Yi Shi

I was supposed to be recovering, sipping green juice at a luxury Arizona retreat, post-car accident. One scroll on Instagram ripped my perfectly curated world apart. The girl wearing my daughter Chloe’s bespoke gown at our estate wasn’t Chloe. It was a stranger, Ashley, who then introduced her ‘mother’ as Brenda Hoskins, the *acting CEO* of *my* company, AuraNova. In the blurred background, chillingly, was my sweet Chloe, serving drinks, her shoulders slumped, nearly falling as someone bumped her. My housekeeper dismissed it as ‘a small get-together,’ but the school records told a different story: Chloe was registered as Mrs. Peterson’s granddaughter, and her tuition was shockingly overdue. My own daughter, reduced to a charity case, while the woman I fired, Brenda Hoskins, ran my billion-dollar company with my husband, Rick, by her side. When I finally found Chloe, she was thin, bruised, her spirit dim, and shrinking from my touch. Ashley, the impostor, brazenly claimed my luxurious master suite as ‘her parents’ room.’ Medical tests confirmed the horrifying truth: Chloe was being systematically drugged with hormone blockers and sedatives. Retrieved security footage revealed the chilling daily reality: Rick and Brenda watched, smiling, as Ashley and her clique humiliated and abused Chloe, turning her into an unwilling house servant. They hadn't just stolen my company and my life; they were meticulously destroying my daughter’s spirit, erasing her very existence. My blood ran cold, then boiled with a rage so profound it threatened to shatter me. But the despair lasted only a second, replaced by pure, unadulterated fury. They had taken everything, but they were about to learn that nothing burns hotter than a mother’s vengeance.

I spent six years raising his twins, believing I was his wife. Then the bank manager slid a document across the desk. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Dunlap. You aren't listed as the mother. Eliana Dudley is." I drove to Gavin's office, desperate for answers. Instead, I found him with his high school sweetheart, Eliana, sitting on his lap. I froze as I heard him laugh. "Alex was just a comfortable alternative," he told her. "A glorified nanny to keep the seat warm until you came back." My world shattered. But it got worse. At the twins' birthday party, the children I had loved like my own screamed that they hated me. His seven-year-old son shoved me down the stone steps. I hit the ground hard. Pain exploded in my stomach. I looked up, begging Gavin for help. He didn't move. He just wrapped his arm around Eliana and turned away. "Come on, kids," he said coldly. "Let's go cut the cake. Alex is just making a scene." I lay on the cold patio, bleeding out the baby he didn't even know I was carrying, listening to them sing "Happy Birthday" inside. He thought I would fade away. He thought a check would fix it. But when I woke up in the hospital, the woman who loved him was dead. I signed the divorce papers, walked out, and built an empire he could never touch. Now, three years later, he's begging at my feet. "I made a mistake," he sobs. I look at my new husband and smile. "I know. And now you have to live with it."

For five years, I was the secret wife of billionaire Chace Bentley, hiding in the shadows because he swore it was the only way to protect me from his ruthless family. But when his security guards dragged me out of his gala by my hair, breaking my ribs while the crowd jeered at the "delusional stalker," Chace didn't save me. He stood on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, and watched me bleed with cold, dead eyes. I thought I had hit rock bottom in that jail cell, until I found the documents in his safe. A prenuptial agreement with a socialite named Celina. And a trust fund for their future children. When I confronted him, he didn't beg for forgiveness. He laughed. "Everything you own, the clothes on your back, the roof over your head, it's all because of me. My charity." He thought he had broken me. He thought I was just a disposable pawn in his rise to power. But he forgot that I still held the one thing that could destroy him: our original marriage license. On the day of his grand engagement announcement, I didn't hide. I walked onto the stage, took the microphone, and introduced myself to the world. "I'm Gracelyn Weeks, and I'm Chace Bentley's wife."

The algorithm knew my fiancé was cheating on me before I did. It led me, five days before my wedding, to a secret Instagram account. My maid of honor was wearing my wedding dress. The account was a shrine to her three-year affair with my fiancé, Arden. They had crafted a perfect narrative for their followers: they were tragic soulmates, and I was the cold, calculating villain keeping them apart. The comments were full of hate for me. But the final twist of the knife was seeing that my best friend, Dallas, had "liked" a comment wishing I'd have an "accident" and break my leg again. I had saved his life. My family had saved hers from ruin. Why this elaborate, public cruelty? On my wedding day, I was a no-show. Instead, as the elite of New York society watched, the ballroom screens lit up with a presentation I' d prepared, exposing every photo, every text, and every single lie.

For ten years, my life was a straight line towards one goal: winning the National Design Excellence Award, my ticket to study under the world' s greatest architects in Italy. But on the night I reached for my dream, it was snatched away by the last people I expected. My fiancé, Mark Johnson, the lead judge, awarded the prestigious prize to Olivia Chen, a woman with no design experience, who had submitted an amateur sketch of a "dream closet." The polite applause sounded distant as I watched her embrace the trophy, while Mark beamed beside her, never once looking at me. As I confronted him, his bodyguards dragged me away, my career and my decade of dedication dismissed with a wave of his hand. Later, I overheard him tell Olivia that our engagement was merely a "debt" he had to pay, crushing every "I love you" and shared dream into dust. He laughed, calling my decade of effort a "hobby" he was willing to fund. The public backlash was immediate, but Mark, feigning sincerity, tried to minimize the scandal. He then threatened to cut off funding for my mother' s critical medical care, holding her life hostage to control me. Blacklisted from the design industry, I sold everything and took a humiliating job as a barmaid. Then, Mark and Olivia walked into my new workplace, and he deliberately humiliated me, throwing money at me and demanding I "entertain" them. When I refused, Olivia faked a theft, and Mark, seizing the opportunity, blamed me. In the chaos, I was shoved, hitting my head and collapsing. In the hospital, Mark brought a gaudy diamond necklace, expecting me to be bought. But I wasn't broken. I was done.

My shoulder felt like it was tearing apart, dangling precariously from a skyscraper' s edge, the city lights smeared far below. Wind howled, drowning out everything but the terror that coursed through me. My feet scraped against cold, smooth glass-nothing to stand on but the abyss. Then, a sharp yank on my collar pulled my head back, forcing my chin up. It was Olivia, the woman I' d spent three simulated years trying to save, her face pale and hard, eyes devoid of warmth. "Look at me, Noah," she commanded, her voice cutting through the roar. She wore the black dress we picked out together, now looking like funeral attire. "You didn' t save me," she hissed, her grip tightening on my shredded shoulder. "You played God. You pulled my strings, moved me around like a pawn in your own pathetic little hero fantasy." My attempts to speak her name were pathetic croaks, lost to the wind. "He was getting married tonight, you know," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Liam. He' s marrying someone else. He was mine! My beautiful disaster. My pain. He was mine to lose. Not yours to take away." With a guttural scream, she dragged me closer, and my ring, meant as a promise, fell from my pocket. She watched it fall, then let go of my collar, stepping on the velvet box, crushing metal and stone. "None of this was real," she said, her voice flat and dead. "You' re not real. Your help, your kindness... it was all a lie. A cage." Then, she shoved the mangled ring into my mouth, forcing me to swallow it, my own failure. "Get out," she growled, pushing me with all her rage. My feet were already in the air, my body past the point of no return. As the city rushed up to meet me, everything went white, and I gasped to find myself in a sterile white pod, still feeling every bit of her betrayal.

For five years, I poured my life into Apex Holdings, into Mr. Harrison, my mentor, my confidant, the man everyone assumed I' d marry. I walked into the company meeting expecting a promotion, maybe even a proposal, only to watch my world shatter as he beamed, announcing his engagement to a doe-eyed intern half my age. The room applauded, their polite smiles hiding victorious smirks, and the intern, Bethany, held up her massive diamond, looking at me with triumphant pity. Humiliated, I announced my own whirlwind marriage, but my supposed husband was a stranger, hired on the spot. He refused my resignation, sabotaged my projects, and when I finally forced him to sign, his new fiancée, Bethany, deliberately opened my parrot' s cage, and Mr. Harrison, in a fit of rage, kicked my beloved Sky, the last gift from him. He accused me of faking my pain, while everyone whispered about my jealousy, leaving me isolated, just like after my parents died, leaving me to question if my five years of loyalty meant nothing. Desperate for a clean break, I accepted a marriage proposal from Mr. Davies' s son, a man I hadn' t seen since childhood, hoping this drastic step would finally erase Mr. Harrison from my life.

For seven years, I was the perfect political wife, seamlessly orchestrating every gala, every public appearance. I stood behind my Congressman husband, Ethan Scott, a silent, smiling prop in our opulent D.C. townhouse. Then, at our annual fundraising event, he tapped a glass for silence, his arm draped possessively around his pregnant mistress, Sabrina. "Jocelyn and I have agreed to a divorce," he announced, his eyes cold, dismissive, while the room gasped. He expected me to nod, to accept the humiliating settlement, to stay on as a "household consultant" for her. But I refused, declaring I was leaving that night. He laughed, assuming I was dependent on him, that I' d be crawling back. Then Sabrina' s cruel sneer cut through the air: "The dog stays." Buddy, my golden retriever, my last connection to the child I lost, was yanked from my side. Sabrina feigned a bite, screamed, and Ethan, without hesitation, ordered Buddy to be put down. My world shattered. This wasn' t just about Buddy; it ripped open an old wound. Sabrina had given my premature son, Leo, a deadly teddy bear in his NICU crib. Ethan had blamed me for his death, choosing her over our grief. Now, he was literally sentencing my last piece of family to death for her. My tears were gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I was trapped, sick, and nearly burned alive in my room, thanks to Sabrina' s arson, but a hidden message from Andrew, my childhood sweetheart, illuminated a path forward. It was time to fight.

I was Elara, a woman from the Appalachian mountains, dubbed 'the hillbilly cure.' I was brought to save Julian Thorne, a paralyzed heir. I poured my life force into him, healing his broken body, and against all odds, I fell deeply in love. We even had three unique children-precious, living eggs, humming with a power few understood. But once healed, Julian scorned me, seeing only a primitive necessity, not a wife. Fueled by his jealous stepsister, Cassidy, he orchestrated a cruel spectacle at a gala celebrating his 'miracle.' He forced me into a sadistic egg hunt: identify my children among a hundred fakes, knowing for every wrong guess, one would be brutally smashed. Under the blinding lights, my heart shattered. The first wrong guess ended with a sickening crunch. The second egg, sickeningly, was whisked away to be an 'exotic omelet'-its psychic death tore through me, leaving me writhing in agony. When Cassidy moved to burn my last child, I chose a different path. My only option was self-destruction. I publicly confessed to being a con artist, claiming I never loved Julian, only his immense fortune. My heart broke as I collapsed, sacrificing my name to save my daughter. Why would anyone unleash such cruelty on the woman who saved them? How could this monster revel in my pain? Yet, as I lay dying, my magnificent daughter hatched, unleashing her powerful Thunderbird blood. A psychic torrent forced Julian to relive every ounce of my selfless love, his healing, and the horrific, soul-shredding deaths of our other two children. His mind shattered into maddening despair. My mountain family arrived, reclaiming me from this hell. We faked my death, leaving him haunted by his cruelty, while I found true freedom and peace back home.

My life was perfect, filled with the laughter of my five-year-old twins, Noah and Mia. We were building a couch fort, our own little world. Then, her Tesla pulled into the driveway. Chloe, my estranged wife, brought not just herself, but Leo, her old high school flame, into our home. When my innocent children stood up to the stranger, Chloe' s temper flared. "You two need a timeout," she snapped, dragging them, whimpering, into the soundproof wine cellar. My gut screamed, but she slammed the heavy door, the lock clicking shut. I begged, I pleaded, pounding on the door, while from the living room, I heard Chloe's laughter with Leo. Then, seeing Leo's Instagram post – an ultrasound of their baby – shattered me. A new life, while mine were trapped. My desperate efforts to rescue Noah and Mia came too late. The cellar was silent. Too silent. I found them, blue-faced, unbreathing, an open bag of nuts nearby. Their severe peanut allergy. My world ended. And Chloe? She shrieked, accusing me of drama. At the hospital, after the doctor confirmed they were gone, she called, furious I' d ruined her evening. Later, she laughed in my face when I told her, believing it was a pathetic manipulation. My children, who loved her unconditionally, were dead because of her cruelty, and she didn't even care. How could a mother be so utterly devoid of humanity? The cremation was quiet, just me, their paternal uncle, and my father-in-law. But a few hours later, I walked into the house to the sounds of my wife having sex with Leo. She saw the urns in my hands and dismissed them as "junk." That was it. My love, my family, my life – all irrevocably destroyed by the woman I married. With Mia's drawing of "our family" clutched in my hand, I signed the divorce papers and began to disappear.

The school admissions office. A new chapter for my son, Leo, a fresh start we hoped for. Then the woman at the desk dropped a bombshell, her voice flat. "Staff Sergeant Mark Johnson already has a child enrolled here." Mark Johnson was my husband, Leo' s father. "His son, Ethan Johnson," she continued, "and his wife, Jessica Johnson, is the emergency contact." Wife? Jessica? The names echoed, cold and sharp, triggering a horrifying flashback. In another life, this exact scenario had already unfolded, leading to an abyss of deceit and despair. I remembered Mark' s smooth lies, his flimsy tales of helping a "hero's widow," forcing Leo to be a whispered secret. Then came the unspeakable: Leo, my sensitive son, vanished from a bus stop. The frantic calls, the police reports, the agonizing silence. Weeks later, a horrifying news item: a child found, badly hurt, "two fingers missing." I never knew if it was Leo. The torturous uncertainty, Mark' s chilling indifference, his brutal concern for his "reputation" over my grief. And finally, the river-cold, dark, an attempted escape from the pain. Now, here I was again, back at the exact start of that soul-crushing nightmare. The same casual dismissal, the same insidious destruction of my life, my son' s future, unfolding again. But then, a surge of icy fury consumed me, hardening my resolve into something unbreakable. This wasn' t a rerun of despair; it was a second chance. This time, there would be no crumbling, no quiet suffering, no drowning. Mark Johnson was going to pay. And I would make sure everyone heard the truth, loud and clear.

My Hamptons wedding to tech mogul Ethan Carter was supposed to be a fairytale, lauded by Page Six and celebrated by all who knew of his apparent devotion. But beneath the dazzling facade, a chilling secret had festered for three years: Ethan’s sordid affair with Instagram influencer Olivia Vance, a truth Olivia herself reveled in exposing through taunting texts, explicit photos, and videos sent directly to my phone. The lies became unbearable. Then, just hours before I was set to walk down the aisle, Ethan appeared on national television with Olivia, publicly announcing their pregnancy. Mere moments later, I witnessed his entire family, his mother included, gathered at a private beach house, cooing over Olivia’s bump and warmly embracing her as the soon-to-be Mrs. Carter. My world tilted. I was a fool, utterly erased. The humiliation felt like swallowing broken glass, a raw, open wound. How could an entire family be complicit in such a brazen betrayal, reducing my life to a grotesque charade? But amidst the agony, a cold, hard resolve solidified within me. This was no longer just about escaping my suffocating gilded cage. This was about making Ethan pay dearly. I confirmed the final details with Mr. Jones. A tragic accident. My death. His utter ruin.

At the age of nineteen, Vicky graduated from high school and her life took a dark turn. She had become his slave, going through such horrors that would leave anyone paralyzed. Steve, the young heir of his family’s vast wealth, was none other than the devil who made her life a living hell. Finally, he got tired of her and set her free. As she thought she got rid of that nightmare, he was the CEO of the company where she worked. Stepping into the devil’s trap again, she wouldn’t surrender easily this time.

Emily, being the designated successor of her multi-million family business, was used to having all eyes on her. However, it all changed in one night when she had caught her fiance cheating on her with her sister. Not only did he left her, but he even laughed at the thought of ever loving someone like her. Everyone had betrayed her that night, and as her sister smashed her skull, Emily found herself dying and moving back to ten years ago. With another chance at life, she would make them all pay. She would stop at nothing to make all their lives a living hell.

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

After the divorce, she became the dream woman everyone longed for. James Ferguson saved Zelda Liamson and always did whatever she asked, making sure she had everything she could ever want. Zelda thought it was true love. After five years of marriage, she realized she was nothing more than his favourite pet, while he was her whole world. Then, the woman James truly loved came back, and Zelda demanded a divorce. James mocked her, saying, " You can't survive without me. What will you do without the Ferguson's name? " But Zelda did run away and never looked back, receiving marriage proposals every day. James lost his mind and returned, begging Zelda, "Please, come back to me. Give me another chance." His eyes were full of love and desperation.

The day Raina gave birth should have been the happiest of her life. Instead, it became her worst nightmare. Moments after delivering their twins, Alexander shattered her heart-divorcing her and forcing her to sign away custody of their son, Liam. With nothing but betrayal and heartbreak to her name, Raina disappeared, raising their daughter, Ava, on her own.Years later, fate comes knocking when Liam falls gravely ill. Desperate to save his son, Alexander is forced to seek out the one person he once cast aside. Alexander finds himself face to face with the woman he underestimated, pleading for a second chance-not just for himself, but for their son. But Raina is no longer the same broken woman who once loved him.No longer the woman he left behind. She has carved out a new life-one built on strength, wealth, and a long-buried legacy she expected to uncover.Raina has spent years learning to live without him.The question is... Will she risk reopening old wounds to save the son she never got to love? or has Alexander lost her forever?

I just got my billionaire husband to sign our divorce papers. He thinks it's another business document. Our marriage was a business transaction. I was his secretary by day, his invisible wife by night. He got a CEO title and a rebellion against his mother; I got the money to save mine. The only rule? Don't fall in love. I broke it. He didn't. So I'm cashing out. Thirty days from now, I'm gone. But now he's noticing me. Touching me. Claiming me. The same man who flaunts his mistresses is suddenly burning down a nightclub because another man insulted me. He says he'll never let me go. But he has no idea I'm already halfway out the door. How far will a billionaire go to keep a wife he never wanted until she tried to leave?

She spent ten years chasing after the right brother, only to fall for the wrong one in one weekend. ~~~ Sloane Mercer has been hopelessly in love with her best friend, Finn Hartley, since college. For ten long years, she's stood by him, stitching him back together every time Delilah Crestfield-his toxic on-and-off girlfriend-shattered his heart. But when Delilah gets engaged to another man, Sloane thinks this might finally be her chance to have Finn for herself. She couldn't be more wrong. Heartbroken and desperate, Finn decides to crash Delilah's wedding and fight for her one last time. And he wants Sloane by his side. Reluctantly, Sloane follows him to Asheville, hoping that being close to Finn will somehow make him see her the way she's always seen him. Everything changes when she meets Knox Hartley, Finn's older brother-a man who couldn't be more different from Finn. He's dangerously magnetic. Knox sees right through Sloane and makes it his mission to pull her into his world. What starts as a game-a twisted bet between them-soon turns into something deeper. Sloane is trapped between two brothers: one who's always broken her heart and another who seems hell-bent on claiming it... no matter the cost. CONTENT WARNING: This story is strongly 18+. It delves into dark romance themes such as obsession and lust with morally complex characters. While this is a love story, reader discretion is advised.  

In the glittering world of high society and cutthroat ambition, a single sentence shatters a marriage: "Let's get a divorce." For three years, Claire Thompson has lived in exile, her marriage to the powerful Nelson Cooper a hollow shell existing only on paper. Shipped abroad on her wedding day and utterly forgotten, she returns only to be handed divorce papers. But Claire is no longer the timid, heartbroken girl she once was. Behind her quiet facade lies a woman transformed, secretly rejoicing at her newfound freedom. However, freedom comes with a price. As Claire signs the papers with relief, a chilling phone call reveals a dark truth: the threats she faced overseas were no accident, and the trail leads shockingly close to home-to the family that raised her and the husband who discarded her. Just as she prepares to sever all ties, a twist of fate pulls her back into the gilded cage. Nelson, for reasons unknown, suddenly stalls the divorce. Meanwhile, the family that disowned her and the fragile, manipulative sister who stole her life are determined to ruin her reputation and drive her out for good. But Claire is playing a different game now. With a mysterious new identity, powerful allies, and secrets of her own, she is no one's pawn. As hidden truths unravel and loyalties are tested, a stunning question emerges: In this high-stakes battle of love, betrayal, and revenge, who is truly trapping whom?

"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.

I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant. But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over. "Sign it," He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise. I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth. "It's just cramps," I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could. Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus. Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down. He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.

Camille Lewis was the forgotten daughter, the unloved wife, the woman discarded like yesterday's news. Betrayed by her husband, cast aside by her own family, and left for dead by the sister who stole everything, she vanished without a trace. But the weak, naive Camille died the night her car was forced off that bridge. A year later, she returns as Camille Kane, richer, colder, and more powerful than anyone could have imagined. Armed with wealth, intelligence, and a hunger for vengeance, she is no longer the woman they once trampled on. She is the storm that will tear their world apart. Her ex-husband begs for forgiveness. Her sister's perfect life crumbles. Her parents regret the daughter they cast aside. But Camille didn't come back for apologies, she came back to watch them burn. But as her enemies fall at her feet, one question remains: when the revenge is over, what's left? A mysterious trillionaire Alexander Pierce steps into her path, offering something she thought she lost forever, a future. But can a woman built on ashes learn to love again? She rose from the fire to destroy those who betrayed her. Now, she must decide if she'll rule alone... or let someone melt the ice in her heart.

I was at my own engagement party at the Sterling estate when the world started tilting. Victoria Sterling, my future mother-in-law, smiled coldly as she watched me struggle with a cup of tea that had been drugged to ruin me. Before I could find my fiancé, Ryan, a waiter dragged me into the forbidden West Wing and locked me in a room with Julian Sterling, the family’s "fallen titan" who had been confined to a wheelchair for years. The door burst open to a frenzy of camera flashes and theatrical screams. Victoria framed me as a seductress caught in the act, and Ryan didn't even try to listen to my pleas, calling me "cheap leftovers" before walking away with his pregnant mistress. When I turned to my own family for help, my father signed a document severing our relationship for a five-million-dollar payout from Julian. They traded me like a commodity without a second thought. I didn't understand why my own parents were so eager to sell me, or how Ryan could look at me with such disgust after promising me forever. I was a sacrifice, a pawn used to protect the family's offshore accounts, and I couldn't fathom how every person I loved had a price tag for my destruction. With nowhere left to go, I married Julian in a bleak ceremony at City Hall. He slid a heavy diamond onto my finger and whispered, "We have a war to start." That night, inside his secret penthouse, I watched the paralyzed man stand up from his wheelchair and activate a screen filled with the Sterling family's darkest secrets. The execution had officially begun.