Yi Ye

After five years of a cold, empty marriage to tech titan Arlo Hatfield, I tricked him into signing our divorce papers, disguised as a grant application for my astrophysics fellowship in Chile. Just as my escape was within reach, I discovered I was pregnant. At the same time, I found Arlo doting on his childhood sweetheart, Brielle, who was faking her own pregnancy to win him over. In the hospital, suffering from a real pregnancy complication, I watched as Arlo rushed to Brielle' s side, completely ignoring my pain. He was so blinded by her lies that he didn't even realize I was carrying his child, assuming I'd just had a minor stomach flu. "Corinne, darling, are you alright?" Brielle cooed, her eyes glinting with victory. "Arlo and I just got the most wonderful news. Our little one is doing so well." He never even looked back at me. I saw the truth then: I was invisible to him, and so was our child. His world was built on power and lies, and there was no place for us in it. So I fled. I took our baby and disappeared to Chile, building a new life among the stars, far from his suffocating shadow. I thought I had finally escaped. Years later, after a catastrophic earthquake, he found me. Bruised, broken, and desperate, he begged for forgiveness. "I didn't know," he pleaded. I looked at the man who had shattered my world and held our child closer. "You didn't care to know," I said, my voice as cold as the space between galaxies. "And now, you've lost everything."

Allie Mclean secretly booked a sensory-friendly movie screening for her autistic brother, Devon, a rare act of defiance against her controlling fiancé, Griffin Ryan. Griffin, a powerful real estate heir, found out and retaliated by remotely torturing Devon with strobe lights and discordant screeches, forcing Allie to watch her brother' s terror. He held her captive, making her witness Devon' s agony, all because his new obsession, an intern named Kassie, claimed Allie had given her a "funny look." The cruelty escalated, always tied to Kassie' s whims. If Kassie complained, Devon suffered. When Kassie feigned a car accident, Griffin forced Allie, who was anemic, to donate blood for Kassie, only to have it discarded. Allie' s world shattered. She realized Griffin saw Devon as a weapon and her as a disposable possession. The final blow came when Griffin, at Kassie' s false accusation, brutally killed Allie' s beloved horse, Starlight, right in front of her. This monstrous act ignited a cold, clear rage within Allie, pushing her to her breaking point. She knew she had to escape, not just for herself, but for Devon.

For three years, I was a substitute for my twin sister, married to the powerful Donovan Blackwood. It was a contract. My payment for enduring his coldness was fifty million dollars and my freedom. But my husband had a woman he truly loved, Chloe Sanders. At her request, he pushed me into the freezing ocean. When we both fell from a yacht, he screamed for the rescuers to save her first, leaving me to drown. He even traded me to a torturer to get her back. Through it all, I endured. Not for love, but for the money. He mistook my silence for devotion, my endurance for love. He never realized that every cruel act didn't break my heart, it just ticked down the clock on my sentence. Now, the contract is over. The fifty million dollars is in my account. I left the wedding ring on his pillow and walked away without a backward glance. I thought it was the end. But I underestimated his obsession. He's just now realizing the truth, and he's coming for me. He thinks he can apologize. He thinks he can get me back.

I remembered the day Liam Hayes proposed, his eyes full of sincerity, promising to love me more than life itself. Three years later, that world collapsed around me in a damp, abandoned warehouse. "Choose, Liam. Your wife or your childhood sweetheart," the man with the gun said, his voice flat and bored. Liam stood, caught between me, tied to a chair, and a weeping Olivia White. I watched silently as he untied Olivia, his whispered "I'm sorry" a physical blow. He walked her out, his back to me, leaving me bound. Just as tears broke through my carefully maintained calm, the kidnapper cut my ropes, telling me he wasn't a murderer, just a man who believed in consequences. He looked me in the eye. "For what it's worth, he's an idiot." My heart was a hollow, aching void. I had survived, but what was left? My husband had walked away, choosing another. Then, the police swarmed in, and Liam was there, rushing back, pulling me into a suffocating embrace. He said he was sorry, that he was here. But I felt nothing. I woke in a hospital, Olivia by my side, Liam fussing over her. He even blamed me for being out late. The final blow came when I found out Olivia was pregnant with his child, after years of my own struggles with infertility, and his mother shrieked that I was "barren." The injustice was a cold, hard knot in my stomach. How could love turn into this betrayal? Why was I, his wife, continually abandoned for a shadow from his past? Was this all a twisted joke? Then, the ultimate cosmic joke: I discovered I was pregnant with Liam's child. I confronted him, giving him a final, brutal choice: "My baby, or her baby. You can only have one." He chose her. I walked away, no longer needing anything from him, ready to build a life free from his choices and his chaos.

The scholarship trophy, the culmination of years of relentless effort, was almost in my grasp. Then the world tipped sideways, and Madison' s tear-streaked face appeared, her trembling finger pointing directly at me. "She cheated," her voice echoed, accusing me of plagiarism in front of the entire faculty and student body. That was the final blow in the ruthless campaign Madison, my seemingly innocent roommate, had waged against me ever since we moved in. She' d subtly undermined my grades, isolated me from friends with "worried" lies about my sanity, and now, she' d orchestrated the destruction of my future. Expelled, my name dragged through the mud, the shame a suffocating weight-I ended it all on a cold, rainy night, unable to bear the torment. But then, a sharp poke jolted me awake. "Chloe? Are you awake?" Madison stood over me, holding a textbook, wearing that same vacant, innocent look I once fell for. Professor Miller' s class. This was it. The very beginning of her calculated destruction. Rage, pure and blinding, surged through me. I snatched the textbook from her, tossed it, and pulled the covers over my head, my voice flat, "Figure it out yourself." The silence that followed was deafening. She was confused. I had a second chance. And this time, I wasn't just going to survive. I was going to make Madison pay for every single tear.

The lingering smell of lilies and expensive cologne wasn't what I expected on my wedding day, not after the reek of gasoline and burning flesh that had been my last memory. My thirty-year marriage to Olivia ended in a blaze, not of passion, but of pure, unadulterated hatred, as she and our son watched me burn alive in my hospital bed. "Alex and I could have lived happily ever after!" Olivia shrieked, her face a mask of venom. "James isn' t your son. You were just the pathetic fool who paid for everything!" Then she dropped the lighter. The world erupted in agony, a searing pain consuming every nerve. Why? That was my last thought as I watched them walk away, their silhouettes framed by the flames devouring me. Then a violent jolt. The pain was gone. I was standing, healthy, in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, staring at my thirty-years-younger self in a gilded mirror. It was my wedding night. I was alive, I was young, and I was back at the very beginning of the nightmare. Olivia' s frantic voice pierced the air, "Alex, no! Don' t do this!" Alex Peterson – her childhood sweetheart, the name now echoing with the fresh horror of her final confession. When she saw me, her face contorted. "This is your fault! If you hadn' t forced this wedding, he wouldn' t be threatening to jump from a cliff!" Mr. Sterling, the man I had revered my entire life, urged me to proceed. "You are the future of this company." His words once meant everything, now they felt hollow, part of a gilded cage. SLAP! Her hand across my face, "You' re nothing. Just the charity case my father pitied." I remembered it all: the thirty years of misery, her crushing remarks, her coldness, the son who looked at me with a stranger' s eyes. I had poured my life into his company, paid my debt with my work, my love, and finally, my death. Never again. The organ music began. I stood at the altar, looked at Olivia, then at Mr. Sterling. I thought of the fire, the betrayal. My voice clear and steady, ringing through the silent church, I said, "No."

The state trooper's words hung heavy in my living room: "Ms. Johns, your parents are dead." For twenty years, I'd worn the cloak of grief silently, sacrificing everything to raise my baby sister, Stella. I watched my savings turn into her Wall Street fortune, celebrated her success, and then I saw them. Barney and Debra, my "dead" parents, alive and smiling, introducing my sister Stella to their "true son," Wesley. They casually revealed the baby swap, abandoning me as a mere tool, meant for a life of luxury with their golden child. My world shattered as Stella, my everything, stood by silently while I was dragged away, left for dead in a dark alley. The cold metal pressed against my head; the last thing I saw was Stella turning back to the party. Now, the trooper stood before me again, delivering the same news, but this time, the baby crying in the next room was Gabrielle, my real sister. This time, my stomach didn't churn with grief, but with unyielding rage. I let a single, calculated tear roll down my cheek, a perfect performance. "My parents… oh god, my parents…" I whispered, ready to reclaim everything they stole.

Eighteen years. That's how long I'd waited, meticulously planning for this very day, this graduation party for "Alex Miller." Everyone believed he was my charming brother-in-law, but he was my biological son, Ethan. My deepest devotion, all my secret resources, had gone to him. Suddenly, a storm erupted. Patricia's son, the one she'd swapped into my arms eighteen years ago, stomped to the center, phone broadcasting live. He pointed at me, screaming, "This woman, Sarah Jenkins, my mother, is a monster! She treats me like dirt while lavishing attention on him! She's obsessed with her brother-in-law!" He displayed incriminating photos and edited videos, portraying me as unnatural and sick. The air crackled with venom. The crowd gasped, their murmurs growing into open condemnation. "Disgusting!" "Sicko!" My husband, Mark, his face a mask of shame and fury, believed the lies, hissing, "We're done! I want a divorce!" He looked at me with utter contempt. My son, the true Ethan, rushed to my side, desperately trying to defend me, but his words were drowned in the tide of accusations. They believed they had cornered me, stripped me of everything, dragging my name through the mud for perceived perversions. They thought I was broken, a delusional woman caught in her twisted obsession. The injustice was palpable, the public outcry deafening. But they had no idea. How could a woman endure such public humiliation, such vile accusations, yet remain perfectly, chillingly calm? Then, the estate lawyer for the $500,000 trust arrived, ready to release the funds to "Ethan Miller." Patricia and her son beamed, confident in their victory. My moment had come. I met the lawyer's gaze, my voice steady amidst the chaos. "No," I said, the single word silencing the crowd. "I will not consent for him to receive that money. Because he is not my biological son." The true show was about to begin.

Finally, after battling postpartum depression, Sarah' s one-year-old daughter, Lily, was coming home. She clutched her grandmother' s vintage Chanel jacket, a fragile symbol of hope, despite her cold, transactional marriage to the wealthy Mark. But at Mark' s estate, his ex-girlfriend Tiffany-Lily' s temporary guardian-wore an identical jacket, her eyes filled with cruel malice. Tiffany immediately ordered Lily locked in the attic playroom, a sweltering room with a faulty window. Sarah' s desperate pleas were ignored. Her call to Mark, detailing the danger, was met with his cold dismissal: "hysterical." Bursting into the attic, Sarah found the window wide open. Lily was gone, her tiny, broken body on the patio below. As Sarah cradled her lifeless child, Mark arrived, emotionless. He called it "a mess," then chillingly offered to have Tiffany conceive another child for Sarah, treating Lily as utterly replaceable. This ultimate, heartless betrayal ignited a glacial resolve within Sarah. Grief transformed into unyielding strength. Sarah gently laid Lily down, called Mark's mother, and declared their "sham marriage" over, her family' s debt paid. She then walked away, leaving the wreckage behind, finally free.

The pain was a memory, sharp and final, then nothing. Now, air filled my lungs in a gasping shock, and I was back in my old, small bedroom. Sunlight, the same damn sunlight from that cursed morning, streamed through the window, my paramedic uniform folded on the chair. I was plunged back into the day Victoria Belmont, the woman I married, first entered my life. In my previous existence, she and her lover, Dylan Vance, had revealed it was all a lie: she claimed she was never sick, that my family's "Healing Aura" was a sham, and that my mother and I conspired to fake her illness to trap her in marriage. They tortured me until I was nothing, then left me to die in a desolate wasteland. The aftermath ripped through my innocent family: my dad' s hardware store bankrupted, my kind mother, Maria, driven to madness. I learned too late that Sarah Miller, a quiet librarian, was my true savior, not the manipulative Belmonts. The raw agony of betrayal, the humiliation, the sheer injustice of my family's ruin-it was a horror that had followed me even into death. How could I have been so utterly blind to the monsters masked by wealth and charm? But now, I was whole. I was back. And when the familiar knock echoed from downstairs-"Ethan, dear, Mrs. Belmont is here to see you"-I steeled myself. Her voice, not yet broken by grief, sounded like a death knell for their future. This time, I' d write a different ending.

My 40th birthday party shimmered with the illusion of my perfect life: a tech mogul husband I'd bankrolled, two bright kids, and a brownstone nestled in Boston's elite Beacon Hill, proof of the American dream I'd painstakingly built. I had poured my entire inheritance and every family connection into Ethan, transforming him from a struggling nobody into a powerful industry darling. But the champagne he handed me, meant to toast four decades of life, instead delivered a searing, agonizing pain, the very taste of betrayal meant to end it. Through blurring eyes, I watched in horror as he stared dispassionately, his mistress Chloe smirking beside him, and heard my own children coldly echo their chilling words, condemning me as "embarrassing" as darkness consumed everything. My world dissolved not just into black, but into the hollow echo of a life stolen by the very hands I trusted most. How could the family I cherished, the man I sacrificed everything for, orchestrate such a calculated demise, reducing me to nothing but an obstacle in their path? The unbearable burn of the poison paled in comparison to the scorching agony of their heartless betrayal. Then, light, and the familiar scent of old books in my ancestral home. My great-uncle Finn offered me a choice: a quiet life, or the sacred, ancient power of an Oath Guardian. In my last life, I chose peace for Ethan; this time, reborn with a terrifying clarity, I chose power and vengeance, accepting the trials that would transform me into Liam, ready to exact a cold, precise retribution.

Lancy, a daughter of a wealthy family, is sold to an agent organization. During a mission, she is seriously injured and lost her consciousness. Years later she wakes up, unexpectedly finding that she has boy/girl twins. Her six-year-old boy is smart, with excellent business thinking; the girl is good at martial arts. Lancy cannot figure out what had happened during the past years and who is the father of the twins. But she doesn’t bother with that at all. Actually, she decides to live freely and happily in the world with her lovely twins. Then, she meets him, who asks her to be his personal secretary.

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost. Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal. This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline. I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war.

Her sister is marrying her ex. So she brings her best friend as her fake fiancé. What could possibly go wrong? Savannah Hart thought she was over Dean Archer-until her sister, Chloe announces she's marrying him. The same man Savannah never stopped loving. The man who left her heartbroken... and now belongs to her sister. A weeklong wedding in New Hope. One mansion full of guests. And a very bitter maid of honor. To survive it, Savannah brings a date-her charming, clean-cut best friend, Roman Blackwood. The one man who's always had her back. He owes her a favor, and pretending to be her fiancé? Easy. Until fake kisses start to feel real. Now Savannah's torn between keeping up the act... or risking everything for the one man she was never supposed to fall for.

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.

Zane and I were together for ten years. When he had no one, I stayed by his side, supporting his hockey career while believing at the end of all our struggles, I'll be his wife and the only one at his side. But after six years of dating, and four years of being his fiancée, not only did he leave me, but seven months later I receive an invitation... to his wedding! If that isn't bad enough, the month long wedding cruise is for couples only and requires a plus one. If Zane thinks breaking my heart left me too miserable to move on, he thought wrong! Not only did it make me stronger.. it made me strong enough to move on with his favourite bad boy hockey player, Liam Calloway.