Havenwood's Dark Blessing

My anniversary dinner ended not with a kiss, but with my husband Cole cheating on me with my cousin, Britney. He kicked me out of our home, the one my father helped us buy, and banished me to the guest house. But when I arrived, Britney was already there, wearing my favorite silk robe, smirking as she told me I'd be staying in the damp basement apartment instead. Down in the cold, musty cellar, I found what my father left me: proof that Cole hadn't just married me. He had orchestrated the hostile takeover that destroyed my father's company, drove him to his death, and then married me to steal everything that was left, including my life's work, a project called "Aura." He had me committed to a psychiatric facility, telling everyone I was unstable. He thought he had buried me, but my childhood friend Eric helped me fake my death in a staged car crash. Now, years later, I've returned. Under a new name, Iris, I've created a new masterpiece that has the tech world buzzing, and it's about to bring Cole's empire to its knees. He thinks Emma Russell is dead. He has no idea she's about to destroy him.

I warmed the Underboss’s bed for five years, only to be discarded the moment my twin sister returned. Haleigh claimed she was dying of terminal cancer. She was the golden child, the tragic heroine. I was just Bailey—the spare, the placeholder, the glitch in their perfect reunion. To secure her place, Haleigh framed me with a venomous spider and a deepfake video, turning the men I loved into my executioners. My own brothers whipped me in the basement while Jameson watched in cold silence. When I caught fire on the family yacht, they ignored my screams to tend to Haleigh’s scratched knee. The final blow came on the cliffs of Dead Man’s Drop. Accusing me of pushing her, Jameson ordered my brother to dangle me over the raging ocean by my ankles to "teach me a lesson." They waited for me to beg for my life. Instead, I pulled a switchblade from my boot. I didn't cut my brother. I cut my own laces. I plummeted into the icy black water without a sound, choosing death over their cruelty. It wasn't until they found my hidden diary—and proof that Haleigh never had cancer—that the monsters realized what they had done. Now Jameson is tearing the world apart to find his "innocent" Bailey. But he’s looking for a ghost. The woman who loved him died the moment she hit the water.

My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me. But when my mother was dying in the hospital, he chose a ski trip with another woman. It was that woman's dog that attacked my mother, but when I called him, shaking, he was annoyed. He was in Aspen with Isabella, and I could hear her laughing in the background. He dismissed my mother's injuries as a "minor scrape" and told me not to "make a big deal out of this." While my mother's fever spiked, he ignored my desperate pleas. Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram post of him and Isabella smiling by a fireplace, sipping hot chocolate. My mother slipped into septic shock. That picture was a public declaration, a judgment on my mother's worth, and my own. A cold fury burned away every last bit of love I had for him. She died at 3:17 a.m. I held her hand until it was cold, then walked out of the hospital and called the one number I was never supposed to use—the number for my father. "She's dead," I said. "I'm coming to Chicago. I'm leaving this life, and I'm going to burn his world to the ground."

Annabelle Owen, a violin prodigy, found her world in Jack Hyde, a tech billionaire who promised her everything. He shielded her, showered her with gifts, and became her entire universe. But then, his half-sister, Everly, moved in, and everything changed. Everly, a manipulative whisper in Jack's ear, slowly poisoned their relationship, turning him against Annabelle. Annabelle, pregnant with their child, discovered Jack's betrayal on their anniversary. He chose Everly, humiliating Annabelle, forcing her to change her dress because it "upset" Everly. He then denied her pregnancy, forced her to donate blood to Everly, and later, in a fit of rage, beat her, causing her to lose their baby. Jack, blinded by Everly's lies, believed Annabelle had cheated. He tortured and humiliated Annabelle, stripping her of everything he had given her, even her grandfather's violin, which Everly deliberately destroyed. Annabelle, broken and desperate, faked her own death by walking into a fire, hoping to escape the nightmare. Jack, consumed by grief and rage, was manipulated by Everly into believing Annabelle was a cheating liar. He sought brutal revenge on Everly, but the truth about Annabelle's innocence and Everly's deceit eventually came to light. Annabelle, meanwhile, had found refuge with her brother, Adan, and entered into a marriage of convenience with Julian Cordova, a war hero in a coma. She nursed him back to health, and they fell deeply in love, building a new life free from Jack's shadow. When Jack discovered Annabelle was alive and marrying Julian, he crashed the wedding, begging for forgiveness. But Annabelle, hardened by his cruelty, coldly rejected him, choosing her new life and love with Julian, leaving Jack to face the consequences of his actions alone.

The air in the Peterson' s mansion was thick with the smell of money and expensive perfume, a suffocating celebration for Tiffany Peterson, the valedictorian with a perfect SAT score of 1600. I stood in the shadows, a ghost at a party I knew too well. This scene had played out before, exactly-the same party, the same banner, the same lie. Because in my first life, this perfect party started a downward spiral. After the SAT scores were released and Tiffany' s supposed 1600 was revealed to be a mere 480, she blamed me. Her cyberbullying campaign, accusing me of hacking her score and obsession, turned my life into a living hell. "Cheater," "Ugly snake," "You should kill yourself" echoed through my phone and town. My family suffered, my parents were tormented, and one week later, unable to bear the crushing weight, I swallowed every pill in the medicine cabinet. I didn't understand why the world believed her over me. Why was her twisted narrative so easily accepted? But now, I' m back. I' m not the old Sarah, the one who tried to be kind and then died of shame. This time, I' m here to watch Tiffany burn, armed with the truth and a genius hacker by my side.

I was scrolling through a local forum, a mindless habit, when a post titled "A Warning to a Woman in Tech" caught my eye. It described two people plotting at a cafe I knew: a man complaining about his "tech executive" girlfriend, and a woman suggesting they "get her to relax" by putting something in her drink. They wanted her money, her inheritance, planning to stage an "accident." My fingers went cold, but the nausea passed-it was too generic. Then, the final detail: "The man… wore a very distinctive watch, a vintage chronograph with a dark green face." My phone clattered to the floor. Not Liam. Not the watch I bought him for our anniversary. The man who brought me soup when I was sick, who supported my career, who spoke of being my equal. He was a lie. All of it. Every sweet gesture replayed, tainted, a calculated part of his long con. The anger, hot and sharp, consumed me. Chloe Davies. Liam's old acquaintance, openly jealous of my success. I remembered him dismissing her, "Don't worry about her. You're the only one that matters to me." I believed him. The realization hit like a physical blow: the man I loved, and the woman I distrusted, were partners in a plot to destroy me. His parents, with their sickeningly sweet talk of "making it official," had been part of it too. My father' s ironclad prenup-that was the wall he couldn't climb. It wasn' t just a legal document; it was the trigger. They wanted to ruin me, stage an "accident," for him to inherit. The venomous greed took my breath away. They weren' t just after my money; they were after my life. But they had miscalculated. They had no idea who they were dealing with. Liam Parker wanted a war. I would give him one.

For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave. The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for. In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in. "Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer." His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient. "I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now." He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.

On the day of their wedding anniversary, Joshua's mistress drugged Alicia, and she ended up in a stranger's bed. In one night, Alicia lost her innocence, while Joshua's mistress carried his child in her womb. Heartbroken and humiliated, Alicia demanded a divorce, but Joshua saw it as yet another tantrum. When they finally parted ways, she went on to become a renowned artist, sought out and admired by everyone. Consumed by regret, Joshua darkened her doorstep in hopes of reconciliation, only to find her in the arms of a powerful tycoon. "Say hello to your sister-in-law."

Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."

The 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.

Kallie, a mute who had been ignored by her husband for five years since their wedding, also suffered the loss of her pregnancy due to her cruel mother-in-law. After the divorce, she learned that her ex-husband had quickly gotten engaged to the woman he truly loved. Holding her slightly rounded belly, she realized that he had never really cared for her. Determined, she left him behind, treating him as a stranger. Yet, after she left, he scoured the globe in search of her. When their paths crossed once more, Kallie had already found new happiness. For the first time, he pleaded humbly, "Please don't leave me..."  But Kallie's response was firm and dismissive, cutting through any lingering ties. "Get lost!"

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.