Julian wanted a baby with her too, and that my "score" in his affection was dropping. In a moment of raw frustration, I slapped her. His punishment was swift and brutal. He had me arrested, three months pregnant, leaving me in a cold holding cell. He even leaned down to my belly and whispered, "Your mother was naughty. This is her punishment." The man who once moved heaven and earth for me now abandoned me to a cell, prioritizing his mistress. My fairy tale had become a nightmare, and I couldn't understand how it had come to this.

The cold barrel of a gun pressed against my head. I had one last call to save my life, and I chose her: my Issy. But the woman who answered was a stranger. When I told her they were going to kill me, that her cousin Jordan had set me up, she was impatient. "I have no time for this," she said, her voice like ice. "Jordan and I are finalizing our engagement party invitations." Engaged. To the very man who wanted me dead. I pleaded with her, reminding her of our life together, of the memory loss from the treatment her family forced on her. "I don't have amnesia," she snapped. "I remember everything that matters. You're a mechanic from Ohio. I'm an heiress. We live in different worlds." She told me she loved Jordan, that he was her equal and I was nothing. The click of the phone hanging up was louder than the gun cocking behind me. I wasn't afraid of dying anymore. The woman I loved had already killed me. Just as I closed my eyes, the warehouse doors burst open. A dozen figures in black suits disarmed my captors in seconds. A tall woman in a power suit stepped out of the light. She offered me a business proposal: a marriage contract. In exchange for my signature, she would provide protection, resources, and a complete escape. It was my only way out.

My studio was a monument to dust and dreams, haunted by stack of canvases and a growing pile of final notices. Then I saw it: a news notification celebrating Mark Johnson, the tech mogul, philanthropist, and the man I' d saved four years ago when he was dying in a hospital bed. When I called for help, his polished fiancée, Jessica, answered, her voice dripping with condescending sweetness as she dismissed my emergency as a financial ploy and him as "moved on." Mark came to the phone, his voice cold and hard, accusing me of faking my illness and abandoning him for money when he had nothing, throwing scraps of charity at me before hanging up. Later, in our old coffee shop, I saw them, a picture of perfect happiness, until Jessica spotted me and signaled Mark, who humiliated me publicly, snarling that I was a "pathetic, manipulative, greedy liar" trying to cash in on his success. At the gallery where I found work, they ambushed me again; Jessica deliberately poured water on me, and Mark, with icy contempt, declared I deserved even less, driving me to kneel and wipe the floor in a desperate, public act of self-abasement. Overwhelmed, I collapsed, and my best friend, Emily, screamed the truth: I was his anonymous kidney donor, dying because of it, but I, burdened by an inexplicable need to protect him, denied everything, reaffirming his narrative of me as a greedy con artist. His face contorted between Emily' s raw grief and my fabricated confession, he chose the easier lie and transferred a fortune into my account, a monstrous payment to 'buy' my lies and rid himself of me forever, unknowingly funding my funeral. But my dying words shattered his carefully constructed reality, revealing the devastating truth. In a horrifying turn, Jessica, seeking to regain Mark and eliminate me, lunged to smother me with a pillow, only to be stopped by Mark, who, in the ensuing struggle, accidentally pushed her through a window to her death. Overcome with guilt and armed with the truth, Mark then made the ultimate sacrifice, donating his healthy kidney to save my life, fulfilling his promise to "pay me back" and giving me a second chance I would live for both of us.

The first sign that something was wrong was the silence. It was a heavy, unnatural quiet where my daughter Lily' s humming should have been. "Lily?" I called out, my voice too loud in the dusty living room of my husband Daniel's childhood home. No answer. A knot of unease tightened as I searched the house, my heart beginning to pound. When I found Daniel upstairs, he was calm, too calm. "I can' t find Lily," I said, breathless. He smiled, but his eyes were empty. "Olivia, honey, we' ve been over this. You don' t have a daughter. There is no Lily." The world tilted. He pulled out medical records, diagnoses of postpartum psychosis, years of therapy. Every piece of my memory, twisted, manipulated. My husband and his mother, Patricia, looked at me with pity and annoyance, like I was a problem, not a person. "You' re lying," I whispered, holding a small drawing I found, a crayon picture of a girl in a yellow dress, with one word: LILY. They had erased every trace-photos, her booster seat, everything. Even my best friend, Sarah, my supposed therapist, denied Lily' s existence. I was trapped, my reality crumbling around me. But the real Daniel was allergic to peanuts. The man beside me ate the peanut butter toast without a flinch. He wasn' t my husband. He was an impostor, and he, along with the whole town, was involved in something ancient and evil. They were preparing a sacrifice. My daughter. Lily was real, and she was in danger. I had to save her, no matter the cost.

The green blur of the NYSE ticker board was moments from displaying NexusAI, the culmination of my life' s work. But then, Richard Sterling, my notorious former mentor, appeared, demanding I put his scandalous son, Julian, on my board, or he' d tank my IPO. This was the ninth time; a product launch, a funding round, all held hostage at the last critical second, his network ready to poison the well. He left me stranded, just as a tech gossip headline flashed: "My favorite tech genius is about to get married to her project. So heartbroken!" Liam, my rival and the source of the quote, was my last resort. Fifteen minutes and a frantic blur of rerouted documents later, the bell rang, and 'NexusAI' flashed on the board-with Liam as my new, impromptu partner. We barely made it, securing my freedom from Richard's tyrannical grasp, or so I thought. Later, in his car, Richard attempted to reassert control, offering me exclusive gifts as a transactional "peace offering," a ritual I knew far too well. Then came the sinister news: Julian' s fiancée, Isabella, needed a blood transfusion, and Richard insisted her rare blood type matched mine, demanding I donate. He even offered me his hand in marriage, a grotesque bribe, to control me once more. When I refused, he sent burly security guards to forcibly drag me to the hospital' s donation room, intending to drain me literally and figuratively. Just as the needle hovered over my vein, the door burst open. Liam, pure fury in his eyes, stormed in, having heard my desperate screams from his pocket-dialed phone. "Get your hands off my wife," he snarled, revealing our secret marriage and pulling out the marriage certificate. Richard' s face crumpled, the truth unraveling everything he thought he controlled. As I gathered my last belongings from the apartment Richard had given Isabella, I found a diamond earring and a repair receipt in my desk. The receipt was in Richard's name, confirming a horrifying truth: the baby Isabella was carrying was Richard' s, not Julian' s. The fortress Richard built was not for protection, but to hide a monstrous secret. I walked away from the crumbling empire, leaving Richard and Julian in its ruins. Now, with Liam by my side, I' m building something truly mine, a future where freedom and partnership are the only assets I' ll ever need.

The first thing I felt was a dull, persistent beeping. I forced my heavy eyelids open, staring at a sterile white ceiling. This wasn't home, not even a hospital-just a cold, modern corporate infirmary. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my chest as I looked at my hands. Small. Delicate. Not mine. My name is Ava. I am Commander Ava Rostova, lead engineer of the Olympus Station project, a celebrated astronaut. The last thing I remembered was the decompression alarm. Now, the face in the mirror wasn't Ava's-it was a young woman with wide, terrified brown eyes, maybe twenty. Then, a news headline flashed: "ROGUE FACTION THREATENS OLYMPUS STATION." My heart stopped. My station. And the leader of this rogue group, "Aethelred's Hand"? My brother, Leo. The grief of lost time, a lost body, now twisted into raw rage. How dare he? How dare he try to destroy our legacy? The door slid open, revealing a cheerful intern with pink hair. "Mia? You're awake!" So, Mia. That was my name now. My mind, a steel trap, understood. This wasn't just waking up; this was something else entirely. I was Ava, the commander, trapped in a stranger's body, facing a betrayal that cut deeper than bone. My brother, my supposed enemy, was threatening everything I had built. But my memories were intact, my will unbroken. My mission became clear: I had to understand why Leo would do this. I had to get inside. I had to get back control of my station. My legacy was orbiting 250 miles above Earth, and I was going to take it back.

I woke with the violent jolt of the plane landing, but it wasn't the impact that shocked me deeply; it was the chilling, immediate memory of icy black water filling my lungs as an anchor dragged me down. My husband, Captain Mark Vance, watched from the boat with eyes as blank as a winter sky-the last sight before my first life ended ten years ago. Miraculously, incomprehensibly, I was alive, but the life I' d returned to was a meticulously crafted lie built on my erased existence. My husband and best friend, Ashley Barnes, had stolen my identity, swindled my parents, and even sent my brilliant young daughter, Chloe, to a brutal camp, twisting her trauma into a story of her mother's "psychotic break." Now, they flaunted a lavish life built on my ruin, with my very own child reduced to a bruised, silent servant in her own home, while guests used my family heirlooms for cheap hors d'oeuvres. The betrayal was a deep, burning wound, but the sight of Chloe' s thin, bruised arms ignited a pure, glacial rage within me, a fury that promised a reckoning far colder than any Alaskan winter. How could they stand so proudly, so shamelessly, after committing such unspeakable atrocities against me and my child? This was no longer a scientist returning home; it was a ghost resurrected, armored by ten years of accumulated savings and a thirst for justice. I walked into their opulent party, not for revenge, but to reclaim what was mine, armed with the truth and a fury that would shatter their carefully constructed world. Tonight, the perfect facade they' d built would be exposed, and they would finally face the woman they thought they' d killed.

I was a successful project manager, pouring my life into community revitalization, building a future with my wife, Chloe. I even gave up a promotion, a move to a bigger city, for her. Then, the project funds vanished. Suddenly, I was not the esteemed manager, but 'inmate 734', framed by Chloe and her lover, Liam. Fabricated emails, false testimony, and her convincing tears-the jury believed every word. My job, my reputation, gone. Imprisonment was just the start. After my release, Chloe paraded her fake concern, draining my dwindling inheritance for Liam's shady ventures. She even orchestrated a public "vow renewal," only to abandon me at the altar, rushing off to Liam's side for a fake emergency. The humiliation burned through me, hot and sharp. How could I have been so utterly blind, so trusting? The betrayal didn't just sting; it poisoned everything. They thought I was defeated, a docile pawn. They mocked my analytical mind, thinking I was too broken by jail to fight back. But they were wrong. My quiet acceptance became a cold resolve. Once dedicated to timelines, my meticulous nature now focused on one singular project: their meticulously planned downfall. I would make them sign away their own future, piece by agonizing piece.

For seven years, I was his eyes, his hands, his constant companion. I nursed Ethan through his blindness, celebrated his sight's return, and eventually became his lover. I truly believed our bond, forged in his darkness and my unwavering devotion, was unbreakable. But in the quiet bubble of his Escalade, I clearly understood every crisp Spanish word he spoke into his tablet. He told his best friend, Ben, that his elopement with Victoria, the woman who abandoned him when he went blind, was set for tomorrow. He chuckled, assuring Ben, "Sarah doesn't need to know. She'll always be there. She's not going anywhere." My breath hitched as Vicky's brazen Instagram pictures of her marriage license confirmed their triumph, dated that very morning. He barely registered my presence, quick to dismiss me, focused only on a message from his new wife. At my own birthday party, Victoria gifted me a yapping Chihuahua, deliberately playing on my deep-seated trauma from a childhood dog attack. Ethan pressured me to accept it, blind to my terror, then watched as I was drenched and cut by a collapsing champagne tower, shielding Victoria instead of me. Seven years of sacrifice, of pouring my soul into his recovery, all reduced to a casual dismissal and a public humiliation. How could he betray me so utterly, so casually, after all I'd done, after I gave him back his world? My love wasn't a doormat, and he was wrong. He thought I'd always be there, but this was the final breaking point. I would sever this tie that had become a chain and disappear. I would contact Eleanor Hayes, his powerful mother, to help me vanish, for good.

My Napa estate glowed under the California sun. The Aura Foundation gala was meant to be my legacy, a chance to pour my tech success into something truly meaningful. My fiancé, Brandon Maxwell, was the charming, supportive partner by my side, or so I thought. Then the encrypted email arrived, a grainy photo of Brandon with another woman, Cassandra Rourke, a notorious PR shark. The caption chilled me to the bone: "He's not who you think." My heart hammered, a cold dread spreading through me like poison. This couldn't be real; Brandon loved me, didn't he? But then I remembered the hushed calls, the gifts bought with my cards, the subtle isolation from friends. I overheard him at a pre-gala dinner, his voice low and conspiratorial, calling me "clueless" and this gala "a goldmine." He laughed about how I trusted him completely, how he'd urged me to hire Cassandra's firm. Devastation hit me like a physical blow. My world shattered when I later found their vile texts and photos on his iPad, mocking my naivete. "Evie's so naive, thinks this gala is about charity. It's about us, baby." Even as I bled from a shattered decanter, he worried about the cost, not my injury. He gaslighted me, telling me he loved me, yet defended his mistress publicly when she attacked me. He watched me walk away, believing I was broken, that he had won. I was branded the unstable, jealous woman, while he and his mistress paraded their "love." Whispers followed me, painting me as a "psycho" ruining her own event. I felt a profound shift, the naivete burning away, replaced by a cold fire. I was no longer the victim, but the architect of my own ending. The gala would indeed be unforgettable, but not in the way they imagined.

After going through a traumatic experience in her life, Cherry suffered from multiple personality disorder where she shut off her thoughts, memories, and sense of identity as a means to cope with the pain. Cherry not only lost all memories of her torturous past inside the catacombs of her broken mind but also the sweet memories of Herring, the man she loved with all her heart. The day eventually came, when she rose like a phoenix from the ashes. Cherry transformed herself overnight into a confident and charming woman; far different from her weak and shy self from before. However, Cherry might have gained life anew, but could Herring ever let his candy girl disappear from his life forever?

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."