Yue Manshuang

I thought my best friend Mila and my lover Preston were my only salvation from Essex Langley, the ruthless billionaire who kept me caged in his estate. I trusted them blindly when they planned my grand escape. But it was all a cruel setup. Mila deliberately leaked the plan to Essex's guards to win his favor, and Preston only wanted my family's shares to pay off his massive debts. When we were caught in the rose garden, Preston shoved me toward the guards and ran for his life. "You're insane if you think I actually loved a freak like you!" I was dragged back into the manor, my ribs cracking under heavy boots. I bled out on the freezing marble floor, staring into Essex’s unhinged, mad eyes as I took my last agonizing breath. Until the moment I died, I couldn't accept it. I had ruined my own life, adopting a hideous punk look with fake tattoos and piercings just to make Essex hate me, all for two people who saw me as nothing but a sacrificial lamb. Why was my blind rebellion rewarded with such a brutal betrayal? Opening my eyes again, the white-hot pain was gone. I was back in the freezing bedroom on my eighteenth birthday, the very night Mila would come to orchestrate my ruin. I looked at the rebellious, smudged stranger in the mirror. This time, I calmly washed off the black makeup, took out my lip ring, and put on a pristine white dress. If fighting the devil got me killed, then in this life, I would tame him and make them all pay.

Arden woke up hoping last night's intimacy meant her crumbling four-year marriage was finally healing. Instead, Federico tossed a thick divorce agreement onto the bed. He coldly accused her of thinking about his brother and announced his perfect ex-girlfriend, Brooklyn, was returning. To force her signature, the trust fund keeping Arden's mother alive on life support was suddenly frozen. Federico then kicked Arden out of the master suite, banishing her to a windowless, musty maid's room. When Brooklyn later faked a car crash to play the victim, Federico didn't hesitate to blame Arden. He kicked down her door, hauled her up by the collar while she was burning with a severe fever, and threw photos at her face. The sharp edges sliced her cheek, leaving a trail of blood. "If you ever touch a single hair on Brooklyn's head again, I will personally bankrupt your family." Arden stared at the man she had loved since she was fourteen. He actually believed she was a jealous, calculating murderer. The sheer, bottomless malice in his eyes shattered the last pathetic ember of hope she had left. Wiping the blood from her cheek, Arden swallowed a handful of fever pills dry. Love was dead, and she was done begging. She put on her sharpest black suit, painted her lips a bold red, and marched straight into his company's executive boardroom to take back her life.

For three years, I was the dutiful wife of billionaire Ervin Valdez. On our third wedding anniversary, he came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, pinned me down, and brutally mocked me. His mistress, Sylvia, had even sent me a fake ultrasound report to force me out of the picture. In Ervin's eyes, I was just a vicious, calculating liar who used a pregnancy to trap him into marriage. He didn't care that I had actually lost that baby, nor did he know the trauma of my gambling father selling me to a dark club where I was assaulted by a stranger. When I finally handed him the signed divorce papers, giving up all assets, and left the penthouse with nothing but an old suitcase, he just sneered. "She is playing a game of hard to get. She won't last three days before she comes crying back." He froze all my bank accounts, let his mistress humiliate me in public, and waited coldly for me to starve and beg. He thought my entire existence relied on his wealth, completely confident that I would inevitably surrender to his control. But he was wrong. I calmly opened my old laptop, bypassed the complex encryptions, and looked at the dozens of unread emails from top-tier global brands begging for my return. I resurrected my hidden identity as the legendary jewelry designer "R," and walked straight into the top design firm in Manhattan. "It is time to find myself again."

After the accident that took my parents and stole my sight, my childhood friend Leo swore he would be my eyes. For years, I believed him, my dark world revolving around the boy who described every ray of sunlight for me. I was even undergoing a risky, experimental surgery to restore my vision, just for him. Then, I saw the truth with my own eyes. On his phone screen, I was just the "little blind girl" he had to take care of, a burden he was tired of carrying. The cruelty didn't stop. He let his new flame publicly humiliate me, and when she faked an injury, he forced me to apologize for a "carelessness" that never happened. The final betrayal came in a dark sea cave. He abandoned me to the rising tide and the pitch-black darkness, leaving me to face the same terror that had once consumed my entire world. He chose her. He broke his promise. He broke me. So I left. I found my own vision, my own strength. Three years later, I returned for my first solo art exhibition, and when I saw his face in the crowd, I knew he was about to see everything he had forced me to be blind to.

For three years, I was Colton’s hands and feet. I wiped the sweat from his brow and taught him to walk again after the accident that nearly killed him. He promised me a future. But the moment his ex-girlfriend, Charlie, returned from Paris, I became nothing. "She was just the crutch I needed to walk to you," I heard him tell her. At his recovery party, Charlie shattered his late father’s cherished wooden puzzle box and blamed me. She shrieked that I had poisoned her soup out of jealousy. Colton didn't hesitate. He didn't check the security footage. He didn't ask for the truth. He gripped my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks, and forced the scalding broth down my throat. "Eat it! Prove you're not crazy!" He roared while I choked on blood and blisters, the hot liquid searing my skin. He chose the woman who abandoned him over the woman who saved his life. I took the severance check, deleted every photo, and vanished into the night. Six months later, I was accepting an award for my new rehabilitation clinic in Australia, wearing a diamond ring given to me by a man who treats my scars like gold. Colton stood in the back of the auditorium, looking like a ghost. He had finally discovered that Charlie was a fraud who faked her "spiritual journey" to get illegal plastic surgery. He came to beg for forgiveness. But when our eyes met, I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel love. I turned my back on him and walked into the light.

Tomorrow was the grand opening of my dream restaurant, "Aura," a place I'd poured my life and soul into. As I stood there, taking it all in with my girlfriend and business partner, Sarah, a man from the Department of Health showed up for a "surprise inspection" based on an "anonymous tip." My blood ran cold when he walked directly to the walk-in, pulling out rancid meat and a dead rat from a container I' d never seen. Within an hour, my restaurant was padlocked, and the next morning, my face was plastered across every news site, branding me a "Chef's Dream Restaurant a Health Hazard." My 15 years of relentless work were instantly ruined. I stumbled home, desperate for Sarah' s comfort, only to find her on the phone, her back to me, whispering, "It went perfectly, Mark. Better than we could have hoped." My culinary rival, Mark Davies. My heart stopped as she continued, "He completely fell apart. He looked like a kicked puppy." Then the chilling revelation: "The money is safe. I moved the last of it this morning. He never even checked the accounts. He trusted me completely." She had embezzled everything, justifying it as a "mercy killing" for my career. The betrayal was a physical blow. The world tilted, and I fell, hitting my head, the last thing I saw Sarah' s cold annoyance. I woke up in a hospital, two days later, to news that my license was permanently revoked. My life, my name, my future – all gone. They thought I was weak, finished. They had killed Ethan Miller, the chef. But a ghost could do things a living man couldn' t. A plan, desperate and insane, began to form. I reached for the phone, dialing a number I hadn' t called in years. "Chef Dubois," I whispered. "It's Ethan. I need your help. I need to disappear."

The light hit me, sharp and clear, after five years of living in a blurry world. My sight was back, a miracle spurred by my pregnancy. But the miracle quickly turned to horror when I returned home from the doctor's. I saw my husband, Liam, on a news channel, announcing his engagement to another pregnant woman named Chloe, and proudly stating he was divorcing me-his "blind wife." I watched in daze as he treated Chloe with tenderness I' d never seen, even feeding her the special nutritional soup our housekeeper made for me. That same night, suffering from intense pain, I reached out to him, but he coldly dismissed it as "just pregnancy cramps," preferring to text Chloe next to me. Later, I found him kissing Chloe, their voices drifting, revealing his contempt: "She's blind and deaf to the world, Chloe. She only knows what I want her to know." The contempt, the betrayal, and the public humiliation scorched through me, leaving nothing but a vast, empty void. How could the man I loved, the man I sacrificed my sight for, be such a cruel, selfish stranger? I knew then what I had to do. I would play their game, be the foolish wife, until my baby was safe. Then, I would leave, and he would finally see who he had truly lost.

It was my birthday, and my stepsister, Tiffany Stone, stood before me, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. In her hands, she held my mother' s cherished vintage record, the last thing I had left of her. Then, with a sharp, deliberate motion, she shattered it on the marble floor, stomping on our mother' s smiling face. That night, they came for me-a black van, no license plates. They dragged me from my bed to an abandoned warehouse, smashing my hands and feet with a cold metal pipe. Then came the gasoline, poured over me as I screamed. My therapist, Dr. Ethan Sterling, the only person I trusted, had given me a distress beacon, but as I reached for it, I heard his voice over a walkie-talkie: "Keep her alive, but don' t actually kill her." My blood ran cold, hope replaced by an abyss of despair. I woke up in the hospital, and Ethan sat by my bedside, a mask of concern. But before I could speak, my father stormed in, slapping me and accusing me of faking my kidnapping for attention. Tiffany, my stepmother, and my half-brother joined in, a united front of accusation. Ethan then forced me to my knees, instructing me to apologize. My heart shattered. Back home, I overheard Ethan and Tiffany, him comforting her for being "shaken" by "what happened." I found out my mother's irreplaceable necklace was up for auction. At the auction, I tried to buy it back, but Ethan outbid me, then publicly proposed to Tiffany, who promptly shattered the necklace and then shoved me down a grand staircase. I lay there, bleeding, as Ethan turned his back to comfort Tiffany. I knew they would never see me, never believe me. Why did he betray me? What did I do to deserve this endless torment from the people who were supposed to protect me? How could the man who promised to save me be the one orchestrating my downfall? My world didn' t just collapse. It ceased to exist. On the night of Tiffany' s fashion show, after being further humiliated by my family, I disowned them all, including Ethan, and, drawing a dagger, plunged it into my own chest, staging my death.

My life was a carefully constructed ballet of order and purpose. As an ER doctor, I thrived in controlled chaos, with a loving husband, Mark, a rising star in the police force, and a seemingly ordinary life. Then, one volunteering shift at a free clinic shattered everything. I was brutally attacked, injected with a mysterious virus, my very being violated by a gang. But the real horror began when I discovered the footage-a humiliating video of my assault, captured and uploaded by my own stepson, Kevin. My career, my reputation, everything I had built, crumbled overnight, reduced to internet fodder. How could this happen? Why would Kevin, the boy I tried to love, betray me so cruelly? The pain was a physical ache, deepened by the bizarre, almost theatrical sympathy from Mark, who swore he' d find my attackers. The truth unfurled with sickening clarity: it wasn't random violence. Mark had orchestrated my assault, weaponizing a virus and manipulating his son to pave the way for his ex-wife, Sarah, to return. My loving husband had tried to erase me. The call to my former mentor at the FBI, Dr. O' Connell, was my only hope.

My life at Johns Vineyards, one of Napa Valley' s most prestigious wineries, was perfect. I was the 25-year-old VP of Operations, dating my boyfriend of eight years, Anthony, and living the legacy I'd been raised for. Then, a new field hand, Sabrina Chavez, walked in, casually mocking my simple choice of wine. Soon after, I found a discarded condom in our family picnic area, a disgusting violation. Storming towards Anthony's office to vent, I stumbled upon a scene that froze me: Sabrina, in a revealing top, flirting brazenly with Anthony, who was flustered and complicit. His pathetic excuses, her deliberate "trip" into his arms, and a button conveniently popping open, confirmed my worst fear: a betrayal happening right before my eyes. The disgust choked me, but the real shock came when he chugged non-potable water, only for unedited CCTV footage to pop up showing him and Sabrina in a tool shed, their vile secret exposed. Instantly, Anthony dropped his act, wrapping his arm around Sabrina, snarling that she was the "real" heiress, the one who "deserved" my life. My world shattered. How could the man I loved turn on me so viciously, siding with a stranger who claimed my identity? Amidst a dramatic board meeting and a public birthday humiliation orchestrated by Sabrina, aided by Anthony, I felt utterly alone and betrayed. But just when all seemed lost, my brother Andrew, who had flown in, held crucial evidence: the full hospital security footage from my birth. He looked at the screen, a forgotten memory surfacing, and pointed at a tiny figure. "I remember this," he whispered, his eyes widening. "I followed that nurse. She took my baby sister, Gabby, into that little dark room. I was worried she' d be scared of the dark." He unknowingly corrected the swap, ensuring my place in the family. The truth was out, changing everything.

For ten years, I was the picture of a devoted husband, building a life with Chloe in our comfortable Bellevue home. My life felt stable, successful, exactly what her image-conscious parents approved of for their daughter. Then came the news: Leo, Chloe' s tumultuous musician ex, had died. A drug overdose, labeled suicide. Days later, my wife, my Chloe, drove her car straight off the Deception Pass Bridge. Grief-stricken, clearing out her laptop, I stumbled upon a password-protected blog. "Leo1998." Inside, ten years of her raw thoughts: "I married Ethan today... They just gave me a life sentence with his shadow." Another entry: "I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming... I felt so disgusted afterward I scrubbed my skin raw." My heart, already broken, shattered into a million pieces. The woman I adored had spent a decade despising my every touch, every act of love, pretending I was another man. My entire existence was a lie. The words burned through me: disgust, resentment, pity. My world collapsed beneath the weight of her betrayal. How could my decade of unwavering dedication, my honest love, have been nothing more than a painful charade for her? The sheer, pointless waste of it all. Then, darkness. But instead of an ending, I jolted awake to the smell of stale coffee, in my old college dorm. My phone buzzed: a text from Chloe. The date: September 15, 2014. Ten years in the past. The day of our first official date. This time, I knew the cost of playing her fool. This time, I would write my own story.

For ten years, I was Sarah, the billionaire tech mogul Alex Thorne’s secret girlfriend, a ghost hidden away while he built his empire. I toiled in his marketing department, hoping one day he'd make us public. But then my father, my only family, was dying, needing a treatment I couldn’t afford. Alex wouldn't see me, not even for an emergency, and my father died waiting. Heartbroken, I went to his penthouse to collect my things, only to find his icy COO, Jessica, lounging on his bed, wearing my silk robe. Alex emerged, unfazed, then Jessica smirked, confessing she’d methodically sabotaged my career for a decade, suppressing my pay, blocking my promotions. To my horror, Alex dismissed my ten years with him as a mere “transaction,” calling me a "liability" and siding with the woman who gleefully admitted destroying my life. The man I loved, the man who could've saved my father with pocket change, had allowed this calculated cruelty to unfold. How could my loyalty and love be so profoundly worthless to him? But a quiet strength surged. I raged, not about his money, but his fraud, his betrayal of a decade of my life. Then, a surprising proposal from my childhood friend, David, offered a lifeline. I quit, and with a defiant click, posted my wedding invitation, marrying David in seven days, announcing a true new chapter to Alex's entire company. They threatened, slandered, but I was done being quiet; I had my own truth to tell, a new life to build, and this time, it was all mine.

Mary had been selected on the recommendation of her adopted brother for a modeling assignment for an advertisement. However, it so happened that the CEO of that company was the man she had been trying to avoid for many years --- Marts. The day she broke up with him, he issued her a threat. His words sent a shiver down her spine. When they met again, he still had no resistance to her. Love mixed with hatred, he still chose to avenge himself. To get her back, he set up numerous traps, waiting for his prey to fall into them one by one.

For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties. But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom. Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot. Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years. "You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic." My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support. They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets. I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life. But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree. Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate. When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block.

For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett. Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid. When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives. "Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself." I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together. Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company. He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life. He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire. I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer. "Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant."

Rain lashed against the twisted metal as Hallie lay pinned in the wreckage of her car, her chest crushed and fading fast. The paramedic found her phone and desperately dialed her husband, Aidan. "Your wife has been in a severe car crash! We're losing her!" the paramedic shouted over the storm. A harsh, mocking laugh came through the speaker. "Tell her this is a pathetic way to stop the divorce," Aidan sneered. "I do not have time for her crazy games." The line went dead, and Hallie's heart flatlined. Separated from her body, Hallie's ghost was forced to witness the horrific aftermath of her own death. Her mother refused to claim her corpse because there was no insurance payout, telling the hospital to throw her in a ditch. Pulled back to her penthouse, she found Aidan gently holding her sister, Cecile. Cecile sobbed about Hallie's "fake crash" in Aidan's arms, but the moment he looked away, a wicked smirk of victory spread across her face. Cecile was the predator, and Aidan was her willing protector. He even ordered Hallie's brilliant, life's-work sketchbook to be thrown into an industrial shredder, giving all her corporate resources to fund Cecile's debut. Hovering in the cold air, Hallie watched her three years of devotion turn to ash. She was treated like garbage, a mere stepping stone for her sister's rise. But just as her soul turned to ice, Aidan's face suddenly grew paranoid. "Check her medical records," Aidan ordered his assistant coldly. "Find out who is helping her fake this injury." Hallie's invisible spirit shivered with a dark, vengeful anticipation. What would her arrogant husband do when his relentless digging finally uncovered her cold, dead body?

For two years, Clementine played the perfectly obedient wife to billionaire Donovan Bray, wearing his heavy diamonds and enduring his cold indifference. Until she accidentally saw his tablet and discovered she was just a "collateral asset"—a cheap lookalike prop hired to make his ex-girlfriend, Gisela, jealous. When Gisela returned to New York, Donovan's mask completely slipped. During a vicious argument where he mocked Clementine as a pathetic shadow, he grabbed her, causing her to fall down a flight of marble stairs. Waking up in the hospital, Clementine learned she had miscarried a six-week-old baby she didn't even know she had. But what truly shattered her was hearing Donovan's voice through the cracked hospital door. "It changes nothing." He coldly lied to his friend that the fall had caused permanent infertility. "It was probably for the best." He had killed her unborn child and casually dismissed her worth, truly believing she was a penniless nobody who would suffer his abuse in silence. He thought he held all the power, leaving her broken and discarded for his true love. What Donovan didn't know was that his fragile, dependent wife was secretly "C.", the billionaire genius behind Aurelian, the world's most exclusive luxury jewelry empire. Lying in the sterile room, Clementine dried her tears, filed for a ruthless divorce, and permanently froze his supplementary black card. It was time to show him who really held the strings.

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.

The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting. "Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes." Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind. I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack. Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba. How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow? When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE. "Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me."

I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart. But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage. When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway. He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop. At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me. They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond. When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue. "Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?" He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests. Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died. To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around. I didn't cry, and I didn't beg. I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival. It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground.

To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears. After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms. "You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive. Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it. When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her? All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss. When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply. "Call her Aunt."

After spending a night with a strange man on the day before her wedding, Arianna left the country to start her life afresh. The 22-year-old Arianna Jason lived her life pleasing those she loved the most, without knowing that she was simply a prey being nurtured for the day of her ruin. Her life has tasted the butter pill of betrayal. She wants to give back to the world what she's got but how can she change her good, innocent personality to fit into a cruel society and world? Can her sweet nature be contaminated, or will she make it through, paddling on the right path?

In the previous life, Maggie Johnson was so cowardly, gullible and stupid that she was coaxed by her fiance and stepsister and then broke her legs and lost everything including her fortune, love and even life. However, she was so lucky that she was reborn in the year before everything happened. Since her life restarted, how could she repeat a previous tragedy? Therefore, in this life, she took the opportunity to improve herself and take revenge on the ones who had ever insulted her. Facing the people who had humiliated her previously, she became smart and experienced to break their frames and tricks that had caused her to hurt in the previous life. Finally, no one could stop her pace to amaze the world any more.