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The day my husband, a Mafia Underboss, told me I was genetically unfit to carry his heir, he brought home my replacement—a surrogate with my eyes and a working womb. He called her a "vessel" but paraded her as his mistress, abandoning me while I bled on the floor at a party to protect her and planning their secret future in the villa he once promised me. But in our world, wives don't just walk away—they disappear, and I decided to orchestrate my own vanishing act, leaving him to the ruin he so carefully built for himself.

The moment I saw my husband massaging his dead brother’s pregnant mistress’s feet, I knew my marriage was over. He moved her into our home under the guise of “family duty,” forcing me to watch as he prioritized her comfort over our vows. The final betrayal came when she stole and deliberately broke my mother’s priceless necklace. When I slapped her for the desecration, my husband struck me across the face to defend her. He had violated a sacred honor code by putting his hands on the daughter of another Don—an act of war. I looked him in the eye and swore on my mother’s grave that I would bring a bloody revenge upon his entire family. Then I made one phone call to my father, and the demolition of his empire began.

When I was eight, Dante Moretti pulled me from the fire that killed my family. For ten years, the powerful crime boss was my protector and my god. Then, he announced his engagement to another woman to unite two criminal empires. He brought her home and named her the future mistress of the Moretti family. In front of everyone, his fiancée forced a cheap metal collar around my neck, calling me their pet. Dante knew I was allergic. He just watched, his eyes cold, and ordered me to take it. That night, I listened through the walls as he took her to his bed. I finally understood the promise he’d made me as a child was a lie. I wasn't his family. I was his property. After a decade of devotion, my love for him finally turned to ash. So on his birthday, the day he celebrated his new future, I walked out of his gilded cage for good. A private jet was waiting to take me to my real father—his greatest enemy.

My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child. Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby. To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner. They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his. The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused. But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.

My fiancé of seven years, the heir to a mafia dynasty, claimed amnesia three weeks before our wedding, forgetting only me. Then I overheard him laughing on a video call, calling it the perfect "hall pass" to sleep with an influencer before he was tied down. He flaunted his affair, abandoned me with a broken arm after a staged car crash to save her from a scratch, and planned to leave me homeless. He called me his "property," a doll he could play with and put back on the shelf when he was done. He thought I’d be waiting for his "miraculous recovery." Instead, I disappeared, leaving behind his ring and a simple note: "I remember everything. Me too."

Kaelen was supposed to be my destiny. The future Alpha of our pack, my childhood love, and my fated mate. But one night, I smelled another woman on him-a sickly sweet Omega scent I knew all too well. I followed him and found them under the great oak, locked in a lover's kiss. His betrayal was a slow and deliberate poison. When his precious Omega, Lyra, staged a fall, he cradled her like she was made of glass. But when he sabotaged my saddle during a dangerous jump, causing my horse to throw me and break my leg, he called it a "warning" not to touch her. His care for me afterward was just damage control to avoid my father's suspicion. At a public auction, he used my family's money to buy her a priceless diamond, leaving me humiliated and unable to pay. I finally understood what I'd overheard on the pack's mind-link days before. To him and his brothers-in-arms, I was just a "pampered princess," a prize to be won for power. Lyra was the one they truly desired. He thought he could break me, force me to accept being second best. He was wrong. On the night of my 20th birthday, the night I was supposed to be bonded to him, I stood before two packs and made a different choice. I rejected him and announced my union with a rival Alpha, a man who sees me as a queen, not a consolation prize.

The day I saw Jared Stanley's interview, I filed for divorce and moved out of the perfectly maintained home I'd shared with him for three years. In that interview, Jared said his biggest regret in life was that, in a life-or-death situation, he instinctively protected what he called his most "precious national asset." The "asset" he protected wasn't me, his wife. It was his "fragile" colleague, Bailee Brooks. Two days later, at the global press conference for the G20 summit. The same renowned war correspondent asked me the same question. "Ms. Quinn, as a top-tier simultaneous interpreter, what would you say is the professional principle you are most proud of?" I looked directly at Jared sitting in the front row. "True professionalism is knowing that my husband risked his life to protect his mistress, and still being able to calmly, as the lead interpreter, accurately convey the commands that would ultimately save him."

Kathleen was diagnosed with liver cancer and needed a transplant. To her shock, she discovered that her husband of five years, Joshua, not only intended to give the liver to someone else but also had a mistress and an illegitimate child outside their marriage. Upon learning the truth, Kathleen was utterly heartbroken. She realized that she couldn't hold onto a man who had betrayed her, but she was determined to reclaim the liver that she had been promised as a donor match. Kathleen dialed a number she hadn't contacted in five years. "I'm going to Jaxperton for surgery. Come pick me up in three days." But after she left, Joshua was driven to desperation.

Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley. Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him. That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!" He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law." Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart.

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."

For three months, I was the perfect wife to tech billionaire Axel Delacruz. I thought our marriage was a fairy tale, and the welcome dinner for my new internship at his company was supposed to be a celebration of our perfect life. That illusion shattered when his beautiful, unhinged ex, Diana, crashed the party and stabbed him in the arm with a steak knife. But the real horror wasn't the blood. It was the look in my husband's eyes. He cradled his attacker, whispering a single, tender word meant only for her: "Always." He stood by as she held a knife to my face to carve off a beauty mark she claimed I'd copied from her. He watched as she threw me into a kennel with starving dogs, knowing it was my deepest fear. He let her have me beaten, let her shove gravel down my throat to ruin my voice, and let her men break my hand in a door. When I called him one last time, begging for help as a group of men closed in, he hung up on me. Trapped and left for dead, I threw myself out of a second-story window. As I ran, bleeding and broken, I made a call I hadn't made in years. "Uncle Francisco," I sobbed into the phone. "I want a divorce. And I want you to help me destroy him." They thought they married a nobody. They had no idea they'd just declared war on the Wallace family.

My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

Three days before the wedding, Eliana discovered that her boyfriend of three years had been secretly planning a wedding with his childhood sweetheart. "Erin has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Her greatest wish is to be my wife while she can still remember. We'll cancel our wedding. Once she forgets me completely, I'll come back and marry you." Upon learning the truth, Eliana remained composed, refusing to shed tears or cause a commotion. She dialed a number she hadn't contacted in three years. "Brother, I agree to the arranged marriage with the Barton family, to wed that emotionally distant heir. In three days, make sure he appear in the wedding."

My sister and I were stranded on a deserted road, eight months pregnant and with a flat tire, when a truck' s headlights pinned us in their glare. It wasn't swerving to avoid us. It was aiming for us. The crash was a symphony of destruction. As a monstrous pain ripped through my pregnant belly, I called my husband, Kade, my voice choked with blood and fear. "Kade… accident… the baby… something' s wrong with the baby." But I didn't hear panic. I heard his stepsister, Florence, whining in the background about a headache. Then came Kade' s voice, cold as ice. "Stop being so dramatic. You probably just bumped a curb. Florence needs me." He hung up. He chose her over me, over his sister-in-law, over his own unborn child. I woke up in the hospital to two truths. My sister, a world-renowned pianist, would never play again. And our son, the baby I had carried for eight months, was gone. They thought we were just collateral damage in their perfect lives. They were about to find out we were the reckoning.

My fiancé, Richard Ahmed, had been unfaithful. His mistress, Eva Marsh, sent me a provocative video. In the video, Richard and Eva were passionately kissing, while his friends cheered loudly, "You two are perfect for each other. You should get married." Richard's parents were holding Eva's hand, saying, "You're the only one we see as part of the family." I let out a cold laugh and dialed the number of my father, the head of a criminal syndicate. "Get in touch with a team for me. I have a live stream event planned." "Alright. The condition is that you return to Zlomont and become the new head of the Brooks Group."

My husband stood me up on the biggest night of my career—my first solo art exhibition. I found him on the news, shielding another woman from a storm of cameras while the entire gallery watched my world collapse. His text was a final, cold slap in the face: "Kacie needs me. You'll be fine." For years, he'd called my art a "hobby," forgetting it was the foundation of his billion-dollar company. He had made me invisible. So I called my lawyer with a plan to use his arrogance against him. "Make the divorce papers look like a boring IP release form," I told her. "He'll sign anything to get me out of his office."

For three years, I believed my fiancé, Daryl, was my savior. He rescued me after a brutal attack-secretly orchestrated by my own sister, Kenisha-shattered my hands and my dreams of being a concert pianist. He gave me a perfect, protected life. Then I discovered the truth on his laptop. I wasn't his beloved; I was "Asset: FB-01." A walking collection of prime organs, being groomed until my sister needed a new heart. My heart. The man I loved became a monster. He forced me to take five pregnancy tests, snarling that he'd "get that thing out" of me himself if I compromised his investment. He locked me in the trunk of his car and later abandoned me on a collapsing rope bridge. To finally break me, he drowned the stray kitten I'd rescued in the washing machine. "You hurt my Kenisha," he roared. "Now you'll know what it feels like to lose something you care about." My entire life with him had been a lie. I was just livestock being fattened for slaughter, and my hands-the ones he once called magic-were just a "non-essential component." After he drained my blood for the sister who wanted me dead, I went home and buried my cat. Then I packed a single bag, booked a flight to London, and vanished. They had created a monster. Now, they were about to meet her.

A pact sealed by my father' s death dictated that on my twenty-second birthday, I would marry a Kline and crown the next CEO. For years, I chased Brett Kline, convinced my unrequited love would eventually win his heart. But at my birthday party, he gave the bracelet meant for me to my stepsister, Juliana, right in front of everyone. "Get used to it, Faith," he sneered. "I'm about to be CEO. I can't be tied down to just one woman." He called me shameless and vicious, a disgrace to my family name. He humiliated me, cheated on me with Juliana, and demanded I accept his affairs if I wanted to be his wife. His cruelty escalated until he slapped me in public and even tried to stab me on my wedding day. In my last life, this blind devotion led to a miserable marriage. He slowly poisoned me, and I died alone while he lived happily with my stepsister. But when I opened my eyes again, I was reborn and back at that party, the moments before he was about to give my gift away. This time, I knew the truth. And I knew I wouldn't be choosing him.

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

My marriage was perfect. I was pregnant with our first child, and my husband, Andre, worshipped the ground I walked on. Or so I thought. The dream shattered when he whispered another woman's name against my skin in the dark. It was Kaliyah, the young associate from my firm whom I had personally mentored. He swore it was a mistake, but his lies spiraled as Kaliyah's schemes grew more vicious. He drugged me, locked me in my studio, and caused a fall that sent me to the hospital. But his ultimate betrayal came after Kaliyah staged a fake car accident and blamed me. Andre dragged me out of my car by my hair and slapped me across the face. He then forced a nurse to take my blood for his mistress-a transfusion she didn't even need. He held me down as I began to hemorrhage, leaving me to die while he rushed to her side. He sacrificed our child, who now suffers from irreversible brain damage because of his choice. The man I loved was gone, replaced by a monster who left me for dead. Lying in that hospital bed, I made two calls. The first was to my lawyer. "Activate the infidelity clause in our prenup. I want him left with nothing." The second was to Jude Gates, the man who had loved me silently for ten years. "Jude," I said, my voice cold as ice. "I need your help to destroy my husband."